My Kind of Parade

I love parades, sort of. I love the floats, the excitement, the music. But parking/waiting/battling crowds and then only seeing half of anything, if you're close enough, doesn't seem like a fair exchange for the miseries that only get worse as I get older. So I was eager to join Shannon and the girls for a tour of the Days of '47 floats on display at the Expo Center for a couple days before the parade. All of them are just sitting there; one can get up close and walk around them, lingering as long as one likes. We took pictures. We enjoyed some of the extras, such as a live mermaid that thrilled the girls by posing with them for a photo. And there were balloon sculptures, face painting, and a motorized turtle kids could ride. All indoors. All free. The float with the historic buildings in model Salt Lake City was my personal favorite. But Wilford Woodruff fishing was pretty cool, as was the ship sailing along with the mermaid out front. The girls loved the color and animation (and the mermaid). So did I. It was just a treat.

Memories

I needed more space or different space to store art photos. Thus began a dip in the memory pool as I've been sorting through 40 years of school projects, report cards, Christmas pictures, baby announcements, notes, creative writings and funeral programs from friends and relatives and my own kids. I had a file folder on each of my children, and one labeled "About Friends." Then there was one called "Misc. Memories" that had newspaper clippings about me or Steve doing community things, school things, clippings of my writings in the Church News, and keepsake notes and cards from my life's story. I felt like I'd revisited a lifetime in an afternoon. It was fun to read some of Jacob's Young Author entries (that won prizes up to state levels), remember my years as the Frontier Days School Marm, sigh over all the wedding announcements (some that have since ended in divorce), and chuckle again at the collection of quotes I'd once been smart enough to write down ("Dad are you going to bang the peoples at work or the mean mans outside?"--Jeff on the new hunting rifle). I still shake my head at the string of F's on Tim's last HS report, and love watching families grow up again as pictured in Christmas cards from year to year. But the overwhelming emotion of this experience is not the nostalgic warm and fuzzy thing I expected. It's a Homesick Longing to cuddle my own little kids again. I miss their innocence, their unbridled enthusiasm and delight in each other, in simple pleasures and homey moments. I miss Tim's tender hug on a hard day. I miss Shannon's fearlessness. I miss the way Eric's glasses slid down his nose when he was totally absorbed in a book. I even miss Jacob's Museum and Jeff's math assignments. No, I don't want to go back. I shudder at the required energy and effort. But there are things I wish I'd done better, of course. And moments I can look at now and wonder if that was the turning point, the catalyst for what became a regret or a triumph. I guess it's okay to wonder as long as I don't dwell too long on it all. Nevertheless, I'm glad to have had the plunge. I came out wet with sentimental tears, but I wouldn't trade my past for anything. And, I really miss my little kids.

"Let Them Eat Cake"

This painting of a Paris bread and pastry shop is now part of "PORTALS"--my solo exhibit at Terra Nova Gallery. This is the largest and maybe most ambitious of the paintings there. So it rated a poem--and the poem is on the wall beside the painting.

"Let them eat cake!" A phrase they take
seriously in Paris. (All
can recall what did befall
The Queen.) Yet still the bakers bake

Still will the public undertake
to savor every crumb and flake.
While biscuits, baguettes, buns fall
prey, some still say, "Let them eat cake!"

In spite of Antoinette's mistake,
in spite of risking stomach-ache,
served after school or work or ball,
in summer, winter, spring or fall,
will Paris populace partake,
as She decreed, "Let them eat cake!"

Basking in Glory

I hope I'm not out of line in my enjoyment of the attention that focused on me and my art on Friday. I've been working long and hard to get ready for that exhibit. Many stresses were part of all that. But generally, the package has been very positive. I've had such fun producing the paintings. They represent very special memories. And yet the truly greatest part of this project has been the supportive response of friends and family who celebrated with me. The exhibit reception was a delightful reunion with cousins, high school friends, college roommate, and special friends from our Wyoming days. We saw lots of ward members, neighbors, and even a dear sister-in-law. All of these great people came to share in my triumph, and I must say, a triumph it was because they came to share it. It was just wonderful!

Spring Fever

The earth is itching. I can see the bumps
rising in the mud, like a green
rash erupting between stubborn clumps

of snow, breaking winter’s quarantine.
Everybody feels it, wants to scratch
in the dirt, to poke and plant and preen

it to color, or like the birds who catch
other symptoms, starts to shop for nests
and flaunts the feathers to attract a match.

I need to dig: I’ve been a soil possessed
by winter’s cold and empty dark sleep.
Now I feel a quickening that’s dressed

in heat, prickling tendrils someplace deep
uncurling. I must claw it out, assign
a diagnosis and then prescribe a cheap

remedy, like tincture of iodine.
Let’s assume it is an allergy that comes and goes
with seasons. Let’s assume it’s quite benign.
Linda G. Paulsen

Grandma's Perks

One of the best perks of this age is being Grandma to delightful children. It compensates for all the aches and memory loss and wrinkles. It gives one brilliant ideas of what to do with assorted clutter--craft projects with the kids. And it offers priceless opportunities to watch kids play, hear kids say funny things and discover a new perspective on life just when you thought you had it all figured out. For example, today we had Simon here for a few hours. Out of the blue, he picked up the stuffed snake and marched out of the room saying, "Bye. We're going to Denver. Love you." Steve said, "Does that snake love me?" "No," Simon answered. "He was talking about Grandma." And there was last week when we had Megan and Andrew for awhile. Megan is just getting to the age that isn't secure with strangers. She sort of knows us, but still burst into tears when her mom and dad left with the 2 older boys. We went into overtime trying to distract her, but she kept remembering she was sad. So when I got out the old egg basket and won this sunny smile, it was a huge reward and relief. That 50 cents I spent for those silly plastic eggs was the best investment...of course, it's a treat to discover that True Principles are being ingested, too. Once when Sarah and I were playing castle, a dragon captured the princess who had to be rescued. Sarah had the fine prince ride up to the dragon, as expected. But rather than engaging him in battle, the prince proceeded to Preach Repentance. The dragon (and I) have never been the same.

Silhouette

Perspective shapes the way we see things, including people. It colors our attitudes and judgments. We can't assume we see accurately from only one point of view. I thought about this as I enjoyed this scene in California, recently: some of my family took an evening walk in the Glendale hills. Suppose this as a parable. We often only see a person's "silhouette." He or she is cast against a temporary background that blocks out the colors and details. We can't know much about his feelings from such a limited view. Nor can we accurately assess her true condition. It's difficult to color in the space unless we change our perspective. To do that really requires more light. Ah, yes. Light is the key! It comes by the grace of the creator and takes some time. Our effort and patience are required to use the light. Made me think.