Oh, my, this is giving me a headache

I'm really, really trying,
I really believe what it says.

But

physically,

mentally,

emotionally

and spiritually

I am feeling
exhausted!

Happy Birthday, Mom

Today would be my Mom's 93rd birthday.
That's definitely a livable age,
and I would have loved to have her around longer.
I would have loved to share
my grandmothering experiences with her.
She died in 1995 at the age of 79.
Sometime I'll write about the miracles
surrounding the last month of her life.

But for today, I'll share an essence of her,

which was written in the form of a poem by Tiffany.
I have this hanging by my front door.

Grandma’s Porch Swing

I still remember Grandma’s kind raspy voice which

urged me out to the big porch on rainy summer nights.

With a small hop I would slide onto the big white swing,

my legs dangling in the air with each melodic rock.

The squeak of the hanging chain sounded as Grandma’s

foot hit against the green, turf-like carpet.

rock, squeak, rock, squeak, rock. . . .

As a child that porch seemed like a grand stage

from which to watch the world pass by.

On the left side sat Grandpa’s big white chair which

curved perfectly to fit his masculine form, but devoured

my small limbs as I sank to the back.

In the middle the green turf terraced up the steps

welcoming all to come inside the warm home

which smelled of Grandma’s cake and Grandpa’s wood shop.

And on the right, hung the swing. . .

Grandma’s big white swing.

It invited all to

sit awhile,

talk long,

and think much.

Years have passed since Grandma and Grandpa left

this earth, but that big white swing still hangs,

now on my own porch.

It still makes that familiar melodic squeak when my

foot hits my smaller cement porch.

Grandma’s swing has become a transport for me,

and the porch a haven away from the world.

I sit hidden by the trees, sheltered by the cover,

and out of sight from the passers by.

It is there that the majestic mountains call me to the east,

and the brilliant sunset ushers me to the west.

I can spend hours on Grandma’s swing listening to the song of birds,

pondering the clouds in the sky,

and gazing up at the galaxies.

It is especially on the rainy nights that I am reminded of Grandma.

The porch swing is not only a memorial to her,

but a reminder of how to love.

Sometimes, if I am quiet, I can listen to the melodic squeak of the chain

and still hear Grandma’s kind raspy voice urging me to

sit awhile,

talk long,

think much,

and

love always.

Tiffany Ashton 12/98

Here's the porch swing today
on this cold and snowy
January day.
It looks kind of lonely,
but I'll make sure it gets
lots of company this summer.

And a lesson to be learned:
Take pictures of every day things.
When Tiffany wrote the poem
and I wanted to have it framed,
I went in search of pictures.
There were hardly any to be found.
Here was this swing,
which my Dad made,
and was such a part of our lives.
But because it was such an every day
part of our lives,
we didn't take many pictures of it.

I was so glad when
I finally found this one
which features Mom,
and a much younger me
and Tiffany.

What's it all about anyway?

I had breakfast at Magleby's this morning with my good friend.
We've shared many experiences in the last 24+ years,
and have had many deep and thought provoking conversations.
However, up to this date anyway,
we still haven't quite got life figured out.
We try, we really do.
But then some other learning experience comes along
that we need to analyze.
If we ever do figure it all out, I'll be sure to pass the word along.
But, in the meantime, I'm very grateful to have a friend that I can
share my honest feelings with and know she understands.

After our enlightening conversation about
what is really important in life,
I came home to my now Christmas-less decorated house and decided
that I needed to mess it up a bit.
I guess I didn't really decide that,
but the mess was a natural consequence
of my efforts to become much more clutter free.
After all, in order to get things orderly and reduce clutter,
I need to clean one area out to make room
for other things that I'm cleaning out. Make sense?
Rather a domino effect, or at least it is for me.
I think you get the picture.
I'm really swallowing a lot of pride by showing these.
I'll take pictures of the finished room to redeem myself later.

Finally . . . they're down

All I can say is that it feels more than wonderful
to have finally gotten all the Christmas decorations down
(minus the ones buried in the snow).

I do believe I've set a personal record this year!

How we don't always see what's right in front of us.

Today I actually finished getting the Christmas decorations down
and am now in the process of putting the everyday decorations up.

As I was hanging several pictures, I realized how
even though they are right in front of me
that I had not really looked at them for a long time.

Here is a poem I have hanging on my wall that was
written by our daughter, Misty, as she was dreaming about and
making plans to build her house.
It is a beautiful and tender poem that brings tears to my eyes.

Her home has long been finished
and it turned out just as she dreamed it would.
But more importantly, she has created a wonderful and loving
environment inside the home.
We're proud of you, Misty,
and hope you know you are always in our hearts.

Joy is . . .

Last night we had an FHE and discussed "Joy."

What gives us joy, how you feel when you are joyful,
how you distinguish between transitory fun and true joy.
Our assignment for the week is to write down something each day that gives us joy.

Well, today that is very easy.
It happens to be someone's birthday who brings joy to everyone around him.
All I have to do is think of
ASHTON,
and a smile comes to my face and a warmth to my heart.
I think from this picture you can see why.So, buddy, if I were there with you I would be

rubbing up, scratching down, rubbing across . . .
just as you used to instruct me to.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY.
I LOVE YOU!

Whoaaa . . . .

The first words out of my mouth

when I opened the bedroom blinds this morning. Gary had already been out shoveling twice by the time I woke up.
What a man!