A few years ago I created The Inner Dad out of a desire to separate my familial writings from the cynical and sarcastic posts I've been writing over at Woody's Woundup for over five years now.
At the time it seemed like the thing to do. The Inner Dad became the yin to the Woundup's yang (or vice versa - I never really have understood that concept, to be honest). But as both blogs have matured, as, hopefully, the author also, it has become increasingly clear to me that both blogs have limited scope.
Woody's Woundup is a socio-political opinion blog, meaning that I have to write about things that I don't appreciate and about which I know next to nothing. Yet I have very strong feelings about them because I'm an old-school conservative and believe that the country has been sliding inexorably down a path towards socialism. The Woundup has become angry, and I said so in my not-quite-a-farewell post over there this evening.
Meanwhile, The Inner Dad was based on a concept I originally had for a book. A draft of that book actually exists, believe it or not. It will never be published in my life time, I suspect, but I wrote it. I based my concept of this blog on that book. It was supposed to not only document my own journey through fatherhood, but perhaps help other non-Dads know how wonderful a journey it can be. Never really hit my stride on that concept, I'm afraid.
Yet, neither have I decided to completely abandon it. Hence my decision to keep The Inner Dad alive for the time being, while at the same time beginning a new blog that I call WriteWood Notes. (For now, anyway. There actually is someone using the moniker "WriteWood" as part of his business of script consulting for Hollywood. If he squawks, I may have to rethink that name.)
WriteWood Notes is more of a Lileks approach to blogging. A chance to write about the things I know, which are my life experiences, yet written as if someone other than myself may actually care about them. I know at least a small handful of people do, so they become my target audience.
If you'd like to check out my new home, I'll be spending most of my blogging time over there. The address is http://writewood.wordpress.com/, and I'll even be happy to link to your blog if you think it's a good fit.
Friday, August 07, 2009
Monday, June 22, 2009
A Mostly Happy Father's Day
As Father's Days go, it was a nice one. I received breakfast from the Woodyettes and took calls from both of my grown children later in the day. Church was fun, with the Woodyettes both participating with the Primary kids in the traditional singing of two or three Daddy's Day songs. Jelly participated because she's still got one foot in both camps. She's officially in Young Women now, but still attends Primary opening exercises for her Sunday School hour.
Jelly was also recognized by the Bishop this week for advancing from Primary into Young Women. She had that look that folks used to get when stake presidents would call folks up to speak during ward conferences years ago. Bishop would have done this last week, but her certificate from Primary wasn't ready yet, so we deferred. Plus it was Ward Conference last week, so her first Sunday in Young Women wasn't exactly normal anyway. Now we're deep in the throes of preparing for Girls Camp this week. Our baby will be leaving us for four days! Yikes!
To cap our day, we drove up to Ventura County to visit our newest nephew. He was born early last week, and this was our first opportunity to drive up and have a little snuggle time with the tot. The kid's name is longer than he is right now, but this is a tall family and he'll grow into it. Cute as the proverbial button, and already exhibiting plenty of personality at the tender age of 5 days.
There was only one tiny bit of melancholy for me on this day of remembrance. I missed my Dad.
Mrs. Woody does our ward bulletins for Sunday, and she generally uses a picture from the Church's online library for the cover, depending on the theme. For Father's Day, however, she decided (after asking, of course) to use a wonderful 4 generation photo of me with my then-baby son, my Dad, and my grandfather. (All I will say about my appearance in said photo is that I had more hair and more teeth.)
It's a wonderful shot, and shows my Dad — who was never one for outward affection — looking down with grandfatherly pride on his newest grandson. I, on the other hand, look like I'd just received 10,000 volts by dropping the toaster in the bathtub, but I hear that's normal for new fathers.
The photo reminded me that there are still plenty of times that I miss my Dad. Given the fact that he was not a people-person in the classic sense, it is his presence more than anything else that is missed. Yes, he was always good for some succinctly stated advice when called for. ("Dad, I'm going to marry Mrs. Woody." "About d*mned time.") And of course his musicianship was second to none.
In truth, one of the constants in my life as a youngster, and even later, was Dad's strength of conviction. You pretty much always knew where you stood with Dad. (Generally upwind so as not to attract too much attention to yourself.) Dad was also fairly unapologetic about who he was and why he tended to be that way. Whether kid or co-worker, Dad treated everyone very much the same way.
So what did I miss yesterday? I missed seeing Dad sitting in his accustomed spot on the couch, watching whatever show had caught his attention. I missed his wry sense of humor. I missed his occasional snarl about some idiot who should never have been made a manager at work. I missed his unsolicited comments about my latest missteps as a kid in an adult's body trying to make my way in the world. I even missed him retreating to the sanctuary of his bathroom, which we jokingly called his "library." It was the only solitude he could find in a house with five very active kids. It also prevented him from having to socialize with pesky characters like relatives, home or visiting teachers, or even the Avon lady.
It also struck me, not for the first time, that I find myself walking more and more in Dad's own shoes. I have kids at home and abroad who need my advice, and who receive the occasional snarl (lovingly offered, of course). I have a long-suffering wife who puts up with my churlishness because she knows I love her more than life itself. I have adoring daughters at home who still love to snuggle with Daddy, even though Daddy is generally about as cuddly as a wolverine.
It's not sadness that I feel. My testimony of our eternal nature is far too strong for that. I just miss having him around. As wonderful as my step-Dad is, I miss being able to call Mom and hear Dad snarling in the background. Really. I miss that. (Official Woody Step-Dad ZeeMeister® never snarls, so far as I can tell. He opines, certainly, but I've never heard him snarl.)
But there are many times, when I'm in a contemplative mood, that I can hear Dad snarling in the spirit world, telling dead ancestors that his kid needs something to do. This would be his idea of keeping his kid gainfully employed in his absence.
Then he probably locks himself away in his eternal mansion's "library" and secretly smiles at how well his kids are doing.
Jelly was also recognized by the Bishop this week for advancing from Primary into Young Women. She had that look that folks used to get when stake presidents would call folks up to speak during ward conferences years ago. Bishop would have done this last week, but her certificate from Primary wasn't ready yet, so we deferred. Plus it was Ward Conference last week, so her first Sunday in Young Women wasn't exactly normal anyway. Now we're deep in the throes of preparing for Girls Camp this week. Our baby will be leaving us for four days! Yikes!
To cap our day, we drove up to Ventura County to visit our newest nephew. He was born early last week, and this was our first opportunity to drive up and have a little snuggle time with the tot. The kid's name is longer than he is right now, but this is a tall family and he'll grow into it. Cute as the proverbial button, and already exhibiting plenty of personality at the tender age of 5 days.
There was only one tiny bit of melancholy for me on this day of remembrance. I missed my Dad.
Mrs. Woody does our ward bulletins for Sunday, and she generally uses a picture from the Church's online library for the cover, depending on the theme. For Father's Day, however, she decided (after asking, of course) to use a wonderful 4 generation photo of me with my then-baby son, my Dad, and my grandfather. (All I will say about my appearance in said photo is that I had more hair and more teeth.)
It's a wonderful shot, and shows my Dad — who was never one for outward affection — looking down with grandfatherly pride on his newest grandson. I, on the other hand, look like I'd just received 10,000 volts by dropping the toaster in the bathtub, but I hear that's normal for new fathers.
The photo reminded me that there are still plenty of times that I miss my Dad. Given the fact that he was not a people-person in the classic sense, it is his presence more than anything else that is missed. Yes, he was always good for some succinctly stated advice when called for. ("Dad, I'm going to marry Mrs. Woody." "About d*mned time.") And of course his musicianship was second to none.
In truth, one of the constants in my life as a youngster, and even later, was Dad's strength of conviction. You pretty much always knew where you stood with Dad. (Generally upwind so as not to attract too much attention to yourself.) Dad was also fairly unapologetic about who he was and why he tended to be that way. Whether kid or co-worker, Dad treated everyone very much the same way.
So what did I miss yesterday? I missed seeing Dad sitting in his accustomed spot on the couch, watching whatever show had caught his attention. I missed his wry sense of humor. I missed his occasional snarl about some idiot who should never have been made a manager at work. I missed his unsolicited comments about my latest missteps as a kid in an adult's body trying to make my way in the world. I even missed him retreating to the sanctuary of his bathroom, which we jokingly called his "library." It was the only solitude he could find in a house with five very active kids. It also prevented him from having to socialize with pesky characters like relatives, home or visiting teachers, or even the Avon lady.
It also struck me, not for the first time, that I find myself walking more and more in Dad's own shoes. I have kids at home and abroad who need my advice, and who receive the occasional snarl (lovingly offered, of course). I have a long-suffering wife who puts up with my churlishness because she knows I love her more than life itself. I have adoring daughters at home who still love to snuggle with Daddy, even though Daddy is generally about as cuddly as a wolverine.
It's not sadness that I feel. My testimony of our eternal nature is far too strong for that. I just miss having him around. As wonderful as my step-Dad is, I miss being able to call Mom and hear Dad snarling in the background. Really. I miss that. (Official Woody Step-Dad ZeeMeister® never snarls, so far as I can tell. He opines, certainly, but I've never heard him snarl.)
But there are many times, when I'm in a contemplative mood, that I can hear Dad snarling in the spirit world, telling dead ancestors that his kid needs something to do. This would be his idea of keeping his kid gainfully employed in his absence.
Then he probably locks himself away in his eternal mansion's "library" and secretly smiles at how well his kids are doing.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
The Larger Picture
It's easy to forget those experiences that make family life the joy that it is. We get so busy with our day to day activities that we get distracted from the larger picture. We (by which I mean "I") need to step back a pace or two from time to time and scan the spiritual horizon on which my family is perched; ready to go forward, but simply waiting for Daddy to catch up so he can go with them.
There are significant things happening in our family right now. Jelly turned 12 this month, for one thing. While 12 can be a milestone in itself, the spiritual significance of this age cannot be overstated. This is a veritable rite of passage for our young lady (yes, a young lady now; not a primary kid anymore!) as she enters the Young Women program as a Beehive. My little blond-haired, blue-eyed child of promise, a Beehive. Wow. She got to ride in the front seat with Daddy tonight as she accompanied me to Chorale rehearsal. Rites of passage.
The baby, meanwhile, is no baby anymore. She, too, is advancing right along with her older sibling. While Jelly moves into the rank of Beehive froshes, Doodle takes her sister's place in the upper echelons of the Primary organization. Jelly may have done her last Primary program in Sacrament Meeting, but Doodle only has three left herself.
On the other end of the scale are my grown-up kids. My son has turned 22. Yikes. On the plus side, he appears to be calming down somewhat. He's beginning to lose a bit of that post-adolescent edge that makes some kids his age absolutely hideous to be around. The brief time I spent with him when we traveled up that way last month, though, helped me see that he really can (and likely will) do just fine. The long view definitely helps while watching my son.
My oldest daughter, meanwhile, is facing her own life challenges head on. She finds herself at one of those unenviable crossroads of life; placed there by a man she should have been able to trust, but ultimately could not. The rapidity with which she is rebuilding her life, however, astonishes and pleases me tremendously. Not only did she get her own daughter baptized last month, but she is now taking Temple Prep classes herself.
Ol' Woody cranked his Jubilee Year up a notch by celebrating 25 years of working for more or less the same company. That is to say, I have worked for 25 uninterrupted years for whatever company put their logo on the building I was working in at any given time. So, even though the company name is different from the one that hired me 25 years ago, all my benefits and pension have grandfathered in. Another 15 and I am history.
(I got the watch, by the way. Cliché it may be, but it looks nice.)
But it is my Sweetheart that reminds me just how precious my family experience truly is. She is the one constant in my life. My kids keep growing, with or without me, and watching them is the only thing that ever makes me feel "old." Not my gorgeous wife, though. If ever anyone makes me feel young at heart, Mrs. Woody can and does.
Yet she grows, too. This evening we shared a wonderful epiphany of sorts. She had received an answer on a question that was troubling her somewhat. A couple of answers, really; both coming from Conference talks of several years ago. This was not by any means a testimony-challenging question, but was of the type that had not been sufficiently resolved in her own heart so as to warrant the need of guidance and comfort from the Spirit. And it came. Talking about this question together served to further strengthen our relationship, and reminded me just how truly blessed I am. For my wife, for my kids, and for my life in general.
It's good to take the larger view of things. Very good, indeed.
There are significant things happening in our family right now. Jelly turned 12 this month, for one thing. While 12 can be a milestone in itself, the spiritual significance of this age cannot be overstated. This is a veritable rite of passage for our young lady (yes, a young lady now; not a primary kid anymore!) as she enters the Young Women program as a Beehive. My little blond-haired, blue-eyed child of promise, a Beehive. Wow. She got to ride in the front seat with Daddy tonight as she accompanied me to Chorale rehearsal. Rites of passage.
The baby, meanwhile, is no baby anymore. She, too, is advancing right along with her older sibling. While Jelly moves into the rank of Beehive froshes, Doodle takes her sister's place in the upper echelons of the Primary organization. Jelly may have done her last Primary program in Sacrament Meeting, but Doodle only has three left herself.
On the other end of the scale are my grown-up kids. My son has turned 22. Yikes. On the plus side, he appears to be calming down somewhat. He's beginning to lose a bit of that post-adolescent edge that makes some kids his age absolutely hideous to be around. The brief time I spent with him when we traveled up that way last month, though, helped me see that he really can (and likely will) do just fine. The long view definitely helps while watching my son.
My oldest daughter, meanwhile, is facing her own life challenges head on. She finds herself at one of those unenviable crossroads of life; placed there by a man she should have been able to trust, but ultimately could not. The rapidity with which she is rebuilding her life, however, astonishes and pleases me tremendously. Not only did she get her own daughter baptized last month, but she is now taking Temple Prep classes herself.
Ol' Woody cranked his Jubilee Year up a notch by celebrating 25 years of working for more or less the same company. That is to say, I have worked for 25 uninterrupted years for whatever company put their logo on the building I was working in at any given time. So, even though the company name is different from the one that hired me 25 years ago, all my benefits and pension have grandfathered in. Another 15 and I am history.
(I got the watch, by the way. Cliché it may be, but it looks nice.)
But it is my Sweetheart that reminds me just how precious my family experience truly is. She is the one constant in my life. My kids keep growing, with or without me, and watching them is the only thing that ever makes me feel "old." Not my gorgeous wife, though. If ever anyone makes me feel young at heart, Mrs. Woody can and does.
Yet she grows, too. This evening we shared a wonderful epiphany of sorts. She had received an answer on a question that was troubling her somewhat. A couple of answers, really; both coming from Conference talks of several years ago. This was not by any means a testimony-challenging question, but was of the type that had not been sufficiently resolved in her own heart so as to warrant the need of guidance and comfort from the Spirit. And it came. Talking about this question together served to further strengthen our relationship, and reminded me just how truly blessed I am. For my wife, for my kids, and for my life in general.
It's good to take the larger view of things. Very good, indeed.
Friday, May 22, 2009
Sweet Experience
It's not often that Woody has one of those blindingly wonderful spiritual experiences that just seem to radiate through one's entire being. I wrote briefly about one such experience last year.
Having just returned from a lovely three week vacation, I need to write about another such experience.
The impetus for this trip was my granddaughter. She had decided to get baptized, and wanted her Grandpa to come and baptize her. Since we live in California and they live in Minnesota, a road trip was planned.
The baptism was wonderful. Mrs. Woody, who became an instant Grandma when we got married, was asked to bear her testimony as part of the meeting, and it was wonderful. One of those moments when dry eyes were not much in evidence. It took Grandpa a couple of tries to get the poor girl properly immersed, but she ultimately went under and came out clean as the proverbial whistle.
In this part of the vineyard they choose to do the confirmations on the following Sabbath, so we went to Church the next day with high spirits and great anticipation. Grandpa was once again asked to perform the ordinance, so I sat quietly through the opening of the meeting pondering the things that I might say by way of counsel in her blessing.
We were to follow the blessing of a baby that day. I love to listen to baby blessings because it always fascinates me to see how the Spirit moves each father to voice the will of the Lord on behalf of that child. While I was listening, however, the most wonderful thing happened.
I saw Heavenly Father smiling. I won't say it was a vision, per se. More of a strong mental image and perception that at that particular moment, Heavenly Father and the Savior both had wonderful smiles on their faces. I knew in my own spirit that this was the message I needed to convey to my darling granddaughter.
When I laid my hands on her head with the others who had been asked to assist, I very nearly choked up when giving the blessing. There were words of comfort, certainly, because of the changes she and her mother are experiencing. There was counsel given that she would yet be able to help soften hearts towards the Gospel that have previously resisted. But the lasting impression that will remain with me forever is that of a smiling Heavenly Father.
What a gift for my granddaughter's baptism!
Having just returned from a lovely three week vacation, I need to write about another such experience.
The impetus for this trip was my granddaughter. She had decided to get baptized, and wanted her Grandpa to come and baptize her. Since we live in California and they live in Minnesota, a road trip was planned.
The baptism was wonderful. Mrs. Woody, who became an instant Grandma when we got married, was asked to bear her testimony as part of the meeting, and it was wonderful. One of those moments when dry eyes were not much in evidence. It took Grandpa a couple of tries to get the poor girl properly immersed, but she ultimately went under and came out clean as the proverbial whistle.
In this part of the vineyard they choose to do the confirmations on the following Sabbath, so we went to Church the next day with high spirits and great anticipation. Grandpa was once again asked to perform the ordinance, so I sat quietly through the opening of the meeting pondering the things that I might say by way of counsel in her blessing.
We were to follow the blessing of a baby that day. I love to listen to baby blessings because it always fascinates me to see how the Spirit moves each father to voice the will of the Lord on behalf of that child. While I was listening, however, the most wonderful thing happened.
I saw Heavenly Father smiling. I won't say it was a vision, per se. More of a strong mental image and perception that at that particular moment, Heavenly Father and the Savior both had wonderful smiles on their faces. I knew in my own spirit that this was the message I needed to convey to my darling granddaughter.
When I laid my hands on her head with the others who had been asked to assist, I very nearly choked up when giving the blessing. There were words of comfort, certainly, because of the changes she and her mother are experiencing. There was counsel given that she would yet be able to help soften hearts towards the Gospel that have previously resisted. But the lasting impression that will remain with me forever is that of a smiling Heavenly Father.
What a gift for my granddaughter's baptism!
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Savior of the World Update
I mentioned a few months ago that the entire Woody clan had auditioned for our Stake's production of "Savior of the World." Thought it might be a chuckle to see what ol' Woody looks like with a few months' worth of growth on his face:
CAPTION CONTEST!
Is this:
a) Zacharias praying in the Temple?
b) Woody reminding someone in authority that the request was NO kids with personality? Or
c) Make up your own. Be creative. Just remember that this is a family-friendly blog.
By the way, for those who know and still love us, the Stake has called a photographer to chronicle the entire production. The snap above was taken by Kathy Willis who set up a blog over at http://plumtreelane.blogspot.com/. Browse around. You'll notice that I appear to have two wives. This is not an attempt to inject obscure early LDS practices into the bibical account, I assure you. We had a casting change after a couple of weeks and I am now working with another Elizabeth. Really.
Anyway, scan through and you may even see a few snaps of the Woodyettes here and there.
CAPTION CONTEST!
Is this:
a) Zacharias praying in the Temple?
b) Woody reminding someone in authority that the request was NO kids with personality? Or
c) Make up your own. Be creative. Just remember that this is a family-friendly blog.
By the way, for those who know and still love us, the Stake has called a photographer to chronicle the entire production. The snap above was taken by Kathy Willis who set up a blog over at http://plumtreelane.blogspot.com/. Browse around. You'll notice that I appear to have two wives. This is not an attempt to inject obscure early LDS practices into the bibical account, I assure you. We had a casting change after a couple of weeks and I am now working with another Elizabeth. Really.
Anyway, scan through and you may even see a few snaps of the Woodyettes here and there.
Sunday, January 04, 2009
You Can't Beat Mom's Recipe
One of the innumerable reasons why I married Mrs. Woody is that she reminds me a lot of my own Mom. She has many of the same wonderful qualities that Mom possesses, along with not a few of her own. This combination of qualities means that Woody is a happy man indeed.
Take, for instance, food. I'm big (har!) on comfort foods. There are certain foods that always work for me, no matter what my mood. Lasagna is one such. Mrs. Woody discovered a crock-pot version that we enjoy tremendously. Six hours on "Low" and we have a comfort food dinner.
One of my favorite holiday memories involves the seemingly gigantic pot of clam chowder that Mom would make every year. She would make it early in the day, then leave it on the stove for anyone who got a little peckish for shellfish throughout the day. No schedule; just good tasting food.
Mrs. Woody discovered this tradition during one of our early Christmases together. Mom was still living in the old house in Simi Valley and we were living just down the highway a few miles. Mrs. Woody thoroughly enjoyed the chowder and naturally asked Mom about the recipe. When she discovered just how easy it was, a new (old) comfort food was introduced at Hacienda Woody.
So Friday night (a tad late, but we've been sick) we put together Mom's Clam Chowder™. Got a couple of meals out of it, except for Jelly who is more than a little suspicious of rubbery foods. For Woody it was a chance to zoom back in time to Mom's kitchen which was always more than just a food preparation area. Mom's kitchen was the nerve center of the family. It was the Gathering Place where we could hang out and (because the statute of limitations had long since run out) tell embarrassing stories about each other so Mom could pretend to be horrified about what awful children we were.
Mrs. Woody also picked up on Mom's pumpkin pie recipe. No big secret there, I'm afraid, because it's the same recipe that comes straight off the can of pumpkin. But it holds that one secret ingredient that instantly identifies it as Mom's (or Mrs. Woody's) recipe: lots of love. It's another one of those tastes that instantly transports me to other times and places, always with terrific memories attached. A few funny ones, too, but Woody is far too galant to share them with his bloggy audience.
As Mrs. Woody said, "You can't beat Mom's recipe!" It just works.
Take, for instance, food. I'm big (har!) on comfort foods. There are certain foods that always work for me, no matter what my mood. Lasagna is one such. Mrs. Woody discovered a crock-pot version that we enjoy tremendously. Six hours on "Low" and we have a comfort food dinner.
One of my favorite holiday memories involves the seemingly gigantic pot of clam chowder that Mom would make every year. She would make it early in the day, then leave it on the stove for anyone who got a little peckish for shellfish throughout the day. No schedule; just good tasting food.
Mrs. Woody discovered this tradition during one of our early Christmases together. Mom was still living in the old house in Simi Valley and we were living just down the highway a few miles. Mrs. Woody thoroughly enjoyed the chowder and naturally asked Mom about the recipe. When she discovered just how easy it was, a new (old) comfort food was introduced at Hacienda Woody.
So Friday night (a tad late, but we've been sick) we put together Mom's Clam Chowder™. Got a couple of meals out of it, except for Jelly who is more than a little suspicious of rubbery foods. For Woody it was a chance to zoom back in time to Mom's kitchen which was always more than just a food preparation area. Mom's kitchen was the nerve center of the family. It was the Gathering Place where we could hang out and (because the statute of limitations had long since run out) tell embarrassing stories about each other so Mom could pretend to be horrified about what awful children we were.
Mrs. Woody also picked up on Mom's pumpkin pie recipe. No big secret there, I'm afraid, because it's the same recipe that comes straight off the can of pumpkin. But it holds that one secret ingredient that instantly identifies it as Mom's (or Mrs. Woody's) recipe: lots of love. It's another one of those tastes that instantly transports me to other times and places, always with terrific memories attached. A few funny ones, too, but Woody is far too galant to share them with his bloggy audience.
As Mrs. Woody said, "You can't beat Mom's recipe!" It just works.
Thursday, January 01, 2009
As I Get Older...
...my daughters age as well. Fortunately for them, the aging is still graceful. As in, "she is aging gracefully." Whereas Woody just ages. Even Mrs. Woody ages more like a savings account: she just gets more and more valuable as the years progress. Woody, on the other hand, begins to look more like an "after" photo from a Thompson's Wood Sealer® commercial. Or maybe that's just the beard.
Anyway, we visited with our families over the holiday break and had a wonderful time. But I had to tell you one story in particular that just tickled everyone's funny bone.
We were visiting my youngest sister in their new home. They've recently moved back to California after living for a couple of years in Texas. Whatever brain disease they had suffered apparently dissapated and they left the Tornado Belt for good ol' Shake and Bake country. Their realtor who is named (really) Cookie decided to help them host a house-warming party last Saturday.
Family and friends began appearing at the appointed hour, and most of us had kids of various ages. Our young nephews have a "secret" room upstairs, and they immediately conducted their cousins and acquaintances thereunto.
After eating and schmoozing with the adult contingent, a few of us were naturally curious as to why it seemed so quiet upstairs. One of us (I believe it was my sister's step-father-in-law) made so bold as to go up and investigate and came back down chuckling. Apparently several of them, ranging in age from teenagers belonging to my other sister down to a few eight-year-olds had Nintendo DS® devices, and were busily engaged in a cluster PictoChat session. The youngster equivalent of a hot texting session for teenagers.
So I had to investigate for myself. Sure enough, my two Woodyettes were among the participants, and it was eerie to see about a half-dozen kids sitting quietly while communicating with electronic drawings.
I'm sure there's a larger lesson here dealing with loss of interpersonal communication skills, but, hey, this was family. Jelly even renewed an acquaintance with my sister's sister-in-law that's about Jelly's age. "I found a new friend!" was how she put it. So I score this one as a good thing.
Happy New Year to you all!
Anyway, we visited with our families over the holiday break and had a wonderful time. But I had to tell you one story in particular that just tickled everyone's funny bone.
We were visiting my youngest sister in their new home. They've recently moved back to California after living for a couple of years in Texas. Whatever brain disease they had suffered apparently dissapated and they left the Tornado Belt for good ol' Shake and Bake country. Their realtor who is named (really) Cookie decided to help them host a house-warming party last Saturday.
Family and friends began appearing at the appointed hour, and most of us had kids of various ages. Our young nephews have a "secret" room upstairs, and they immediately conducted their cousins and acquaintances thereunto.
After eating and schmoozing with the adult contingent, a few of us were naturally curious as to why it seemed so quiet upstairs. One of us (I believe it was my sister's step-father-in-law) made so bold as to go up and investigate and came back down chuckling. Apparently several of them, ranging in age from teenagers belonging to my other sister down to a few eight-year-olds had Nintendo DS® devices, and were busily engaged in a cluster PictoChat session. The youngster equivalent of a hot texting session for teenagers.
So I had to investigate for myself. Sure enough, my two Woodyettes were among the participants, and it was eerie to see about a half-dozen kids sitting quietly while communicating with electronic drawings.
I'm sure there's a larger lesson here dealing with loss of interpersonal communication skills, but, hey, this was family. Jelly even renewed an acquaintance with my sister's sister-in-law that's about Jelly's age. "I found a new friend!" was how she put it. So I score this one as a good thing.
Happy New Year to you all!
Thursday, October 16, 2008
The Big Five Oh
I have never fully appreciated life's milestones. From birth through adolescence and on through adulthood I have hit many milestones of one kind or another. Some, like turning sixteen and getting my driver's license, felt significant. Others, like my twenty-first birthday, blew by with hardly any notice.
My "decade" birthdays, in particular, seem to pass with very little fanfare. There was one attempt, on my thirtieth, to work up the whole "black arm band" theme with some close family friends from my previous life. That was an interesting night. I'd gotten home just about dark. The house looked normal from the driveway. I should have known my night would be downhill from there as soon as I opened the screen door and it promptly fell off its hinges. That wasn't planned, by the way. Then came the surprise party in my living room. Black arm bands and black crepe decorations. My oldest daughter — a teenager at the time — got her Dad a tube of Poli-grip® and a can of Turtle Wax® (for my forehead).
Otherwise, my decade marks have been relatively colorless. My tenth was probably typical of any young boy, with the exception of my confection of choice: since about my seventh birthday, I have always preferred pumpkin pie to birthday cake. I haven't missed a year since.
This milestone year, however, marks something more of a passage for me. Years ago when reading Parley P. Pratt's autobiography, I was fascinated by his description of his "jubilee year." I shouldn't have been surprised, actually. Life expectancies were significantly lower in those days, for one thing. Still, there was something about having lived for one half of a century. In my case, this is almost literally true. I was born shortly after the halfway mark of the 20th century, and now find myself in the early years of the 21st. The "ought" years.
Jubilee, of course, indicates a celebration. A reason to rejoice, if you will. A need to make a fuss over having survived through fifty years of... what, exactly?
Well, as a baby-boomer, I was a child of the Cold War. It was the one conflict we thought we'd never see the end of. I was born too late for the Korean conflict, but lived through the Vietnam war. The Cuban revolution played out just miles south of our borders and then nearly brought us to the edge of nuclear war. As a youth I was convinced that the Cold War would rage on throughout my entire life. That it has ostensibly ended is remarkable in itself. That some people seem to think it won't be back is somewhat frightening. I'm not so sure.
I have survived illnesses that might have killed me when I was a baby, but which I need little fear today. I have been asthmatic from infancy. As my mother's first child I can only guess at the stress I put her through every time I had an attack or a convulsion. Mom once told me I'd worn out just about every nurse at the local hospital over the years. It wasn't until my mission that I finally outgrew my extreme fear of needles. Losing yourself in the Lord's service can do that for you. That, and having no access to any nurse but your junior companion who gleefully played the part for ten whole days.
Then there was my mission itself; a lasting testament to the Lord's highly developed sense of humor. I was (and in some ways still am) an intellectually lazy individual. If it doesn't come easy to me, I tend to avoid it. When the time came to entertain the notion of actually serving the Lord for two years, it was truly the Spirit that catapulted me into the process of endless interviews and paperwork. When my bishop interviewed me, he asked the "do you have any preferences where you serve?" question. I said, quote, "Anywhere but south of the border." Neither the language nor the food possibilities appealed to me.
The letter signed by Spencer W. Kimball informed me that I would be going to Ft. Lauderdale in Florida where I would be speaking Spanish. My complacency bubble burst noisily in my ear as I contemplated life among retired mafiosos in south Florida (that being Dad's romanticized notion of my call).
That was just the hook, though. The Lord really needed to get me to Guatemala — precisely where I'd indicated I'd rather NOT serve — so the Ft. Lauderdale call was just a carrot, really. I still remember the scene in President Pinegar's office one night after our Tuesday devotional:
There can be no talk of surviving anything in my life without mentioning family. I have been abundantly blessed in my life with strong family. Mom and Dad gave me a spiritual grounding for which I can never thank them enough. My relatively new step-Dad is just as powerful an example as Dad was in his inimitable way. My grandparents all taught me things about life that have proven invaluable time and time again. Their experiences and wisdom I have tried to make my own, with varying degrees of success.
My siblings have both endured me and sustained me through all the milestones I have reached. That we remain close is something of a novelty in American life nowadays, but not so much for members of the Church. We understand what family represents, and we share at least that common goal of being together in eternity.
Without my wife and children, however, I am truly nothing. They are my life-blood. They give me joy even in times of severe stress. Today marked just one such occasion:
I have been under stress at work lately. This is nothing new, mind you; it seems to come with the territory. Programmers like myself tend to live and die by the project, and I have a number of them to which I am currently attached. Each project has its own set of priorities, many of which conflict with my other projects, so that I am constantly behind the curve.
This morning I logged in briefly to see whether a process I'd run last night had been successful. I'd spent many hours on short notice to get that process squared away, so my reaction was not good when I realized that the process had failed. Twice. I was angry, and nearer to giving up on everything right that minute than I'd been in many months. (I get near to quitting at least once a year. Keeps me limber for retirement in, oh, about 12 more years.)
My girls, however, were making preparations for a small field trip to a regional park not far from here. It's Halloween time, and there's a pumpkin patch with a hay-bale maze, not to mention a small zoo. I decided to drop a couple of hours out of my anxiety and take them on their field trip.
That field trip saved my life today. As field trips go, it was nothing. It hardly registers on the scale of neat things we've ever done for homeschool. But for my mental health, it was just what the doctor ordered. Time with my Sweetheart and my young sweethearts. Balm for the soul. And more to come this weekend, apparently. Much secrecy about where they're taking me. I've even offered my daughters twenty bucks if they'll let it slip to Daddy, but they're being too cagey for that.
So I'm celebrating my jubilee year this year. As you can see, I have much to celebrate. I have my health. I have my career. I have my testimony and love for the gospel. I have my sweet wife and children.
I have everything.
My "decade" birthdays, in particular, seem to pass with very little fanfare. There was one attempt, on my thirtieth, to work up the whole "black arm band" theme with some close family friends from my previous life. That was an interesting night. I'd gotten home just about dark. The house looked normal from the driveway. I should have known my night would be downhill from there as soon as I opened the screen door and it promptly fell off its hinges. That wasn't planned, by the way. Then came the surprise party in my living room. Black arm bands and black crepe decorations. My oldest daughter — a teenager at the time — got her Dad a tube of Poli-grip® and a can of Turtle Wax® (for my forehead).
Otherwise, my decade marks have been relatively colorless. My tenth was probably typical of any young boy, with the exception of my confection of choice: since about my seventh birthday, I have always preferred pumpkin pie to birthday cake. I haven't missed a year since.
This milestone year, however, marks something more of a passage for me. Years ago when reading Parley P. Pratt's autobiography, I was fascinated by his description of his "jubilee year." I shouldn't have been surprised, actually. Life expectancies were significantly lower in those days, for one thing. Still, there was something about having lived for one half of a century. In my case, this is almost literally true. I was born shortly after the halfway mark of the 20th century, and now find myself in the early years of the 21st. The "ought" years.
Jubilee, of course, indicates a celebration. A reason to rejoice, if you will. A need to make a fuss over having survived through fifty years of... what, exactly?
Well, as a baby-boomer, I was a child of the Cold War. It was the one conflict we thought we'd never see the end of. I was born too late for the Korean conflict, but lived through the Vietnam war. The Cuban revolution played out just miles south of our borders and then nearly brought us to the edge of nuclear war. As a youth I was convinced that the Cold War would rage on throughout my entire life. That it has ostensibly ended is remarkable in itself. That some people seem to think it won't be back is somewhat frightening. I'm not so sure.
I have survived illnesses that might have killed me when I was a baby, but which I need little fear today. I have been asthmatic from infancy. As my mother's first child I can only guess at the stress I put her through every time I had an attack or a convulsion. Mom once told me I'd worn out just about every nurse at the local hospital over the years. It wasn't until my mission that I finally outgrew my extreme fear of needles. Losing yourself in the Lord's service can do that for you. That, and having no access to any nurse but your junior companion who gleefully played the part for ten whole days.
Then there was my mission itself; a lasting testament to the Lord's highly developed sense of humor. I was (and in some ways still am) an intellectually lazy individual. If it doesn't come easy to me, I tend to avoid it. When the time came to entertain the notion of actually serving the Lord for two years, it was truly the Spirit that catapulted me into the process of endless interviews and paperwork. When my bishop interviewed me, he asked the "do you have any preferences where you serve?" question. I said, quote, "Anywhere but south of the border." Neither the language nor the food possibilities appealed to me.
The letter signed by Spencer W. Kimball informed me that I would be going to Ft. Lauderdale in Florida where I would be speaking Spanish. My complacency bubble burst noisily in my ear as I contemplated life among retired mafiosos in south Florida (that being Dad's romanticized notion of my call).
That was just the hook, though. The Lord really needed to get me to Guatemala — precisely where I'd indicated I'd rather NOT serve — so the Ft. Lauderdale call was just a carrot, really. I still remember the scene in President Pinegar's office one night after our Tuesday devotional:
"So, I understand you brethren (there were four of us sitting very nervously in his office) have all been called to the Florida Ft. Lauderdale mission, is that correct?"I don't remember anything after that. But I survived that experience and had a tremendous time learning to love those Mayan children of God.
General nods of assent.
"Well, we'll have to do something about that."
One elder looked like we were all about to be sent home for disgracing the Church with our weak Spanish skills.
"Effective immediately, you four are called to serve in the Guatemala Quetzaltenango Mission as Quiché-speaking Elders."
There can be no talk of surviving anything in my life without mentioning family. I have been abundantly blessed in my life with strong family. Mom and Dad gave me a spiritual grounding for which I can never thank them enough. My relatively new step-Dad is just as powerful an example as Dad was in his inimitable way. My grandparents all taught me things about life that have proven invaluable time and time again. Their experiences and wisdom I have tried to make my own, with varying degrees of success.
My siblings have both endured me and sustained me through all the milestones I have reached. That we remain close is something of a novelty in American life nowadays, but not so much for members of the Church. We understand what family represents, and we share at least that common goal of being together in eternity.
Without my wife and children, however, I am truly nothing. They are my life-blood. They give me joy even in times of severe stress. Today marked just one such occasion:
I have been under stress at work lately. This is nothing new, mind you; it seems to come with the territory. Programmers like myself tend to live and die by the project, and I have a number of them to which I am currently attached. Each project has its own set of priorities, many of which conflict with my other projects, so that I am constantly behind the curve.
This morning I logged in briefly to see whether a process I'd run last night had been successful. I'd spent many hours on short notice to get that process squared away, so my reaction was not good when I realized that the process had failed. Twice. I was angry, and nearer to giving up on everything right that minute than I'd been in many months. (I get near to quitting at least once a year. Keeps me limber for retirement in, oh, about 12 more years.)
My girls, however, were making preparations for a small field trip to a regional park not far from here. It's Halloween time, and there's a pumpkin patch with a hay-bale maze, not to mention a small zoo. I decided to drop a couple of hours out of my anxiety and take them on their field trip.
That field trip saved my life today. As field trips go, it was nothing. It hardly registers on the scale of neat things we've ever done for homeschool. But for my mental health, it was just what the doctor ordered. Time with my Sweetheart and my young sweethearts. Balm for the soul. And more to come this weekend, apparently. Much secrecy about where they're taking me. I've even offered my daughters twenty bucks if they'll let it slip to Daddy, but they're being too cagey for that.
So I'm celebrating my jubilee year this year. As you can see, I have much to celebrate. I have my health. I have my career. I have my testimony and love for the gospel. I have my sweet wife and children.
I have everything.
Saturday, October 04, 2008
God Bless Homeschool
One of the greatest blessings of homeschool is the flexibility built into the schedule. If our academy decides that a field trip is in order, we hop in our trusty minivan and take a field trip. There are no permission slips or extra insurance liability to worry over; we just go.
Today was a "just go" kind of day. A month ago or so when we took advantage of Homeschool Days at the Aquarium of the Pacific, we decided that this would be a good year to hold a membership there. For less than it would take this family to have a day at one of the local Disney parks, we can visit the Aquarium whenever we want for an entire year. We even get breaks on parking, so that our Aquarium adventure today cost us all of $6.00. That was $3.00 for parking, and another $3.00 to feed the lorikeets. Everything else was covered by our membership.
This is good because our family loves the Aquarium. The hard part is seeing all of it in a single visit. We're the kind of family that loves to linger over exhibits and take our time oohing and aahing over the various fauna throughout the museum. Of particular interest to our Woodyettes are the harbor seals and sea lions on display there. We weren't there during the feeding/training show, but we love to just sit and watch the animals. Today a few of them were quite playful, chasing each other around the tank and play-fighting. We had excellent views from the underground viewing windows.
After about an hour and a half or so, Woody was getting a bit worn out. It was decided to go have some lunch ("Hey, we can come back in a few weeks!"), then see about visiting one of the local beaches.
We lunched on breakfast at a local IHOP, which is always a treat for our family. We've loved IHOP since Mrs. Woody and I were dating. It's always fun to have breakfast for lunch, and we feasted well on crepes, pancakes, eggs, and fruit.
From there we drove down PCH for a few miles into Seal Beach, which is actually back in Orange County. We found the pier at the end of Main St, which was (hooray!) wheelchair accessible. We all had a chance to walk (or ride) down the pier. By then it was late enough in the afternoon that a beautiful silver glow could be seen where the sun was getting low over the horizon. A couple of wind-surfers could be seen gliding across the breakers, and fishermen were having various levels of success up and down the pier. The girls enjoyed watching them pull in a few fish, and one fellow even caught a small dogfish shark.
A quick stop at Sonic on our way home for Slushes was the perfect ending to our "just go" adventure.
Adventures are part of the fun we have as a family. We call them "adventures," but they're really just opportunities to meander around an area, taking in the sights and not particularly worrying about where we're actually going. Aside from the Aquarium, we had no destinations firmly set. We just sort of pointed the car and drove.
Our tradition of "adventuring" began when Mrs. Woody realized early in our courting that occasionally Woody had absolutely no clue where he was going, but was determined to find it without having to (you guessed it) ask for directions. Mrs. Woody found that she actually enjoyed just being with me enough that she renamed this bane of all female existence an "adventure" and just went along with it.
Nowadays, of course, we have GPS if we really need to find something, so a day like today required simply admitting that we wanted to meander rather than arrive somewhere.
It's all quite therapeutic, and (since we homeschool) quite educational as well. The Woodyettes got to learn a bit more about marine life, and the Headmistress and Dean of the Academy got a chance toget out of the house go off-campus for awhile.
We love homeschool!
Today was a "just go" kind of day. A month ago or so when we took advantage of Homeschool Days at the Aquarium of the Pacific, we decided that this would be a good year to hold a membership there. For less than it would take this family to have a day at one of the local Disney parks, we can visit the Aquarium whenever we want for an entire year. We even get breaks on parking, so that our Aquarium adventure today cost us all of $6.00. That was $3.00 for parking, and another $3.00 to feed the lorikeets. Everything else was covered by our membership.
This is good because our family loves the Aquarium. The hard part is seeing all of it in a single visit. We're the kind of family that loves to linger over exhibits and take our time oohing and aahing over the various fauna throughout the museum. Of particular interest to our Woodyettes are the harbor seals and sea lions on display there. We weren't there during the feeding/training show, but we love to just sit and watch the animals. Today a few of them were quite playful, chasing each other around the tank and play-fighting. We had excellent views from the underground viewing windows.
After about an hour and a half or so, Woody was getting a bit worn out. It was decided to go have some lunch ("Hey, we can come back in a few weeks!"), then see about visiting one of the local beaches.
We lunched on breakfast at a local IHOP, which is always a treat for our family. We've loved IHOP since Mrs. Woody and I were dating. It's always fun to have breakfast for lunch, and we feasted well on crepes, pancakes, eggs, and fruit.
From there we drove down PCH for a few miles into Seal Beach, which is actually back in Orange County. We found the pier at the end of Main St, which was (hooray!) wheelchair accessible. We all had a chance to walk (or ride) down the pier. By then it was late enough in the afternoon that a beautiful silver glow could be seen where the sun was getting low over the horizon. A couple of wind-surfers could be seen gliding across the breakers, and fishermen were having various levels of success up and down the pier. The girls enjoyed watching them pull in a few fish, and one fellow even caught a small dogfish shark.
A quick stop at Sonic on our way home for Slushes was the perfect ending to our "just go" adventure.
Adventures are part of the fun we have as a family. We call them "adventures," but they're really just opportunities to meander around an area, taking in the sights and not particularly worrying about where we're actually going. Aside from the Aquarium, we had no destinations firmly set. We just sort of pointed the car and drove.
Our tradition of "adventuring" began when Mrs. Woody realized early in our courting that occasionally Woody had absolutely no clue where he was going, but was determined to find it without having to (you guessed it) ask for directions. Mrs. Woody found that she actually enjoyed just being with me enough that she renamed this bane of all female existence an "adventure" and just went along with it.
Nowadays, of course, we have GPS if we really need to find something, so a day like today required simply admitting that we wanted to meander rather than arrive somewhere.
It's all quite therapeutic, and (since we homeschool) quite educational as well. The Woodyettes got to learn a bit more about marine life, and the Headmistress and Dean of the Academy got a chance to
We love homeschool!
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Family Auditions
I have mentioned over the years our triumphs in getting the Woodyettes to sing in church. Every year for the Primary presentation Mrs. Woody and I sit and watch our girls struggle with the concept of singing (or even appearing to sing) in public. The first few years were downright painful. In fact, Jelly actually had a pained expression on her face (when we could see it through the crowd of kids behind which she was strategically placed) as if making her do this were a form of punishment.
Then, over time, both girls got to a point where — perhaps not quite willingly — they both will sing. They even move their mouths to show that they have learned the words as well. And each successive year gets a little bit better. (Important note: this year will be Jelly's last ever Primary presentation. Next year she will have become a Beehive and even attended her first ever Girls Camp. Yikes!)
A few months ago we became aware of our Stake's desire to produce the Church's musical presentation called "The Savior of the World." This is the production for which the Stake Presidency asked me to present a series of lessons giving the historical and spiritual background of the events covered by the script. We were also aware that, as a member of the Anaheim Mormon Chorale (which is based in our stake) I was already considered a member of the chorus.
When they announced open auditions for the Angel Choir, Mrs. Woody expressed a desire to participate. There are some logistical challenges to be considered, but Mrs. Woody has a wonderful, sweet alto voice and will be a valuable member of the choir. What surprised us, however, was Jelly's desire to be a part of the show. Over the summer, perhaps as a result of listening to Daddy's lessons, she had begun to ask whether she might be able to participate in the chorus, so long as she didn't have to do any real, you know, acting.
Of course, this sets up a huge paradox. Performing in a production like this requires auditions. Auditions require the candidate to sing, generally alone, in front of several people. Jelly's shyness is such that we knew she would struggle mightily with this concept of auditioning, even for a relatively safe chorus part. However, we also knew that she can sing, in key, and has a wonderful, sweet voice just like her mother. So can the Doodle, but she had already stated her intention to be a member of the audience. She did NOT like the idea of singing, even in a chorus, in front of other people.
Auditions were set for this weekend. There were three slots available on Friday evening, Saturday afternoon, and tonight. In typical Mormon fashion, about 90% of the aspirants waited until tonight to audition. So we decided to go tonight and have Mrs. Woody audition. We also encouraged the girls that, if they wanted to, they could audition as well.
That's when the stomach aches began. Headaches, too. Loss of sleep, even. It got worse yesterday when we actually picked out songs on which to audition. Mrs. Woody went with "Lead, Kindly Light" because it was one of few songs in the hymn book that keep the melody low enough for her alto voice to shine through. Jelly's favorite song is "I Am a Child of God," and we sing it nearly every night as a family as part of our bedtime devotional. When we tried to get her to practice it, however, the lock-jaw set in. So did the headache. Ultimately, as the Woodyettes are wont to do, Doodle offered to sing with Jelly, even though she wasn't intending to audition herself, if it would help Jelly feel braver.
Throughout the day today Jelly vacillated between wanting to audition, and wanting instead to be in a completely different time zone when the auditions happened. Right up until Mrs. Woody and I walked into the audition room we had no idea if Jelly was going to audition or not. I had actually filled out an audition sheet for her on the off chance that she might change her mind. However, she had spent the time waiting for the audition turning various shades of green.
Mrs. Woody went first. I should mention that JoLane Jolley, the music director, is also our director for the Chorale. A sweeter, more gracious lady you could not hope to find. She knows exactly how to make people feel at ease (or as much as is physically possible under such circumstances), and was at the piano herself tonight. Mrs. Woody did a wonderful job, and I am sure will be an anchor in the alto part of the choir. They had me sing because, I think, they're looking into some of the other ancillary parts that require singing in the production and want to know what they have to work with. (Asked if I was willing to grow a beard. Well, yeah, I am, although they get pretty itchy. But Mrs. Woody loves 'em, so there are benefits.)
Then we asked the Woodyettes if they wanted to sing together. Doodle had been watching Mommy and Daddy audition and was having second thoughts about auditioning herself, but only if she could sing with her sister. So, with great trepidation, Jelly and Doodle stood side by side next to Sis. Jolley and sang "I Am a Child of God."
They by no means belted it out (Daddy was hovering over their shoulders encouraging them to sing out, and even Sis. Jolley was trying to help them sing a bit louder), but it was sweet and on key. Mommy and Daddy were absolutely thrilled. As much because they scraped together enough courage to actually audition as by the performance they gave.
We have little doubt that the girls would do well as members of a larger chorus. So long as they aren't required to do anything that would get them noticed in any way, they'll be cool. Mrs. Woody is excited about the prospect of performing in this production. She's been feeling some promptings that I feel certain come from the Spirit, and this will be a good experience for her.
Daddy is thrilled to think that his whole little family might be in this play together.
But most of all, we are so prilled (proud and thrilled, so we don't have to actually say "proud") of our Woodyettes. They both overcame a huge monster that lives in their bellies tonight, and that counts for a lot in this life. My patriarchal blessing tells me that on occasion I need to make myself do things that I know are right, even if my natural inclination is to avoid them. That's what my (not so) little girls did tonight.
What a family!
Then, over time, both girls got to a point where — perhaps not quite willingly — they both will sing. They even move their mouths to show that they have learned the words as well. And each successive year gets a little bit better. (Important note: this year will be Jelly's last ever Primary presentation. Next year she will have become a Beehive and even attended her first ever Girls Camp. Yikes!)
A few months ago we became aware of our Stake's desire to produce the Church's musical presentation called "The Savior of the World." This is the production for which the Stake Presidency asked me to present a series of lessons giving the historical and spiritual background of the events covered by the script. We were also aware that, as a member of the Anaheim Mormon Chorale (which is based in our stake) I was already considered a member of the chorus.
When they announced open auditions for the Angel Choir, Mrs. Woody expressed a desire to participate. There are some logistical challenges to be considered, but Mrs. Woody has a wonderful, sweet alto voice and will be a valuable member of the choir. What surprised us, however, was Jelly's desire to be a part of the show. Over the summer, perhaps as a result of listening to Daddy's lessons, she had begun to ask whether she might be able to participate in the chorus, so long as she didn't have to do any real, you know, acting.
Of course, this sets up a huge paradox. Performing in a production like this requires auditions. Auditions require the candidate to sing, generally alone, in front of several people. Jelly's shyness is such that we knew she would struggle mightily with this concept of auditioning, even for a relatively safe chorus part. However, we also knew that she can sing, in key, and has a wonderful, sweet voice just like her mother. So can the Doodle, but she had already stated her intention to be a member of the audience. She did NOT like the idea of singing, even in a chorus, in front of other people.
Auditions were set for this weekend. There were three slots available on Friday evening, Saturday afternoon, and tonight. In typical Mormon fashion, about 90% of the aspirants waited until tonight to audition. So we decided to go tonight and have Mrs. Woody audition. We also encouraged the girls that, if they wanted to, they could audition as well.
That's when the stomach aches began. Headaches, too. Loss of sleep, even. It got worse yesterday when we actually picked out songs on which to audition. Mrs. Woody went with "Lead, Kindly Light" because it was one of few songs in the hymn book that keep the melody low enough for her alto voice to shine through. Jelly's favorite song is "I Am a Child of God," and we sing it nearly every night as a family as part of our bedtime devotional. When we tried to get her to practice it, however, the lock-jaw set in. So did the headache. Ultimately, as the Woodyettes are wont to do, Doodle offered to sing with Jelly, even though she wasn't intending to audition herself, if it would help Jelly feel braver.
Throughout the day today Jelly vacillated between wanting to audition, and wanting instead to be in a completely different time zone when the auditions happened. Right up until Mrs. Woody and I walked into the audition room we had no idea if Jelly was going to audition or not. I had actually filled out an audition sheet for her on the off chance that she might change her mind. However, she had spent the time waiting for the audition turning various shades of green.
Mrs. Woody went first. I should mention that JoLane Jolley, the music director, is also our director for the Chorale. A sweeter, more gracious lady you could not hope to find. She knows exactly how to make people feel at ease (or as much as is physically possible under such circumstances), and was at the piano herself tonight. Mrs. Woody did a wonderful job, and I am sure will be an anchor in the alto part of the choir. They had me sing because, I think, they're looking into some of the other ancillary parts that require singing in the production and want to know what they have to work with. (Asked if I was willing to grow a beard. Well, yeah, I am, although they get pretty itchy. But Mrs. Woody loves 'em, so there are benefits.)
Then we asked the Woodyettes if they wanted to sing together. Doodle had been watching Mommy and Daddy audition and was having second thoughts about auditioning herself, but only if she could sing with her sister. So, with great trepidation, Jelly and Doodle stood side by side next to Sis. Jolley and sang "I Am a Child of God."
They by no means belted it out (Daddy was hovering over their shoulders encouraging them to sing out, and even Sis. Jolley was trying to help them sing a bit louder), but it was sweet and on key. Mommy and Daddy were absolutely thrilled. As much because they scraped together enough courage to actually audition as by the performance they gave.
We have little doubt that the girls would do well as members of a larger chorus. So long as they aren't required to do anything that would get them noticed in any way, they'll be cool. Mrs. Woody is excited about the prospect of performing in this production. She's been feeling some promptings that I feel certain come from the Spirit, and this will be a good experience for her.
Daddy is thrilled to think that his whole little family might be in this play together.
But most of all, we are so prilled (proud and thrilled, so we don't have to actually say "proud") of our Woodyettes. They both overcame a huge monster that lives in their bellies tonight, and that counts for a lot in this life. My patriarchal blessing tells me that on occasion I need to make myself do things that I know are right, even if my natural inclination is to avoid them. That's what my (not so) little girls did tonight.
What a family!
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Pease Porridge Hot
There are risks involved with being a homeschool Dad. My situation is especially risky since I happen to work from home quite a lot of late. My job is one of those that can literally be called in most days, so I find myself sitting at our dining room table in a sort of mini-cubicle (albeit with a better view) whilst the girls take up the nice, comfy seats on our couches in the living room. But, hey, I'm willing to sacrifice for the sake of their education.
Most of the risks are minimal, really. We occasionally have focus issues whenever I have a telecon while they're trying to read, or do math. One of the girls might not take note of the ear-piece in Daddy's ear when she sits at the piano and tries to practice. "What, Boss? That? Nothing. Just the sound of my blood pressure going up."
However, these risks are small and easily dealt with. Most of the time, Mommy is pretty good about scheduling things around my meetings. That way my noise doesn't conflict with the girls' studies. If I'm not on the phone they can do whatever they please because I do, after all, work in an office that is never quiet.
Along with the risks, however, there are perqs. Primary of which is that I get to be with my family all day. But next on the list, in my estimation, is the food.
Mrs. Woody is big on unit studies. She'll pick a primary topic or period of time to study, then build her curriculum and lesson plans around that topic. Lately the girls have been working through a curriculum called Learning Adventures and they're well into their world history tour right now. They've studied ancient civilizations, and with each culture they've been able to sample some of the cuisine that was typical of the time and place of study. Rome, Greece, Egypt. Each with its own culinary delights and traditions, and many of them sampled in the Woody classroom.
Right now the girls are wrapping up their study of the middle ages. Mrs. Woody decided on a meal of bannock and pease porridge. Bannock is essentially a heavy unleavened bread that uses fat from butter and buttermilk and is perfect for dipping in the porridge. Pease porridge is just an early version of split pea soup, and every bit as tasty. We didn't have ham to use, but we did have a can of corned beef in the cupboard. Quite tasty, I must admit.
One thing about healthy soups: they have a wonderfully cleansing effect, if you catch my drift. It started several nights ago when Mrs. Woody whipped up an Italian soup (similar to minestrone) in the crock pot. Lasted us for three meals. We're on our second meal of the pease porridge today, and will likely have it again tomorrow. Needless to say, I've been spending a lot of time in theloo cleansing room. With all this cleansing action, I should have dropped about 15 pounds this week. Alas, the scale will only give me 2 over which to rejoice.
Progress is progress, I guess.
Anyway, I'm certain Mrs. Woody will expound further on this particular study. It's been a lot of fun, but she's anxious to move on to the Renaissance. Huzzah! More food!
Most of the risks are minimal, really. We occasionally have focus issues whenever I have a telecon while they're trying to read, or do math. One of the girls might not take note of the ear-piece in Daddy's ear when she sits at the piano and tries to practice. "What, Boss? That? Nothing. Just the sound of my blood pressure going up."
However, these risks are small and easily dealt with. Most of the time, Mommy is pretty good about scheduling things around my meetings. That way my noise doesn't conflict with the girls' studies. If I'm not on the phone they can do whatever they please because I do, after all, work in an office that is never quiet.
Along with the risks, however, there are perqs. Primary of which is that I get to be with my family all day. But next on the list, in my estimation, is the food.
Mrs. Woody is big on unit studies. She'll pick a primary topic or period of time to study, then build her curriculum and lesson plans around that topic. Lately the girls have been working through a curriculum called Learning Adventures and they're well into their world history tour right now. They've studied ancient civilizations, and with each culture they've been able to sample some of the cuisine that was typical of the time and place of study. Rome, Greece, Egypt. Each with its own culinary delights and traditions, and many of them sampled in the Woody classroom.
Right now the girls are wrapping up their study of the middle ages. Mrs. Woody decided on a meal of bannock and pease porridge. Bannock is essentially a heavy unleavened bread that uses fat from butter and buttermilk and is perfect for dipping in the porridge. Pease porridge is just an early version of split pea soup, and every bit as tasty. We didn't have ham to use, but we did have a can of corned beef in the cupboard. Quite tasty, I must admit.
One thing about healthy soups: they have a wonderfully cleansing effect, if you catch my drift. It started several nights ago when Mrs. Woody whipped up an Italian soup (similar to minestrone) in the crock pot. Lasted us for three meals. We're on our second meal of the pease porridge today, and will likely have it again tomorrow. Needless to say, I've been spending a lot of time in the
Progress is progress, I guess.
Anyway, I'm certain Mrs. Woody will expound further on this particular study. It's been a lot of fun, but she's anxious to move on to the Renaissance. Huzzah! More food!
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Two Lessons to End Them All
So we have a double-header today. I failed to upload last week's lesson last week (as my sainted mother pointed out), so by way of repentance you get both lessons today.
Lesson 5 begins our discussion of the events immediately subsequent to the resurrection of the Savior. We cover that very busy first Sunday where He appears to several women in the morning, the faithful disciples on the road to Emmaus, and the ten apostles in the Upper Room that evening.
Lesson 5
The last lesson of the series wraps it all up. Lesson 6 picks up where we left off last week and talks about the Savior's 40 day ministry among His followers. We follow them to Galilee where Peter is given his chance both to repent for his denials as well as to accept his great commission as the chief apostle. We also discuss the Savior's ascension at the Mount of Olives and His subsequent appearances to the Americas as well as the lost tribes of Israel.
Lesson 6
You'll hear it in the recording, but I can't overemphasize the tremendous gift we have of being able to study the life of our Redeemer. I truly have gotten to know Him far better than I have before, and I know I can make these opportunities through the remainder of my own life. What a blessing!
Lesson 5 begins our discussion of the events immediately subsequent to the resurrection of the Savior. We cover that very busy first Sunday where He appears to several women in the morning, the faithful disciples on the road to Emmaus, and the ten apostles in the Upper Room that evening.
Lesson 5
The last lesson of the series wraps it all up. Lesson 6 picks up where we left off last week and talks about the Savior's 40 day ministry among His followers. We follow them to Galilee where Peter is given his chance both to repent for his denials as well as to accept his great commission as the chief apostle. We also discuss the Savior's ascension at the Mount of Olives and His subsequent appearances to the Americas as well as the lost tribes of Israel.
Lesson 6
You'll hear it in the recording, but I can't overemphasize the tremendous gift we have of being able to study the life of our Redeemer. I truly have gotten to know Him far better than I have before, and I know I can make these opportunities through the remainder of my own life. What a blessing!
Friday, July 11, 2008
Thoughts and Observations
With two sessions remaining of this assignment I wanted to point out a couple of things that I've really enjoyed.
Firstly, there's been the tremendous personal boost that comes from a concentrated and detailed study of any gospel topic, but particularly when that topic is the Savior Himself. What an opportunity! My always steady, firm testimony has grown exponentially throughout this cycle of study and preparation each week. I believe it's akin to what I've heard seminary teachers experience.
Secondly, there's the class itself. Those who can attend in the middle of the day in the middle of the work week tend to be, obviously, those who have little interference from work schedules. Thus I have a proportionately larger population of retirees in this class. I also have a few folks who are there at least in part because they've already received assignments to work as production staff for putting together the "Savior of the World" performances next year. They're looking to get some of the historical background surrounding the events portrayed in the script.
Mostly, though, these are just wonderful people who have made teaching this class an absolute joy. Mrs. Woody and the Woodyettes are always my biggest supporters and fans, of course. But I also get to interact with some well-experienced testimonies from among these wonderful retirees that I've mentioned.
One fun little "controversy" (for lack of a better description) to tell: these sessions are overseen by a member of the Stake Presidency. The same counselor, I might add, that gave me the assignment in the first place. During our discussion of John the Baptist last week, he asked the question as to which priesthood John received from the angel when he was ordained at 8 days old. He wondered out loud whether it wasn't the Melchizedek Priesthood that John received. I had always supposed that it was in fact the Aaronic, since those were the keys he held and delivered to Joseph Smith at the beginning of the Restoration. So I promised to research it and return to topic in this last lesson.
I had found no firm, definitive statements to the effect that "the angel ordained John to the ____________ Priesthood." No one, it seems, would commit themselves to such a declaration. However, Boyd K. Packer made some statements to the effect that John was, in fact, a Priest in the Aaronic Priesthood during his earthly ministry, and that's what I reported back to the class on Wednesday.
After class — not recorded by my little voice recorder — was a discussion between myself and my lovely Chorale director (who is also the music director for the production). She said that, when discussing this topic of John's priesthood with others (her hubby is also our Stake Patriarch), the statement that Joseph Smith made that "all prophets hold the Melchizedek Priesthood" sprang immediately to mind. We were then joined by our Stake Presidency counselor who basically shrugged his shoulders and admitted that we were really no further along in answering the question than we were before.
The upshot is that everyone accepts the fact that this question is still in play, and no one seems at all upset by this. So next week I will also throw my hands up and shrug that question firmly into the realm of personal study and prayer, which is where all such mysteries rightly belong.
Did I mention I'm having the time of my life?
I hope I'm not coming off as a huge know-it-all in all of this. I'm just excited to share what I've been learning. If you download and listen to the recordings, you may pick up on that. I have a hard time listening to my own voice, really. It has an unusual timbre that always sets my own teeth just a little on edge. But I'd like to think that my enthusiasm for the topic is coming through, and this class has certainly been faithful in their attendance.
Now I just need to figure out what to do with myself when this Institute ends. Go back to Family History, would be my guess. May have to put certain missionaries in Salt Lake to work for me. Assuming their heads haven't exploded yet.
Firstly, there's been the tremendous personal boost that comes from a concentrated and detailed study of any gospel topic, but particularly when that topic is the Savior Himself. What an opportunity! My always steady, firm testimony has grown exponentially throughout this cycle of study and preparation each week. I believe it's akin to what I've heard seminary teachers experience.
Secondly, there's the class itself. Those who can attend in the middle of the day in the middle of the work week tend to be, obviously, those who have little interference from work schedules. Thus I have a proportionately larger population of retirees in this class. I also have a few folks who are there at least in part because they've already received assignments to work as production staff for putting together the "Savior of the World" performances next year. They're looking to get some of the historical background surrounding the events portrayed in the script.
Mostly, though, these are just wonderful people who have made teaching this class an absolute joy. Mrs. Woody and the Woodyettes are always my biggest supporters and fans, of course. But I also get to interact with some well-experienced testimonies from among these wonderful retirees that I've mentioned.
One fun little "controversy" (for lack of a better description) to tell: these sessions are overseen by a member of the Stake Presidency. The same counselor, I might add, that gave me the assignment in the first place. During our discussion of John the Baptist last week, he asked the question as to which priesthood John received from the angel when he was ordained at 8 days old. He wondered out loud whether it wasn't the Melchizedek Priesthood that John received. I had always supposed that it was in fact the Aaronic, since those were the keys he held and delivered to Joseph Smith at the beginning of the Restoration. So I promised to research it and return to topic in this last lesson.
I had found no firm, definitive statements to the effect that "the angel ordained John to the ____________ Priesthood." No one, it seems, would commit themselves to such a declaration. However, Boyd K. Packer made some statements to the effect that John was, in fact, a Priest in the Aaronic Priesthood during his earthly ministry, and that's what I reported back to the class on Wednesday.
After class — not recorded by my little voice recorder — was a discussion between myself and my lovely Chorale director (who is also the music director for the production). She said that, when discussing this topic of John's priesthood with others (her hubby is also our Stake Patriarch), the statement that Joseph Smith made that "all prophets hold the Melchizedek Priesthood" sprang immediately to mind. We were then joined by our Stake Presidency counselor who basically shrugged his shoulders and admitted that we were really no further along in answering the question than we were before.
The upshot is that everyone accepts the fact that this question is still in play, and no one seems at all upset by this. So next week I will also throw my hands up and shrug that question firmly into the realm of personal study and prayer, which is where all such mysteries rightly belong.
Did I mention I'm having the time of my life?
I hope I'm not coming off as a huge know-it-all in all of this. I'm just excited to share what I've been learning. If you download and listen to the recordings, you may pick up on that. I have a hard time listening to my own voice, really. It has an unusual timbre that always sets my own teeth just a little on edge. But I'd like to think that my enthusiasm for the topic is coming through, and this class has certainly been faithful in their attendance.
Now I just need to figure out what to do with myself when this Institute ends. Go back to Family History, would be my guess. May have to put certain missionaries in Salt Lake to work for me. Assuming their heads haven't exploded yet.
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Lesson 4
Sorry it took a couple of days to process. This was my first week back to work after vacation and things always pile up while you're gone. So, what with putting out numerous virtual fires and fighting a bad case of the doldrums (except for Wednesday's Institute class!), I think I'm lucky to be posting this at all.
Good news: the recorder worked for the entire run this time!
That 20 or so minutes I lost from the last lesson gall me... it reminds me strongly of my first missionary journal which was stolen in the highlands of Guatemala when I'd been out about 7 or 8 months. My entire MTC experience and my first two area assignments are gone forever. I did happen to write down quite a bit of what I'd lost, but you just know that there are memories on those pages that are unrecoverable until the hereafter. Phooey. Luckily, my notes for the lesson help compensate for whatever I lost, so it's not quite as traumatic as the journal was.
Anyway, here's the latest:
Lesson 4 (Quicktime, Ma!)
Here we play catchup with material that I didn't get to cover last session (not lost, just ran out of time!), and take a comprehensive look at the Savior's childhood leading up to His ministry. I make the case for why we aren't looking at the ministry itself; this is what we have Sunday School for, yes?
Enjoy!
Good news: the recorder worked for the entire run this time!
That 20 or so minutes I lost from the last lesson gall me... it reminds me strongly of my first missionary journal which was stolen in the highlands of Guatemala when I'd been out about 7 or 8 months. My entire MTC experience and my first two area assignments are gone forever. I did happen to write down quite a bit of what I'd lost, but you just know that there are memories on those pages that are unrecoverable until the hereafter. Phooey. Luckily, my notes for the lesson help compensate for whatever I lost, so it's not quite as traumatic as the journal was.
Anyway, here's the latest:
Lesson 4 (Quicktime, Ma!)
Here we play catchup with material that I didn't get to cover last session (not lost, just ran out of time!), and take a comprehensive look at the Savior's childhood leading up to His ministry. I make the case for why we aren't looking at the ministry itself; this is what we have Sunday School for, yes?
Enjoy!
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Signs of the Times
Two interesting items from church this morning, both of which relate to the family:
Bishop read the latest letter from the First Presidency this morning that dealt with California's struggles to keep marriage defined as being between a man and a woman. Given the overwhelming majority that passed Proposition 22 in 2000, it is an especially grave thing to have a majority of the California Supreme Court reject the voice of the voters in allowing same-sex marriages in this state. The Church is strongly encouraging us — as it always does when the family unit is under attack — to do everything we can to support the new ballot initiative that will make the traditional definition of marriage a constitutional amendment.
In a related discussion, our 5th Sunday lesson in the 3rd hour was a Bishopric discourse on the dangers of texting among our youth today. The visible problem is that the kids are seen to be texting during the passing of the Sacrament, and even during events such as Bishop's firesides. Our Bishop said today that there are few things as frustrating as trying to talk about deeply spiritual topics and having one group of kids laughing at something that someone else had just texted to them from across the room.
But the visible dangers pale in comparison with the more hidden problem: the content of those messages. Texting is a (pardon the seeming contradiction) disconnected form of communication that gives the texter a feeling of anonymous power. This means that kids will do and say outrageous things using their phones (or, of course, their computers) that they might never have done in person. Bishop disclosed that some of the things these kids are doing to each other are downright pornographic in nature, and that the problem is steadily increasing.
I call this a related issue because, as with most social activities, the boundaries that our youth observe should be well established within the family unit long before they get turned loose on their social networks. If a righteous set of parents are working together to set reasonable limits on what kids can and (more importantly) cannot do, it becomes more difficult for those kids to wander outside of those boundaries as they get older.
Notice I do not say "impossible." I'm no fool. My own experiences as a parent remind me that every child has his or her agency and will ultimately do what they decide to do. My job is to help them make the best-informed decisions possible, hopefully before they arrive at a critical junction.
Fortunately, Mrs. Woody and I do not live in a vacuum. We have both come from technophile backgrounds and fully understand the impact of the information age. It was, after all, the power of the internet that brought us back together after a mutual absence of more than fifteen years. We know as well as any expert in the field what dangers exist in this day of instantaneous communication. We have therefore established rules of engagement in this battle that have been in place since before our kids were born, and even in advance of the current craze of texting that kids seem to do 24x7 these days.
Our daughters are being raised to understand the need for privacy in their internet dealings. We have parental controls in place, obviously, but one of our counselors in the bishopric reminded us today that these are not enough. In fact, any tech-savvy teenager can overcome just about any form of parental control given time and privacy. This same counselor is a lawyer by profession and exploded for us one of the greatest myths under which parents seem to operate today. Too many parents, he said, seem to labor under the belief that once they hand their teenager a cell phone their privacy is somehow inviolable. This is nonsense. For as long as those kids live under your roof — and certainly until they reach 18 — you have every right and responsibility to understand what they are involved with. Pick up those phones, he advised, and read those messages. If your service has such an option, make sure you get reports outlining your kids' phone usage, including the content.
I agree with one of my co-workers who refuses to activate texting on his sons' phones. If it's important enough to communicate, he told them, you can take the time to dial the number and talk. Talking is somewhat less private than texting because it's easier for parents to listen. Even if we're only getting one side of a story, it's generally enough to help us know whether this is something that needs our attention before it gets out of hand. With texting it's generally already gotten out of hand before we even become aware of it.
When my Elders Quorum President told me essentially the same thing after the meeting this morning, it basically confirmed what Mrs. Woody and I had already decided. Our daughters will not become text addicts until they're old enough to choose that (and take responsibility for that) themselves.
I know that social "networking" is one of the new trends that everyone says will represent the world in which the next generation lives. I even understand what the benefits may be. But in order to benefit from this trend, controls must be in place in order to keep this new world from devolving into a full-blown anarchy.
So I will be pounding the pavement later this year to support the marriage amendment in California. I want to make sure that traditional families have all the support they need because, based on the discussion above, they're gonna need all the support they can get. This fight is a long way from being resolved. But it is a fight that requires my participation.
This is, after all, what Inner Dads do. They fight for their families.
Bishop read the latest letter from the First Presidency this morning that dealt with California's struggles to keep marriage defined as being between a man and a woman. Given the overwhelming majority that passed Proposition 22 in 2000, it is an especially grave thing to have a majority of the California Supreme Court reject the voice of the voters in allowing same-sex marriages in this state. The Church is strongly encouraging us — as it always does when the family unit is under attack — to do everything we can to support the new ballot initiative that will make the traditional definition of marriage a constitutional amendment.
In a related discussion, our 5th Sunday lesson in the 3rd hour was a Bishopric discourse on the dangers of texting among our youth today. The visible problem is that the kids are seen to be texting during the passing of the Sacrament, and even during events such as Bishop's firesides. Our Bishop said today that there are few things as frustrating as trying to talk about deeply spiritual topics and having one group of kids laughing at something that someone else had just texted to them from across the room.
But the visible dangers pale in comparison with the more hidden problem: the content of those messages. Texting is a (pardon the seeming contradiction) disconnected form of communication that gives the texter a feeling of anonymous power. This means that kids will do and say outrageous things using their phones (or, of course, their computers) that they might never have done in person. Bishop disclosed that some of the things these kids are doing to each other are downright pornographic in nature, and that the problem is steadily increasing.
I call this a related issue because, as with most social activities, the boundaries that our youth observe should be well established within the family unit long before they get turned loose on their social networks. If a righteous set of parents are working together to set reasonable limits on what kids can and (more importantly) cannot do, it becomes more difficult for those kids to wander outside of those boundaries as they get older.
Notice I do not say "impossible." I'm no fool. My own experiences as a parent remind me that every child has his or her agency and will ultimately do what they decide to do. My job is to help them make the best-informed decisions possible, hopefully before they arrive at a critical junction.
Fortunately, Mrs. Woody and I do not live in a vacuum. We have both come from technophile backgrounds and fully understand the impact of the information age. It was, after all, the power of the internet that brought us back together after a mutual absence of more than fifteen years. We know as well as any expert in the field what dangers exist in this day of instantaneous communication. We have therefore established rules of engagement in this battle that have been in place since before our kids were born, and even in advance of the current craze of texting that kids seem to do 24x7 these days.
Our daughters are being raised to understand the need for privacy in their internet dealings. We have parental controls in place, obviously, but one of our counselors in the bishopric reminded us today that these are not enough. In fact, any tech-savvy teenager can overcome just about any form of parental control given time and privacy. This same counselor is a lawyer by profession and exploded for us one of the greatest myths under which parents seem to operate today. Too many parents, he said, seem to labor under the belief that once they hand their teenager a cell phone their privacy is somehow inviolable. This is nonsense. For as long as those kids live under your roof — and certainly until they reach 18 — you have every right and responsibility to understand what they are involved with. Pick up those phones, he advised, and read those messages. If your service has such an option, make sure you get reports outlining your kids' phone usage, including the content.
I agree with one of my co-workers who refuses to activate texting on his sons' phones. If it's important enough to communicate, he told them, you can take the time to dial the number and talk. Talking is somewhat less private than texting because it's easier for parents to listen. Even if we're only getting one side of a story, it's generally enough to help us know whether this is something that needs our attention before it gets out of hand. With texting it's generally already gotten out of hand before we even become aware of it.
When my Elders Quorum President told me essentially the same thing after the meeting this morning, it basically confirmed what Mrs. Woody and I had already decided. Our daughters will not become text addicts until they're old enough to choose that (and take responsibility for that) themselves.
I know that social "networking" is one of the new trends that everyone says will represent the world in which the next generation lives. I even understand what the benefits may be. But in order to benefit from this trend, controls must be in place in order to keep this new world from devolving into a full-blown anarchy.
So I will be pounding the pavement later this year to support the marriage amendment in California. I want to make sure that traditional families have all the support they need because, based on the discussion above, they're gonna need all the support they can get. This fight is a long way from being resolved. But it is a fight that requires my participation.
This is, after all, what Inner Dads do. They fight for their families.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Lesson 3
Oh, boy, this is embarrasing. The recorder stopped for some reason with about 20-25 minutes of lesson to go. Fortunately it saved the first 42 minutes, so I'm grateful for that. For those of you who happen to be my mother, I'll send my notes along under separate cover.
This lesson attempts to discuss the events of the births of John the Baptist and the Savior, including those which occurred in ancient America. Next lesson (July 9) will cover the period between Act I and Act II of "Savior of the World," which includes the Savior's childhood and his ministry leading up to the Garden Tomb.
Lesson 3 (Don't forget: QuickTime!)
This lesson attempts to discuss the events of the births of John the Baptist and the Savior, including those which occurred in ancient America. Next lesson (July 9) will cover the period between Act I and Act II of "Savior of the World," which includes the Savior's childhood and his ministry leading up to the Garden Tomb.
Lesson 3 (Don't forget: QuickTime!)
Saturday, June 21, 2008
Lesson 2
This lesson moves into the historical backdrop in the 600 years immediately preceding the Savior's birth, including the annunciations of the angel Gabriel. Mini history lesson for the first half, then a discussion of why the Jews seemed to be so confused with the scriptures that foretold the coming of the Messiah.
Lesson 2
Lesson 2
Friday, June 13, 2008
Lesson 1
This past Wednesday we had our first Summer Institute session and I'm pleased with the result. For those who happen to be related to me and may therefore find this of some interest, I recorded the session. Unfortunately I move around a lot when teaching, so I'm not always at the best position to be picked up by the mic. You may need good volume control when listening.
The lesson ran just a hair over one hour. When you click on the link below, you'll be taken to a file sharing service (no worries... this stuff is most definitely not copyrighted!), and you'll have to scroll down to see the download button. It's about 25MB, and will require either iTunes or QuickTime to listen ( or anything that supports MPEG 4 or M4A format).
Lesson 1
The lesson ran just a hair over one hour. When you click on the link below, you'll be taken to a file sharing service (no worries... this stuff is most definitely not copyrighted!), and you'll have to scroll down to see the download button. It's about 25MB, and will require either iTunes or QuickTime to listen ( or anything that supports MPEG 4 or M4A format).
Lesson 1
Tuesday, June 03, 2008
Family Home Evening - Doodle Style
Mrs. Woody documented Jelly's first official Family Home Evening that she planned and executed all by herself a couple of weeks ago. Tonight was Doodle's turn.
Not unreasonably, she used the same sort of template that Jelly had created when planning her lesson. She created a basic agenda which included the songs, prayers, and a brief outline of the activities we would have. She taped this agenda on our entertainment center so we could follow along. (The girls are big proponents of "following along." They have a pathological need to read the cover of whatever DVD or video we happen to be watching, no matter how many times they've seen the silly movie! They can't stand it when Mommy and Daddy have "adult" conversations and they happen to miss a phrase or two because they have to ask us repeatedly what it was we were talking about while we repeatedly remind them - gently of course - that it's none of their business.)
Doodle got a bit of guidance from Mommy when planning her actual lesson, of course. Repentance is one of those topics that can only improve with age, and the first time out takes a bit of learning on the part of the teacher. Particularly when it comes to finding just the right object lesson. These are miniature females, I remind you, and they will all too soon be part of the doily-and-crocheted-table-cloth set in just a few short years.
Daddy got assigned to read a story from the Friend; something about muddy rain boots. The girls are not only avid readers themselves, but they love to hear stories. Doesn't matter whether you're reading to them, or making one up out of whole cloth, the girls love 'em all. Jelly has also reached that age where she peppers Mommy and Daddy both with questions about their pasts: "Daaaaaddy, when you were little did you...?" And of course this prompts another story where I have to admit that I did, which seems to give her no small relief. Whew! Daddy did that when he was younger! I'm not so bad after all!
(You may ask what, precisely, it was that Daddy did when he was little. It's none of your darned business, is what.)
(I seem to say that an awful lot these days, don't I?)
The object lesson (Jelly did the treasure hunt last time) involved Doodle's "Kerplunk" game. She couldn't find the actual Kerplunk marbles, of course, prompting Mrs. Woody to ask whether some repentance was in order. But we made do with some of those decorative — and decidedly UNround — marbles that people (who are not guys) generally put in glass jars. They don't roll well, but that wasn't the point of the object lesson. The point of the lesson was that the marbles represented the yucky feelings we have whenever we do something bad, and the sticks represented the process of repentance that help us to release those yucky feelings. Boy, when you get more than just a little trickle of bad feelings come crashing down into the tray, you're feeling pretty excited, I must say. In fact, when I got my first deluge of bad feelings, I began to wonder just how much repentance I might personally require, since I was apparently oblivious to those feelings in the first place.
The neatest part is when they get it. As Mrs. Woody and I listened to the banter after closing prayer as they shuffled off to put things away and play for awhile, we realized that they were using points they'd learned in the lesson whilst chattering with one another. It's similar to what happens when they read the scriptures (Mrs. Woody has them do this for 15 minutes every school day) and they begin to ask questions specifically related to whatever they happen to be reading at the time. And they're not just "what does 'iniquity' mean?" types of questions, either. Just this evening, for example, Jelly asked the question about whether heaven really exists. "After all," she said, "it all seems too wonderful to be real." It was one of those neat opportunities to bear your testimony to your child about the fact that, yes, heaven truly exists and it's just as wonderful as you can possibly imagine. That was all she needed to hear. Tomorrow she'll be back to reading about the Anti-Nephi-Lehies and smirking about the fact that she's farther along in the Book of Mormon than Daddy is right now. (Quite a bit farther, actually... I'm just starting Mosiah!)
So, good job tonight, Doodle! We all had a wonderful time in our Family Home Evening. Looking forward to next week!
Not unreasonably, she used the same sort of template that Jelly had created when planning her lesson. She created a basic agenda which included the songs, prayers, and a brief outline of the activities we would have. She taped this agenda on our entertainment center so we could follow along. (The girls are big proponents of "following along." They have a pathological need to read the cover of whatever DVD or video we happen to be watching, no matter how many times they've seen the silly movie! They can't stand it when Mommy and Daddy have "adult" conversations and they happen to miss a phrase or two because they have to ask us repeatedly what it was we were talking about while we repeatedly remind them - gently of course - that it's none of their business.)
Doodle got a bit of guidance from Mommy when planning her actual lesson, of course. Repentance is one of those topics that can only improve with age, and the first time out takes a bit of learning on the part of the teacher. Particularly when it comes to finding just the right object lesson. These are miniature females, I remind you, and they will all too soon be part of the doily-and-crocheted-table-cloth set in just a few short years.
Daddy got assigned to read a story from the Friend; something about muddy rain boots. The girls are not only avid readers themselves, but they love to hear stories. Doesn't matter whether you're reading to them, or making one up out of whole cloth, the girls love 'em all. Jelly has also reached that age where she peppers Mommy and Daddy both with questions about their pasts: "Daaaaaddy, when you were little did you...?" And of course this prompts another story where I have to admit that I did, which seems to give her no small relief. Whew! Daddy did that when he was younger! I'm not so bad after all!
(You may ask what, precisely, it was that Daddy did when he was little. It's none of your darned business, is what.)
(I seem to say that an awful lot these days, don't I?)
The object lesson (Jelly did the treasure hunt last time) involved Doodle's "Kerplunk" game. She couldn't find the actual Kerplunk marbles, of course, prompting Mrs. Woody to ask whether some repentance was in order. But we made do with some of those decorative — and decidedly UNround — marbles that people (who are not guys) generally put in glass jars. They don't roll well, but that wasn't the point of the object lesson. The point of the lesson was that the marbles represented the yucky feelings we have whenever we do something bad, and the sticks represented the process of repentance that help us to release those yucky feelings. Boy, when you get more than just a little trickle of bad feelings come crashing down into the tray, you're feeling pretty excited, I must say. In fact, when I got my first deluge of bad feelings, I began to wonder just how much repentance I might personally require, since I was apparently oblivious to those feelings in the first place.
The neatest part is when they get it. As Mrs. Woody and I listened to the banter after closing prayer as they shuffled off to put things away and play for awhile, we realized that they were using points they'd learned in the lesson whilst chattering with one another. It's similar to what happens when they read the scriptures (Mrs. Woody has them do this for 15 minutes every school day) and they begin to ask questions specifically related to whatever they happen to be reading at the time. And they're not just "what does 'iniquity' mean?" types of questions, either. Just this evening, for example, Jelly asked the question about whether heaven really exists. "After all," she said, "it all seems too wonderful to be real." It was one of those neat opportunities to bear your testimony to your child about the fact that, yes, heaven truly exists and it's just as wonderful as you can possibly imagine. That was all she needed to hear. Tomorrow she'll be back to reading about the Anti-Nephi-Lehies and smirking about the fact that she's farther along in the Book of Mormon than Daddy is right now. (Quite a bit farther, actually... I'm just starting Mosiah!)
So, good job tonight, Doodle! We all had a wonderful time in our Family Home Evening. Looking forward to next week!
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Moms and Missions
Two significant events transpired in the last week. My mother became both a missionary and a blogger.
Mom and Official Woody Step-Dad® ZeeMeister report for their one year mission in the Family History Center on June 5. They've been looking forward to this for months now, or years if you follow their own history. Practically since they were courting they've been discussing missions (note: plural) and have already served a local service mission in their home stake in Texas. Now they're actually "going" on a mission (I guess they've grown a foot or two), and were officially set apart last weekend.
I know Mom is particularly excited about family history work, so this is a perfect mission call for her. We are also excited about this; but I have to be fair and realize that missions require serving others, and having her up there doing research on our own family lines just doesn't seem cricket. I suppose I could always go to Salt Lake and feign ignorance of the Church just so I could get her to surreptitiously look up old Uncle So-and-So, but they'd find her out. They always do. My own mission president had eyes everywhere in a country where communication required extensive knowledge of local telegraph offices. (You may think I'm kidding. You would be incorrect.) Anyway, he always found out when we weren't toeing the line, and I suspect it had to do with a much higher form of communication. So I don't think I'll be tempting that hotline with any non-member performances over the next year.
The blogging aspect of my mother's life is a hoot. I'm not saying that Mom has been in any way a late adopter. Reluctant, perhaps. Recalcitrant, even. But not late. Still, blogging requires a bit more confidence in navigating one's way through the bowels of the internet, getting lost in the occasional backwater or even swamping the boat with a crocodile or two in the water. I suspect that's been Mom's perspective, at any rate. Now, as she puts it, she ARE one. Her writing is wonderful. I wish I'd gotten just a bit more of that talent for myself, dagnabbit. Check her (and perhaps even Bob's on occasion) posting efforts at Bro. and Sis. Zornes on a Mission.
I'm so prilled* for my Mom.
* "Prilled" is a coined word that one of our ward members uses to indicate the sort of pride that it's probably alright for good Latter-day Saints to have without actually being, you know, prideful, which is a heinous crime. At least according to President Benson. "Prilled" seems like a workable compromise between "pleased" and "thrilled," which are used almost interchangeably when talking about our loved ones anyway. That's about as close to "proud" as we allow ourselves to get these days. Just so you know.
P.S. A hat tip goes to Baby Sis Amy who actually presented the blog all set up and ready for posting to Mom and Bob before they left. Where DOES she get those funky templates?
Mom and Official Woody Step-Dad® ZeeMeister report for their one year mission in the Family History Center on June 5. They've been looking forward to this for months now, or years if you follow their own history. Practically since they were courting they've been discussing missions (note: plural) and have already served a local service mission in their home stake in Texas. Now they're actually "going" on a mission (I guess they've grown a foot or two), and were officially set apart last weekend.
I know Mom is particularly excited about family history work, so this is a perfect mission call for her. We are also excited about this; but I have to be fair and realize that missions require serving others, and having her up there doing research on our own family lines just doesn't seem cricket. I suppose I could always go to Salt Lake and feign ignorance of the Church just so I could get her to surreptitiously look up old Uncle So-and-So, but they'd find her out. They always do. My own mission president had eyes everywhere in a country where communication required extensive knowledge of local telegraph offices. (You may think I'm kidding. You would be incorrect.) Anyway, he always found out when we weren't toeing the line, and I suspect it had to do with a much higher form of communication. So I don't think I'll be tempting that hotline with any non-member performances over the next year.
The blogging aspect of my mother's life is a hoot. I'm not saying that Mom has been in any way a late adopter. Reluctant, perhaps. Recalcitrant, even. But not late. Still, blogging requires a bit more confidence in navigating one's way through the bowels of the internet, getting lost in the occasional backwater or even swamping the boat with a crocodile or two in the water. I suspect that's been Mom's perspective, at any rate. Now, as she puts it, she ARE one. Her writing is wonderful. I wish I'd gotten just a bit more of that talent for myself, dagnabbit. Check her (and perhaps even Bob's on occasion) posting efforts at Bro. and Sis. Zornes on a Mission.
I'm so prilled* for my Mom.
* "Prilled" is a coined word that one of our ward members uses to indicate the sort of pride that it's probably alright for good Latter-day Saints to have without actually being, you know, prideful, which is a heinous crime. At least according to President Benson. "Prilled" seems like a workable compromise between "pleased" and "thrilled," which are used almost interchangeably when talking about our loved ones anyway. That's about as close to "proud" as we allow ourselves to get these days. Just so you know.
P.S. A hat tip goes to Baby Sis Amy who actually presented the blog all set up and ready for posting to Mom and Bob before they left. Where DOES she get those funky templates?
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