Monthly Archives: May 2018

Both Ways

Both Ways

You can’t have it both ways, as the old saying goes.  Yesterday I wrote about priestcraft.  Well, that link came up again.

Here’s the deal…

There are two apostate groups in the church that are diametrically opposed.  One says bishops ask too many sexual probing questions of youth, which in turn drives youth towards sexually acting out.  The other group says bishops don’t ask enough questions which leaves pornography addictions uncovered.

Why people leave the church over this stuff is beyond me.  The one group claims bishop’s go overboard.  While I’ve only had this experience with one bishop, it is my understanding bishop’s are supposed to stick to the recommend questions.  The other group wants bishops to ask detailed questions — especially about things viewed in pornography  — to determine if a person has a pornography addiction.  While the first group is probably right — bishops should not go in to details about ways a person can commit a sexual sin.  The other group is probably wrong.  You can’t have it both ways, and neither is a reason to leave the church.

Word of Wisdom

The same is true about the Word of Wisdom.  The bishop whom I felt went overboard would go in to long drawn out questioning about the Word of Wisdom.  Much of it was his asserting his own doctrine.

So, applying the arguments of these two opposing groups, should bishops go in to details like these?

Do you drink energy drinks that contain tea or coffee?
Have you ever eaten mocha ice cream?
Have you ever used alcoholic beverages in cooking?
Do you only eat meat sparingly during the summer?

I think you’d agree that it’s a little overboard.  It’s simple.  The question to be asked is, “Do you live the Word of Wisdom?”

I think beyond that it is up to the individual to ask for clarification  if they don’t understand, or confess if they do understand.  By the time one makes it to the temple recommend interview, they’ve been around long enough in the church to understand what each of the recommend questions mean.  When it comes to 12-18 year old children, their parents should prepare them for the questions.


The 14 or 15 questions asked are more than adequate — either way.

I’ve asked myself, “What would I do if I were asked a question that I felt was entirely inappropriate?”

I think I’ll ponder and pray about it.  When I have my answer, I can’t promise I’ll share it.  That’s something you’ll have to ponder and pray about too.




More Energy

More Energy

I have more energy today.  I’ve been paying closer attention to what I had for breakfast, lunch and dinner as well as how much water I’m drinking.  In addition, I picked up a B12 supplement.


A couple of months ago I wrote about priestcraft.  Well, I saw a well meaning member of the church post a link to a website with an article.  The article had a few disturbing comments and so I thought I’d look at the site in its totality.

The purpose of the site, without going in to specifics, is to “train” and “correct” LDS leaders.

Hmmm… The Quorum of the Twelve, the Seventy, and area and local authorities must not be doing their job according to this website.  When a website/organization says they exist to educate church leaders, and it isn’t sanctioned by the First Presidency, then I have to question their “inspiration”.

The site reads like a corporate website.  They ask for financial donations and they have corporate officers.  They have set themselves up to be popular and get gain.  That’s priestcraft my friends.

I don’t care what the cause is.  You may feel it is for a great cause, if it circumvents the Lord’s established Priesthood authority, then no matter how good the cause, there’s evil lurking.


Extreme Fatigue

Extreme Fatigue

I have never felt extreme fatigue like I have today.  I woke up sleepy, and spent the entire day feeling like I was about to fall asleep.  This is the strangest feeling I’ve ever experienced.

Taking a walk didn’t help.  In fact, it made me feel more sleepy.  Dinner didn’t help either; it didn’t have an impact either way.

Let’s hope tomorrow I don’t feel like this.

More History

The house on Teal was my parent’s first home.  Prior to buying the house, we lived in rentals.  My little brother never knew what it was like living in a rented house.  In a few cases, they were houses with tenants upstairs and downstairs.

Trouble on Teal

I’ve mentioned a couple of times I got in to trouble when we lived on Teal.  There was the flooding of the farmer’s fields.  Setting the shed on fire (even though that happened near Grandma’s house, it was during the time period we lived on Teal.)

While they were building the homes nearby, I decided to play Superman and dive through the insulation.  I didn’t know how stupid that was, but I must have torn out the insulation of at least 5 or 6 framed homes.

Another time I had Karen and Lisa sit in the front scoop of a tractor with a payloader scoop.  Back then, they left the keys in these things.  I managed to get them off the ground.  I was probably 5 or 6.

I’d also wire up “electric” fences and connect the wires to the fuse box and then throw the switch.  Sparks were all I got.

The Tree House

I found some boys playing in the barley field the last summer we lived in Pocatello.  They were building a treehouse and invited me to join them.  It was at the far end of the field near the Yellowstone Highway.  (Later, that would have been the entrance to a K-Mart parking lot.)

They were a few years older, but I learned how to get a 4×8 sheet of plywood  25 feet off the ground and secured as a floor in a tree house.  It was awesome.  To this day, I can’t believe we pulled it off.  We were 3 stories off the ground and looking across the highway into the 3rd story windows of the Naval Weapons Plant.

They also taught me how to drive a nail without bending it.  It took a lot of practice, but they were patient with me… as long as I brought them lots of nails… which I would scrounge (actually steal come to think of it) from the local housing construction.

The Big Move

When Mom and Dad announced we were moving to Moscow, I was quite excited.  To me it meant friends.  I really didn’t have many in Pocatello.  Many of the kids (boys) near us had farm chores and weren’t outside playing.  I fantasized about meeting new friends.

We had visited Moscow once before.  We stayed in a strip motel next to the railroad tracks and the freight trains kept us awake most of the night.  Dad said our new apartment was on the bluff above where the motel used to be.  He said they tore it down that winter and built a Chevrolet dealership there.  Gubb Mix Chevrolet.

Mom and dad were also going to be the apartment managers in this 40-unit, 2 building complex.  To a 10 year old, that sounded pretty cool.  “Apartment Manager”, just had a sound of prestige.

This also meant we were going to live very close to Jeff and John – our cousins from Mom’s sister Shirley.  They lived in Pullman where Uncle Dick was a professor and audiologist.    Jeff was a couple years younger than me, and John was a little younger than Mark.  They would become our best friends during the year we lived in Moscow.

Riced Potatoes

Riced Potatoes

I like my potatoes riced.  Riced potatoes involves pushing it through a grid.  It comes out looking like rice.

The first time I had them was in Sweden.  While it’s just a texture thing, I sure like them better than mashed or baked.  So, as you may have guessed, I made riced potatoes to go along with our salmon today.

History Continued

The Thunderbird Drive-In provided much entertainment.  We didn’t have VCRs or DVDs in those days.  If you wanted to see a movie, you went to the theatre or the drive-in.  In our case, the drive-in was across Quinn Road.

I’d go out into the barley field with my dad’s binoculars and watch the cartoons.  I couldn’t hear them, and often wished I could somehow pipe the sound over to the field.

As a family, we’d go to the drive-in every so often.  There was a playground there and I would spend my time at the playground until the ads started.

Dinners at Grandma’s

Sunday dinners were often at grandma’s.  Most of the time it was pork or beef roast.  While grandpa had his background in butchering, the roasts were usually well done.  It wasn’t until later that I discovered a medium cooked roast was much more tasty… and tender.

They had a garden and snap peas, rhubarb, apricots, gooseberries, chokecherries, carrots and onions were the main crops I remember.  Grandpa loved his apricot tree and it grew HUGE apricots.

Most of the fruit ended up as preserves.  Grandma was the best jam and jelly maker ever.  She was also an excellent bread maker and the combination of her bread with her homemade jams and jellies was superb.


I didn’t have many friends out where we lived.  There were two girls who lived next door — Karen and Lisa, but no boys in the area.  That’s probably another reason I liked going to Grandma’s.  There were a couple of boys in the neighborhood that were my age.

Even then, it was hit-n-miss at Grandma’s.  When I couldn’t find a boy may age to play with, I was of on an adventure.

Once, I was at the park and a bus pulled up.  I got on the bus and spent a day with a bunch of older kids at a park near the mountains.  When I came home that night, I was greeted by some very upset grandparents and my mom.  At the time, I didn’t see what the big deal was, but as an adult, I can see where that would have been one scary day for them.

History Continued

History Continued

My history continued from yesterday…

Here are some other notable things that happened when we lived on Teal Avenue.    We lived on Teal from 1961 to 1966.  We moved the summer of 1966 to Moscow, but I’ll get in to that later.

The Honda 50

My dad bought a Honda 50.  It was a scooter – kind of like a stripped down Vespa.  It wasn’t meant for off road, but he’d take it off road anyway.

One day we were riding up by Highlands and he got a flat and we went down.  (I was riding on the back.)  I split the back of my head open on a rock.

We ended up walking most of the way home when a policeman spotted us.  He wanted to take me to the hospital, but dad said no and I wasn’t hurt that bad.

The policeman gave me a ride home and told mom I needed stitches.  By the time dad got there, the handkerchief the policeman gave me was soaked with blood.  He managed to convince my dad I need to go to the ER.

8 stitches says the policeman was right.

I didn’t like riding on that thing ever after that, and I still don’t like riding as a passenger on a motorcycle.  If I’m driving it, I’m okay.

The Basement

My room was in the basement.  Everyone else slept upstairs.  We had central heating which meant the ducts were overhead and I quickly learned I could hear things being said.

While I thought this a blessing, it was also a curse.  I heard things said no child should ever hear.  While I thought it was cool to eavesdrop around Christmas time, I also could hear every argument and disagreement.

Points of Contention

There were two big points of contention between my parents.  Number 1 was what little attention my dad paid to my mom and our family.  I quickly learned that mom knew that dad spent a lot of time “talking” to the home ec teacher when he was at school on the evenings and weekends.  While I have no idea if it was anything more than his just spending time talking to this woman, it still hurt my mom.

Number 2 was the way my dad treated me.  The one that stands out the most was a Sunday.  We had gone to stake conference, and I was given a new white shirt to wear.  Upon arriving home after church I proceeded to get out some finger paints I had been given.  My dad, seeing my white shirt with green paint proceeded to beat the daylights out of me.  As a result, I was scared, hurt and withdrew to my basement room.

I was afraid to leave my room the entire afternoon.  That night, my mom pleaded with my dad to go apologize to me.  She knew the beating was over the top for what I had done (oh, and the paint washed out, by the way).  She asked him repeatedly to go downstairs, apologize, and tell me that he loves me.

I buried my face so deep in my pillow (for I was afraid to let me dad hear me cry) and sobbed long after the arguing stopped.  Cheering for what my mom was saying, for she truly was trying to champion a cause for me, I remember thinking, “Yes, come down and tell me you’re sorry.”   It never happened.

That wasn’t the first time, nor was it the last time.  It just sticks out more than most times.


School at Hawthorne Elementary was okay.  The walk seemed like it was for miles.  Occasionally, Mrs. Hansen would take pity on me and give me a ride if it was extremely cold.  However, most days I’d walk.  And, I never got a ride home.

If I knew my mom wasn’t going to be home when I got home (which was rare), I’d explore an old abandoned house along the way.  Other kids said it was haunted, but I didn’t believe in that.  I just wanted to find out if some hobo lived there.

I never saw anything there.  Not even an old hobo.

The big thing I liked about school was playing marbles.  I sucked at it, but I’d still spend my money on bags of marbles only to go to school to lose them to some kid who was really good.  (Mrs. Hansen would occasionally bring me some marbles.  Like I said, she scared me, but looking back, she was quite nice to me.)

The south side of the building was for playing marbles, while the steps on the west side were for playing jacks.  Boys didn’t play jacks, and very few girls played marbles.  It was a natural segregation between the boys and the girls.

Cub Scouts

I got involved in Cub Scouts through church.  It was fun.  I especially liked the crafts we would do.  I made a pelican tie rack for my dad for Father’s Day, only to rescue it from the trash.   Mom told me I shouldn’t let him see that I dug it out of the trash.  I still have it.

Workers, Farmers and Fields

New houses were going up all around us.  I was a royal pain to the workers.  In an attempt to get rid of me, they would send me home for ice water.  I played the game, but when I returned with the ice water I wanted a dime.

They then tried to hang me by my feet over a pit.  They then pretended to leave.  The came back and got me down and told me to get lost.  After that, I was a little more cautious and would wait until they left for the day.

I then discovered a new game.  These sheet metal plates on the ditches were fun to lift and watch the water flood the field.  The local farmer wasn’t very happy with me that night.  It was summer, and I was just thankful my mom handled the conversation with the farmer, and not my dad.  (He was up north going to school.)

One summer when they burnt off the barley field, a bunch of grasshoppers got roasted.  They were all over the place.  I tasted one, and it hand a nutty flavor.  There I sat, eating one after another.

The neighbor, arriving home from work, didn’t think I should be eating them.  He gave me a handful of sesame candy and requested I eat it instead.  For get that… I ate both.

… to be continued…

Oral Histories

Oral Histories

Oral histories can often be incorrect.  I recall my dad saying we were descendants from George Walton, one of the signers of the Declaration of Independence.  Wrong.  Genealogy research has proven that one not only false, but impossible.

A cousin called last night, and during our conversation I asked if he knew how his grandparents met.  I was very curious because of the oral histories I’ve been told and I was trying to fit the pieces together.

It turns out some of the stuff I had been told was not true.

If you’re an empty nester, one of the best things you can do for your posterity is to write your history.  Oral histories will change over time and get distorted, so write it down.

My Blog

My blog is one of the ways I hope my posterity will learn about me.  I’m sure there will be things I miss along the way, but at least there will be no disputations about things I am clear about in my blog.

That Got Me Thinking

That got me thinking about what I want my posterity to know.  So, why procrastinate?

Early History

My earliest memories were of living near the university in Pocatello, Idaho.  Our neighbors were the Bowsers and they had a son named Ricky.  While I thought of Ricky as my best friend, he was pretty mean to me.  At least on two occasions, Ricky bloodied my nose.  He said it was part of being in Kinder Guarding (as he called it).

Ricky had a baby brother named Mark.  I wanted a baby brother named Mark.  Ricky was really good at throwing a ball.  I worked hard to learn how to throw a ball.  It seemed it was all about keeping up with Ricky.

During that time, it seemed I only saw my dad on occasions.  I knew he worked for Consolidated Freightways, he had been in the Air Force, and went to college.  Aside from that, it seems I’d see him infrequently.  My mom worked, and so I spent most of my days at my grandparents’ house on South Johnson.

At Grandma’s

At grandma’s I had a friend a few doors down.  I can’t remember his name, but I remember he looked like a child version of Oliver Hardy.  Across the street were the “twins”.  Grandma watched them too.  One of them played trumpet and that’s what got me interested in playing trumpet.

Grandma and Grandpa gave me lots of freedom.  I explored the hills near their home, visited the parks in the area, the river and the corner store we called “Del Monte’s”.  (We called it that because of a large Del Monte logo painted on the side of the building.)  I was free to roam wherever I wanted as long as I told Grandma where I was going.

My favorite thing was to go looking for loose changes on the sidewalks.  A penny would actually buy some candy at Del Monte’s.

Back Home

When we lived in town, I didn’t have much freedom back home.  It was the Bowser’s house our our house.  I wasn’t allowed to wonder any further.

A beatnik lived downstairs.  His name was something like Hodge Podge.  I would visit him when he was home and he’d let me pound on his bongo drums.

When dad was home, they’d have other grown-ups over to play board games.  I’d have to stay in my room.  I learned that ‘children were to be seen, and not heard.’  In the case of game night, it was ‘children were to be invisible.’

The Move

Mom got pregnant and we moved in to a new house around the same time.  There was a lot of change going on.  They sold the MG, bought a 1953 Chevy DeLux and an old station wagon, and mom was sick all of the time.

In the new house the two upstairs bedrooms were my parent’s and the baby’s.  My basement was in the basement under the baby’s nursery.  In some ways, I liked having a room in the basement.  It was an escape.  In other ways, I hated it.  It was lonely.

The Fall

It was just me and mom at home.  She was taking the laundry to the basement when she stumbled and fell the full flight of stairs.  She was about 7 or 8 months pregnant.  I was never so scared in my life.  Mom was crying because she was afraid she was going to lose the baby, and I was crying afraid I was going to lose my mom.

Home More

My brother was born, and in spite of my parent’s hopes for a girl, whom they planned to name Stephanie, it was a boy.  And, my lobbying paid off.  They named him Mark, just like Ricky’s little brother.

The new house kept dad home more.  When he was home, he was mostly working on the house.  Otherwise, he’d head off to the school where he taught.  (He was a teacher at Highlands High School when it first opened, and worked the year prior to its opening on helping get it ready.)

In the mornings, dad would be gone before I got up.  Mom would kiss me and Mark goodbye and leave us in the hands of Mrs. Hansen.  She was an old lady who smelled of coffee and cigarettes.  While she never did anything to me, she always scared me.  She wasn’t a pleasant lady.  She’d feed me breakfast, and send me out the door to school.

Because my mom taught at my school, I wouldn’t see her at school.  She got home before I did, and so I’d walk home from school where she was always there after school tending to Mark.


Summers would come, and dad would take off to Moscow, Idaho, where he was working on his PhD in entomology.   During the sumers Mark and I spent about 80% of our time at Grandma’s.  Actually, I probably spent more like 90-95% of the time there.  I recall many times when mom would take Mark and go home, and I’d stay with Grandma and Grandpa.

And, prior to my starting school, I spent about 90-95% of my time at my grandparents’ house.  To me, it was a safe place where I loved to be.

Once summer, before Mark was born, I was sneaking matches out of the house and trying to lite them.  My dad’s dad, my Grandpa Walton, came to Pocatello once.  My dad took me to meet him, and they got in an argument.  While they argued, my grandpa’s gambling buddy taught me how to lite a paper match.  This led to me “practicing” and catching a shed on fire.

I thought I was going to jail for sure.  The police gave me a good talking, but my biggest fear was when dad came home from Moscow, Idaho, that I was going to get beat to a bloody pulp.

Church in Pocatello

Weekends at Grandma’s house meant going to church with her in the Pocatello 1st Ward.  It was full of people with white (and blue) hair.  They all knew my grandparents.  There weren’t many children in their ward.

When we lived near the university, we attended church in the new Institute Building.  I only remember going to church a couple of times there.  It was always stake conference.  I don’t ever remember attending primary there, or at grandma’s.

Living on Teal Avenue, we attended church down the road on the corner of Hawthorne Road and Quinn Road.  I remember going to Primary there.  Mom was called as the Primary chorister.  The things I remember about that time were these three incidents…

  • Trying to figure out with the rest of the boys how to get up to the widows walk around the top of the steeple.   It was a place I wanted to go.  As a result, we would open doors and look for passageways that might lead us to the top.
  • Getting caught in the middle of a snowball fight and getting hit by a rock packed in a snowball.  I went running in to the primary room crying.  My mom about passed out when she saw me heading towards her with a bloody face.
  • Deciding to fake being sick and having one of the girls at church bring me homemade chocolate chip cookies because she heard I was sick.  Wow, did I feel guilty.  I never faked sick after that, and I have always cherished the thought of this girl’s act of kindness and concern.

Visits to Highlands

I think mom was overwhelmed working and taking care of two boys.  So, on weekends, she started to insist dad take me to school with him.  (While there wasn’t school on weekends, my dad spent most of his weekends at the school “prepping” for the upcoming week.)

While there I’d play with the big bull snake, the lab rats, look through microscopes, and books.  Dad was usually down the hall talking to a particular home ec teacher, or in the teacher’s lounge talking to a fellow teacher.

I recall one day wrapping the bull snake around my neck, and going off to search for my dad.  When I found him in the home ec room, the lady teacher about screamed when she saw the snake around my neck.

Learning to Ride

Dad bought me an oversized girl’s bike.  His thinking was it would be easier for me to learn and I could grow in to it because it didn’t have a top-tube.

I hated that bike.

I learned to ride it, but not after a serious accident where I seriously injured myself.

After that, I was very insistent I get a new BOYS bike.  I was told if I could buy it, I could have it.  I started saving my money.

The bike was $42.  I remember that.  About the time I had earned $21 my dad broke down and took me to get the bike.  I was in tears.  I cried that I didn’t have the money and I wasn’t in the mood to look at the bike of my dreams when I got there because I knew I didn’t have the full amount.  It was a Schwinn Typhoon in Flamboyant Red with 26″ wheels.

It wasn’t until after going through all that agony my dad told me he was going to pay half the amount.  I was so happy I told my parent I was going to ride my bike home.  My mom wasn’t having anything to do with my riding my bike home along US Highway 30.  Finally, they agreed but they were going to follow me in the car.

I made it home without any problems.  From then on, it was me and my bike.

Enough for Today

Well, that’s enough for today.

Over Doing It

Over Doing It

Over doing it becomes easier as you get older.  When I was young, I’d know I over did it when the next  morning I woke with achy muscles.  While that happens still, it’s more likely that by the end of the day I am just completely exhausted.

The first task of the day was to mow the lawn.  It’s not an easy or quick chore.  It occupies the better half of a day.  Add weed whacking to the list and you’re talking about a LOT of work.

Real Deals

I probably should have called it a day after mowing the lawn, but Elizabethe suggested we go to Real Deals and get more pecan turtles.  At $1 a box ($6.50 a box on Amazon) they are a steal.

We drove to Real Deals in Lyons and purchased 36 boxes.  We then drove to Real Deals in Seneca Falls to see what else they might have that’s a steal.


Going to Sauder’s put me over the top.  When we got home I was so beat.  Talk about over doing it.  I really should have called it quit after the first Real Deals.

Print Competition

International Print Competition entries opens in just a few days.  Once I get my entries submitted that will be a load off my mind and I can concentrate on other, less pressing projects.

I need 3 painting merits, and only 2 photographic merits to earn two master’s degrees – one in art and one in painting.  It would have been way easier and faster to enroll in a traditional college and get a Master of Fine Arts degree.  I might have been cheaper too… but not as fun.

Wait!  Why am I calling this fun?   I’ve put myself through much torchure preparing for print competitions each year.

Additional Photos

Additional Photos

I received orders for additional photos to restore.  This is one area where most photographers don’t venture because it is a lot more than just clicking the shutter. Restoration takes advantage of my painting skills.

This client left a 2″ stack of photos.  Most of them will simply be digital copies of the photos.  The ones that he really has an emotional attachment to he wants hand colored.  So, I’ve got my work cut out for me.


One of my rentals needs a couple of screens replaced.  I tried to find metal grids instead of woven screens.  You’d think that would be something you would find at any hardware store.  Screen material is ridiculous.  It is fragile  and has been around longer than I have.

There’s a market for non-woven, sheet metal grids to replace woven screen material.

I went online and found some.  Unfortunately, it only comes in black.  I could probably paint it, but I’d worry about the holes filling in.

Woven screen it is going to be.

Screen Frames

Then there are the screen frames.  Those stupid plastic splines that have to be pressed in are a pain to deal with too.  Consumers arise and revolt against cheap aluminum screen frames and woven screen material.



I hope none of you experienced the results of this site having been hijacked.  The other day they managed to crash the site.  I thought I had it resolved, but then that night I discovered they had gone back in and hijacked the site.  (Hijacking is where they direct your site to a different site.  In this case, they had directed it to what might have been a porn site.)

There is literally nothing in it for them.  It is a form of cyber vandalism.  The profile of such a hacker is an impotent young man, usually late teens to late 30s, still living at home with mom and/or dad, no job, no girlfriend, few friends (and mostly online “friends”), addicted to caffeine and in general – socially inept.


Someone asked me why they would do it.  Why do people vandalize?

My guess is pent up anger, frustration with an inability to express oneself and a degree of thrill-seeking.  They get a rush by being able to do it.  It’s a more destructive version thrill seeking.  It’s like the kid who throws a rock at a window just to hear it break, and then runs off laughing.

Speaking of Inept

Speaking of inept, Congress is inept in its ability to pass laws that actually work when it comes to cyber crimes.  Law enforcement is inept in its ability to catch perpetrators and enforce such laws.  Congress because they don’t really understand what’s involved, and law enforcement because they can’t afford the training and equipment necessary.

We spend lots of money to prevent hacking, and little to prosecute it once it happens.  The hackers know it.  They know if they can hack their way in to millions of dollars that there is very little chance of them (1) getting caught, (2) being tried for their crime, and (3) being convicted of a crime.


Let’s compare it to burglary.  If you come home and find your front door has been forced open, your house ransacked, and all of your jewelry gone, you’d call the police.  The police would come over, take pictures, statements, fingerprints, etc.  An officer would be assigned to investigate the crime.

But, my website gets broken in to, important information tossed, the site turned in to a porn site, I can’t call the police.  What would they do or say?  Someone has committed a felony, however I doubt there is a police department in the country that would take the complaint.


They wouldn’t know where to start and what to do.

An people wonder why I say BitCoin is a terrible investment.



Temple Vandalism

Temple Vandalism

I was saddened to read about a young man who broke in to the Saint George, Utah, Temple and vandalized it.  This happened Saturday morning, and the assailant was apprehended by some of the temple workers and subdued until police arrived.  The temple vandalism consisted damage to furniture, fixtures, windows and artwork.  What possesses anyone to vandalize?

On the Brighter Side

It’s Mother’s Day and I made a meal exactly to Elizabethe’s request – chicken, baked potatoes, vegetables, and a salad.  We invited Maureen to join us, as well as the sister missionaries.  (The sisters are excited because they got to Skype with their families before coming over.)

For dessert I made brownies with walnuts.  My brownies are always good, and I served these with sliced strawberries.  What a great combination!

Guest at Church

The sisters asked us to pick up a man whom they taught recently.  When we picked him up, I recognized him as being a man who purchased one of my prints.  We had a nice talk on the way to and from church.

Elizabethe and I are reading Lectures on Faith.  As a result, certain  things really stand out to me.  I’ve read them before, however, this time is a little more different.  Because my familiarity with the Book of Mormon has increased, much of what is said in the Lectures on Faith has more impact.