Thanksgiving

Ashleigh watches TV

This year, Thanksgiving was in Colorado Springs for part of our family and in South Dakota for another part of the family.  Andrea, Matthew, Luke, and Ashleigh came to our house for a meal, and we were joined by Grandpa Wagner.


Betty was in South Dakota with Tim, Brenda, Aubrey and Chloe.  Grandma wants to spend as much time as possible with Aubrey and to help Brenda. 

Robert is in Longmont, we think.  Wherever he is, we love him and wish him the best.

Matthew plays with his machine

Grandpa Wagner misses Betty

Andrea is sleepy, but musters up a smile

Grandpa is glad to have part
of the family here with him

Matthew forces a smile as
Grandpa tries out his new camera.

Luke sleeps through it all.

Betty, I'll never take you for granted again

This has been a good week and a hard week.  I have been reminded many ways that Betty makes my life a better, more pleasant exercise.

Last Saturday, I bought groceries with the intention of cooking all of my meals.  I cooked one meal or two. They weren't anything to write home about.  One night, I cooked a pizza on Betty's fancy pizza stone.  I put all of the right ingredients on it and it came out like the sole of a shoe that had taken a trip through a garbage dump.  I ate it just because I cooked it and I didn't want to throw the groceries away.  One night, I cooked migas, a Mexican dish with tortilla crumbs and diced vegetables.  I've made this dish before, but when Betty is home, it tastes wonderful.  This time, it was no more than ok.  I ate it because I was hungry, but it would have tasted better if I could have shared it with her.

Sunday, I got up and went to church.  The talks were good and the fellowship was terrific, but I missed the companionship that I get when Betty is with me.  I got my scripture study done, but she wasn't here to help me see  her point of view of the lessons taught in my reading.

I have tried hard to keep the dishes washed, my bed made, my clothes picked up, the trash taken out, the refrigerator stocked, and my laundry done.  The kitchen for is swept, but it isn't clean.  The dishes are washed, but they aren't put away.  The bed is made but not without wrinkle.  A couple of times, I've walked through the kitchen and noticed a foul odor.  After a diligent search, I found a liquid onion and a rotten potato.  Our home is so much more when Betty is here, not just because she does all of these things, but because when she is here the house has the wonderful aroma of her essential oils.

My office is in our family room, which is just off of the kitchen.  At times, I have complained about the noise of the washer, the dryer or the kitchen appliances when I was trying to concentrate on a work task or the conversation on the phone.  This week, the quiet has been deafening.  I find it harder to concentrate with the quiet than with the trivial noises of working at home.

More than anything else, I have missed my conversation partner.  I missed having someone to bounce an idea off of.  I've missed having someone to listen to me when I vent and express frustration.  I have ached to have someone share my little victories when I have worked through a difficult problem or have found a creative approach to an old task.

I have thoroughly enjoyed our phone conversations each morning and each evening before I retire.  I get the latest news about Aubrey and Chloe and Brenda and Tim.  We talk about our challenges and how we've done.  We share ideas and encouragement.    As much as I enjoy them, it's not the same as watching her eyes twinkle or the corner of her mouth turn up as something pleases her.  

Betty and I agree that she is where she needs to be.   Meanwhile, I am learning to cook, clean and do laundry, but more than anything, I am learning to love my sweetheart more each day.

I Took it in the Chin

Yesterday was an emotional day. Betty is out of town helping care Aubrey. Today was not a good day for her and her tumor is interfering with her breathing. The walls were coming at me because I am working from home and don't have a lot of face to face contact as I would prefer. I called Betty's dad and he suggested that I leave the computer for a while and take a walk outdoors.

I laced up my walking shoes, activated my iPod pedometer and headed out for a twenty minute walk in the neighborhood. It was beginning to get a bit damp and cold and I was walking at a pretty good clip. I got to an area where the sidewalks were a uneven. I caught my toe on a lifted section of sidewalk, and down I came into a four point landing. I saw stars as my face hit and my chin and wire framed trifocals took the brunt of the fall. I got up, straightened the frames of my glasses, dusted myself off and looked around hoping nobody say me take a nose dive into the concrete. I was a little unsteady on my feet, but I finished my walk.

After washing my wounds with peroxide and applying ointment and bandages, I went on to finish the day. Although I was a bit sore and a bit wiser about when and where I walk, I felt good that I had stuck to my committment to exercise every day this week. I don't know how it will affect the scale, but I do know that I feel better about working toward a goal consistently.

Eavesdropping can pay off

When I had just returned from my mission in Mexico, I was really proud of my mastery of the Spanish language. I used my new language skills every opportunity I had. There was one situation, though that I kept my language skills very quiet. I was attending Adam State college and taking some basic classes. One that I enjoyed was Art for the Elementary School. The class was taught by a Professor Hatfield. I sat in front of two hispanic students from Espanola, New Mexico. During that class, my knowledge of Spanish proved very beneficial.

I learned that Professor Hatfield had a special affection for anything that came from Mexico. He often spoke of the things he saw there that fascinated him. Among the things he mentioned were black velvet paintings and advertising that was painted on the corrugated tin used to close the open air businesses in the city marketplaces and the bright colored houses that were built in tiers along the winding cobblestone streets of hills of the suburbs.

I tried to weave these themes into the projects I prepared for this class. The two young ladies from Espanola were very adept at criticizing every project in Spanish picking them apart mercilessly, thinking that this fair skinned gringo in front of them could not understand. Oh, I was tempted to set them straight. Their criticism, however, was helpful and I refrained.

Finally at the end of the quarter, I did something that they really liked and they generously gave each other their approval. I could contain myself no longer. I leaned forward and in my very best Spanish, I thanked them for the compliment.