SALUTE (Michael Mullen)

Young Michael, the Cub Scout, with his Dad.

I don’t believe our mother had favorites among her children, though of her seven there was only one she called her little bird. Shy and tender, Ann Marie held a unique spot in our mom’s heart. It likely began when the doctors in the Idaho Falls Hospital suggested they abort her. In a fit of rage our drunken father had tossed our pregnant mother down the basement stairs, which sent clots to her heart and lungs. They did not expect her to survive. Our aunts clustered around her and divvied up the rest of the kids. Libby and I must have watched from our pre-mortal perch wondering what we would be coming into. When the medical team told Mom that her chances of survival would increase if she were not pregnant, she replied; “Why don’t we just wait and see.” That summer Ann Marie was born.

Our mother's little bird.

Ann Marie is the epitome of devotion. Always has been. She was so devoted to our mother that when various young men asked for her hand in marriage (there were three or four of them) Ann Marie found it difficult to think of changing her allegiance, and Mom found it difficult to think that there would be anyone worthy of Ann Marie. So, when my sister decided she was for sure going to marry Michael Mullen, it took considerable determination on her part to make it happen. Mom eventually came around and saw the wisdom in her choice, but it took a while. 

Ann Marie always did have a tendency to crush on a man in uniform. Her first date was to the Annapolis Naval Academy Midshipman’s Ball. So, when she moved to California as a practicing audiologist and that impressive Naval officer/surgeon took notice of her, how could she resist?

A.M. married her Michael in the Oakland temple 44 years ago this month. I have to say he looked mighty sharp in his dress whites!

It took a bit for me to learn the in's and out's of my brother-in-law, Michael Mullen. He was eight years older than Ann Marie. Accomplished and reserved, I thought it difficult to find what was going on inside him. The fact that we lived 2500 miles away from them didn’t help. We had been raised in a down-home rather quirky and earthy Idaho Mormon family, and Michael was the only son, with one sister, to devoted Episcopalians from Wisconsin. He seemed a little strait-laced to me then, but I have since learned better. For years I only called him Michael. He was so tidy and organized, routine, linear, well defined and intentional, and I was…not. It took a few years for me to start calling him Mike. I like calling him Mike. And I think he likes being Mike to us. For all his remarkable accomplishments, ambition and reputation, I think he liked that some of us saw through that and admired the creative artist with a witty sense of humor and a willingness to abide, if not embrace, the relative irreverence some of our family tends to lean toward. Maybe I’m making this up, but I swear he told me once that in his school he was voted Most Fastidious. It’s a good thing he married Ann Marie. She is also tidy, though I wouldn’t call her fastidious. She’s the just-right person to keep  order but also bring balance. But here’s the thing, Mike could come into my non-fastidious overly creative messy space and feel  comfortable, because he loves me… he loves us… and he knows that for me to have integrity I’m also gonna have a few creative messes. I celebrate that neither he, nor my sister Ann Marie, make me feel judged for this apparent visible flaw. In fact, they celebrate it as part of the talent package I got. 

Captain Mullen and his oldest son, Christopher.

Turns out Michael provided pretty well for Ann Marie and their two beloved sons. He served our country with distinction for twenty years, overseeing oral surgery training at the Naval Hospital near where they lived. For two years he served aboard the USS Enterprise, a Naval Aircraft Carrier. I suspect time apart like that either seals a marriage or facilitates its demise. For AM and Mike it made the heart grow fonder. When they were finally able to settle down and start a family it felt all the sweeter. After assignments in Oakland, San Diego and San Ramon he retired from the military  as Captain Mullen, the highest rank before Admiral. They built a lovely home in Granite Bay, CA and he developed a private practice with offices in Roseville and Folsom. His hands were made for excellent work. Our mom even travelled to CA for Mike to do some surgery on her. It was so painless and pristine I think he jumped up a few notches in the “are you good enough for my little bird?” category. I have considerable admiration for the way Michael treated our mom with respect and love.

Dr. Mullen's staff celebrates his birthday.

From the outside, Dr./Captain/President Mullen was a dignified man who demanded respect. Well, he didn’t demand it… his accomplishments and rank suggested it. He was a true patriot officer and gentleman, a respected surgeon, and beloved and admired leader in the church he joined after dental school. Some of his buddies had introduced him to the LDS Church his senior year at Marquette. The idea of the gospel as Christ lived it being restored pierced his heart and he went whole-heartedly down into the waters of baptism. He remained “wet behind the ears”, the water of his baptism never leaving him, and he proved himself to the end as a disciple of Jesus Christ. He had this tone of voice when he prayed that was so serious. Thinking back on it, I am moved by his unbending reverence. I tend to get a little too casual with my Lord. He served diligently in varying capacities, including bishop, stake president and temple worker. Though he joined the church after the age of young missionaries, he fulfilled his hope of being a missionary when he and Ann Marie served three missions together, two of them in their beloved London England.

Elder Mullen in England, wearing a poppy of remembrance.

Several years ago, when he was serving as stake president, Mike suffered a dural sinus thrombosis, a clot in his brain that nearly killed him. He spent months at UCSF Hospital. He fully recovered, much to the amazement of everyone except Ann Marie, and was able to continue his work as a surgeon. It was really quite miraculous. For months his wife and two sons took shifts sitting beside him in the hospital. Shared suffering seals us to one another. The congregations he served fasted and prayed for his recovery.

President Mullen and his counselors.

What people who don’t really know the whole of him rarely saw was the multi-faceted Michael. The Mike who rocked a wicked pair of drumsticks in his Classic Rock band, who built from scratch the world’s most amazing tree house in the massive tree in their backyard, the delightful artist who knew exactly what pose his little signature comic people would have in any situation. He was a Scouter through and through. His dad led him through that as a kid in Wisconsin. And he led his own boys through it. His sash had tidy evenly sewn rows of merit badges, with an Eagle pin. He was a solid writer and speaker, engaging with the congregations with whom he interacted as stake president for a decade. He worked beside Ann Marie in her overarching desire to serve the masses. Since they moved into our neighborhood here in Utah a good handful of years ago, she has baked sixteen loaves of bread each week. Ann Marie drives their little golf cart around the neighborhood and Mike runs loaves of freshly baked bread to the doors of our friends and neighbors. There is always one loaf reserved for Jesus. It’s used each Sunday for our congregational sacrament. Even if I were not a believer, I think I’d come to our Sacrament Meetings just to get a taste of her Bread for Jesus.

Ann Marie generally bakes 150 loaves of bread in three days
for the Orphan Care Packages we sell at my concerts.
The money earned pays school tuition for orphans in Kenya.
That's Mike on the far right. (This  photo was during Covid.)

And his workshop! Michael’s woodwork shop is the envy of my husband, son, and daughter whose own lineage swirled in the sawmills of Canada and came down into Michigan where Dave’s grandpa invented the mobile home. Mike turned beautiful pens as gifts, got roped into crafting all sorts of things for my annual concerts, and most recently designed and built a British phone booth for his grandkids’ playroom. He was genetically predisposed to creating and crafting. This probably contributed to his skill as a surgeon and his talent for decorating the house at Christmastime. He has a wonderful eye for aesthetics.

Mr. Most Fastidious has a most accessible workshop.

When Mike and Ann Marie were serving their first mission in London, in 2017, Dave and I, our daughter Kate and sister Libby visited them. We had such a joyful time walking the streets of London, taking in shows on the West End, trapsing through castles and visiting the white cliffs of Dover. We squished into their little flat, on a sea of air mattresses assembled in their tiny living room, staying up late talking and feeling so at home together. That week Michael told Ann Marie that he thought they should move to Utah to be with her sisters. We do sincerely like each other, on top of the love that is innate. By the end of the week Libby, with the aid of modern technology, had found them a house in our neighborhood. They came home from their mission, packed up their 20+ years in Granite Bay and shifted to Farmington, UT. There are now 4 of us “Hansen sisters” taking over the neighborhood and our little church congregation. If any one of us is asked to do something, they know they not only get that person, but they get all four sisters and Dave and Mike to boot! All for one and one for all!

London.

I don’t recall when the cough started for Michael. It was while they were in Granite Bay. His persistent cough was so frustrating to him. Doctors diagnosed sarcoidosis, with no idea what might have caused it. Then, more recently, Mike started randomly passing out, with no explanation.  Literally, with no forewarning, he would just drop. One day, while teaching the Elders in our church, he stopped mid -sentence and keeled over. Eric Evans, a strapping young father in our ward was in the front row and saw it happening. He jumped to his feet and caught him as he fell. Our ward is full of doctors, so there was soon an able huddle around him. The fact that it was Eric Evans who caught him is a sweet full circle moment. Eric had grown up in Michael’s stake in CA. People here don’t know Michael’s history, but Eric does. He can’t bring himself to call Michael anything other than President Mullen. When he speaks his name it’s like a salute to Michael’s history of service and devotion. Michael recovered quickly from his collapse, but the mystery of the cause remained.

All these grandkids and two daughters
came after the thrombosis that almost took him in 2007.

Without diving into the sludge of detail, Michael began to become generally weak this year. When they went to visit Joseph’s family in LA this past June, Ann Marie stopped at the IMC Hospital in Salt Lake on their way back and never did make it home with Mike. They admitted him and began tests. Finally, the infectious disease team diagnosed him with Valley Fever, a rare disease they had only seen a few times. More common in Arizona, New Mexico and CA, Valley Fever is a fungus that is simply inhaled in dust where people have been digging in dirt. The fungus often lives undetected, settles in the lungs and spreads, and is often fatal if not discovered. For Mike, the fungal infection had resided in his body for who-knows-how-long. It ended up penetrating the spinal column and brain barrier. The outlook wasn’t good.

The process wasn’t good either. Michael never did get to return to home as he knew it. He worked with real intent to rebuild strength, to make his body and mind do what it was designed to do. He has spent the last 4 months in two hospitals, two rehab centers, assisted living, and one difficult week at home with 24 hour outside care. He generally smiled through all of it. Frankly, it bugged me through the years when his response to everything was “I’m fine!”. More than once I have firmly pushed back…”Michael, you are NOT fine!”  And neither is Ann Marie!" But he smiles, cocks his head to the side and raises his eyebrow. 

"I'm fine."

Less than two weeks ago we stripped the walls of Ann Marie and Mike’s house of family portraits, took out the family room couch and recliners, borrowed Libbys spare TV, collected his mother’s handmade quilts and shifted all of this down to a little apartment at Whisper Cover Assisted Living in Kaysville. It’s just five minutes away from us and so convenient. Ann Marie took the sterile space and turned it into their home. Silhouettes of his parents hung above the lamp beside his bed. The large family portrait of their three generations hung above the family room couch. The antique side table he had bought before he married Ann Marie held a lamp he loved. It looked and felt like home there. Sunday night, less than a week ago, we had gone over to watch the Steelers vs. Packers football game with him. He sat in his foam Green Bay Packers Cheese-head hat. I mentioned how much this felt like his house. He responded, “Yup, I’m curious to go home and see what’s left.”

Ann Marie made his space feel like home.

Mike is a Packers fan.
We are from Pittsburgh, so Steelers is our team.
Green Bay won on Sunday.
(I think Mike's cheese head hat jinxed us.)

Michael never did make it home, though he surely is Home. Wednesday morning, I felt compelled to go over first thing in the morning, before I got into any tasks of the day. Ann Marie had sat beside him through the night. He was not particularly worse, though we do suspect he may have had another stroke. When I walked in, he was alone. Ann Marie had gone home to clean up and do some paperwork. He looked into my eyes and tried to say something, but his tongue would not cooperate. He had dry lips, so I asked if I could wipe them with water. I squeezed the cool water into his parched mouth and his eyes softened. Something in me told me this day would belong to him. I sat with him and savored the alone time. It was rare for me to get to be alone with him. The past, present and future converged as I watched photos flicker through the digital frame at the end of his bed.  It reminded me of that “film of life” we are reported to get to experience when we die. Maybe I was getting to watch Mike’s with him, though he wasn’t looking at the digital frame. He was looking heavenward. 

An hour or so after I arrived Libby came, having been guided by the same silent compulsion. Later Sherry and David joined, having left work early. Ann Marie returned around 2:30. She wiped his lips and kissed his brow, then sat beside him. I don’t recall us talking about what was happening, it just sort of flowed like the bend in the Snake River where the biggest fish dwell. Landon, the hospice nurse, stopped in to check on him. It had been days, and it wasn’t a scheduled visit. We anticipated many more months with Michael. Landon just felt compelled to check in on him. He turned to us and remarked that it looked like Michael had entered the gateway and it might be weeks instead of months. Libby called the boys, suggesting they consider coming earlier than later. Christopher called on Facetime and I watched as Michael's eyes lit up when he heard his voice. I don’t recall much of their one-sided conversation, but I do hear the echo of Chris’ words to his father: “It’s OK, Dad.” Michael seemed to calm after those words.  

Michael takes Ann Marie's hand as she wets his parched lips.

Just after 5 pm, as I was sitting in the corner chair plucking my guitar, I looked up at Ann Marie and said, “You have GOT to have a headache! Do you have any Advil?”  We looked in her purse but couldn’t find any. Libby had left briefly to show a house. Dave and I went to the car to find Advil in the jockey box. Sherry got up to use the restroom, and Landon went down the hall to get a business card. We were gone maybe 3 minutes. When we walked back in the room I tried to hand Ann Marie the medicine, but she looked up into my eyes, her hand firmly grasped in a sacred grip with Michael and whispered, “I think he’s gone.” Landon stood on the other side of the bed, checked his pulse, and said that she was probably right. He left to get his stethoscope to confirm. I kissed Michael’s forehead, noting the large scar that evidenced past suffering.  He was still warm. I kept watching for his chest to rise, but it never did. I suppose he had just been waiting to be alone with his Annie. 
We left Ann Marie to be alone with him. I can still hear her sobs muffled through the bedroom door. 
5:22 pm. As the light was fading on a beautiful autumn day, Michael took the dignified leap into the arms of his Savior. At 5:21 he was breathing the air of this realm. At 5:22 he no longer needed it. 

Bishop Larsen, Rob Harris and David prepare to give Ann Marie
 a blessing of comfort and strength.

I think about Michael in that place, our eternal Home that was once familiar to all of us. I think of him being there again and saying, as his eyes scan the space: “I was curious to know how much of Home remained here. It sure felt like Heaven where I was.”

Salute.
(late Middle English: from Latin salutare ‘greet, pay one's respects to’) 

CLICK HERE FOR OBITUARY

Dr. Kate

She shuffled across the red carpet in tenny runners, wearing a long black robe with red velvet stripes down the arms and an odd, tasseled hat on her head. It’s the stuff you might find in the costume box of her childhood, only this was real grown-up stuff with a hefty dose of pomp and circumstance.  She emerged from the whole ritual with a new name:

Katherine Helene Connors, Ph. D. 

This is what pomp looks like...

... and this must be circumstance.
I love how the Chancellor, who earned her doctorate in Finland,
 wears the traditional Finnish top hat and sword. 
All these Ph.D.'s look like they raided their costume boxes, don't they?

My girl and her Ma.

I’m trying to remember what it was I dreamed for my penultimate child when she was small, when I began to learn her personality and style. The dream, if there was one, must have been lost in the day-to-day shuffle of child number three followed swiftly by child number four. I guess was realizing, even as an inexperienced parent, that it wasn't my right to dream her dreams.

Our kiddos:
John, Sarah, Kate and Annie.

Kate was nearly always pleasant and accommodating, quiet until she found something funny, and full of love and devotion. I should have guessed, when she inevitably wore her cowboy boots on the wrong feet, that her path would be unusually winding. She’s a one-foot-in-front-of-the-other kind of gal, willing to examine things as they come and not necessarily getting to know the end from the beginning. She might tell you it’s a curse. But it’s a blessing. Maybe a blurse. She does not get trapped in perimetric limitations. I see that as the ability to allow instinct and higher powers to co-mingle and lead her where she needs to go, whether she planned to go there or not. Kate has a whispery soul. She is not energized by outside forces. Frankly, they exhaust her. It would be easier for her if she had known exactly what she wanted to do… where she wanted to go… and when. Instead, she has spent a good portion of her life walking into the unknown. I suppose my dream for her is to find joy, wherever it is hidden away for her.

Today, Dave, Libby and I sat in the audience at Brock University in Canada when they announced her name. She paused in front of her PhD advisor, Dr. Jan Frijters and turned her back to him. He raised his arms over her head and placed a doctoral hood over her shoulders. I pondered the image of a student shifting from facing her mentor to turning outward as he placed a symbolic blessing on her head, sending her out into the world to make good all the trust and training. 

This was the culmination of many years in Kate’s life, which included two years in a PhD program at Binghamton University, when her advisor took a job outside of academia, and they closed the lab. That professor’s devoted cluster of PhD candidates were suddenly out of a program. Kate had to reapply for new programs. Thankfully, she was accepted into Dr. Fritjters’ program. Then two years into that the world shut down due to the Covid Pandemic. Two years later she could no longer muster the required focus on her current dissertation topic. Rather than quitting, she restructured to take a more wholehearted artistic approach. The journey involved considerable self-discovery and personal enlightenment, which included mighty struggles with matters of the heart. The journey was no less windy or risky that a trip up Farmington Canyon

Kate's dissertation has some of the most beautiful writing I've ever read.

She has emerged victorious! And vulnerable.

When any of us approach such consuming projects, there is often (in my experience) a rattling let down at the end… a place where we question the balance between cost and benefit. We mothers do that without knowing what we are doing when we get the baby blues, now better defined as postpartum depression. Those who have been caregiver for someone with dementia or other illnesses or disabilities get it when the dreaded time comes and the era of devotion is over. We have to first take a long nap, if possible, then set about redefining ourselves. I pray the prayer of all mothers that my child who is now a woman will have the patience, fortitude, faith and spiritual tenacity to get through the transition without too much damage to her sense of self.

A pillow on Kate's couch.

Whatever the future holds for Kate, no one can take from her the accomplishment of this remarkable feat. It’s been many human years in the making. Even more costly and rewarding in ways we don’t yet have the tools to measure. 

More valuable than her accomplishments, we celebrate the self-discovery. It matters more to us who she has become than what she has become. 

To the rest of the world, she is Dr. Kate Connors 

To us, she remains Kate McGate who stays up late! 

(She's pretty great!)

What a new Ph.D. and an old J.D. do the day after graduation.

SALSA

SALSA  - home canned (Cindy Gardner and Lynette Sessions)

 Single batch makes 7-8 pint jars [triple batch]

18-22 tomatoes (9 c crushed)  [60 tomatoes, 27 c crushed]

5 Anaheim peppers [15]

2 Jalapenos [6]

2 bell peppers [6]

1 red bell pepper [3]

2 large onions [6]

½ bunch parsley [1.5 bunches]

1/8 c non-iodized salt  [1/3 c]

¾ t garlic powder [2.5 t] 

1 tsp garlic salt

(I crush one large cluster fresh garlic and increase plain salt)

1 ½ c V8 juice [ 4.5 cups]

 

Finely chop all ingredients.  I remove most the seeds from hot peppers, all seeds from bell peppers.  Use plastic gloves when working with hot peppers.

 

Boil above ingred 20 minutes.

 

ADD:

2 T sugar [1/3 c]

1/3 c cider vinegar [1c]

1 t cumin [3 teaspoons]

 

Bring to boil again.

 

 Process in hot water bath 45 minutes)

½ bushel tomatoes makes 3 batches

 

Each fall I visit Day Farms UPick and pick a bushel or two of tomatoes, chile peppers, Jalapenos and bell peppers

God is good!

Romas, this year. Any kind works.

Before...

...after.

AN HONORABLE MAN

The photo on the wall of the Second District Courthouse.

I am married to an honorable man.

I realize how rare it is to be able to say that and mean it. After nearly five decades Dave Connors has surely proven himself. But when, in 2008, Governor Huntsman appointed him as a state court judge, the title Honorable became official. I joke, in lighthearted conversation, that I have to rise when he walks in the house and that his royal robes hang in his royal study. The first part of that is certainly not true. He is a remarkably humble man. But the second part is real. I do leave one of his long black judicial robes hanging in our study at home, where it had hung all through the Covid Pandemic. He held court “virtually” for many months from our home study. We carried the old American flag we had bought in an antique store in Plymouth Mass. from its usual place by our family room fireplace to the front of the bookshelves behind his desk. This became the backdrop to his virtual courtroom. What people who appeared before him at that time could not see on their screens was that each morning Dave had showered and dressed, with dress pants, shoes and socks, dress shirt and tie as he would any day he entered his real courtroom. No one else could see it under his black robes, but he could. This small thing that only he and I would know represents the level of integrity he has, the respect he holds for his office and the trust given him. 

Dave's virtual courtroom during the pandemic.

Last night, in Toronto, our daughter Kate and I accompanied Dave as he received a most fitting national award, bestowed on him by the American Bar Association. It was a lovely evening in a large room filled with keepers of the law… the folks we trust to apply the thing that sets us, in America, apart from much of the world. If there were any award given that would best represent who David is, this would be the one. It acknowledges the importance of civility, fairness, inclusion, mentorship and emotional generosity toward all mankind. 

His mother and dad would be so proud of him.

My mother would be so proud of him.

I am so proud of him.

Plus, I like him. A lot. 

(I would have probably worn sweatpants under judicial robes. Good thing I’m not a judge. I’ll be the Yang for his Yin.)

Dr. Connors, Judge Connors and Mrs. Connors
(Kate, Dave, me)

Here’s a press release about the award:

Retired Utah District Judge David Connors will receive the honorable William D Missouri Civility Award for his outstanding contributions to the profession during the ABA Annual Meeting in Toronto. The award will be presented August 7 at the Fairmont Royal York.

The honorable Wiliam D Missouri civility award is named for Judge Missouri, who worked tirelessly to promote civility and professionalism through the bar, the bench and the community across racial, ethnic and gender groups advocating for fairness and respect for all individuals. 

Appointed district court judge by Utah governor Jon M Huntsman Junior in October 2007, Connors began his service as a judge in January 2008 after more than 25 years of nationwide private practice Experience as a business lawyer and commercial litigator handling complex civil litigation. He retired as a judge in March 2023. While a judge he handled hundreds of mediations, arbitrations and trials, including judicial settlement conferences mediation conducted by a judge who is not the assigned judge on a case. In private practice, he was an early advocate for mediation and arbitration as efficient methods for settling high conflict disputes. In addition to his experience as a mediator, his ADR experience includes acting for more than 30 years as an arbitrator for the Utah State Bar, both before and during his time on the bench. He is now affiliated with the Utah based law firm Bennett Tueller Johnson & Deere. 

While on the Utah trial court bench, Connor served as a member of Utah’s Judicial Council, the governing body of Utah judiciary. He also served as presiding judge of Utah’s Second District Court, as chair of a statewide guardianship task force known as the Working Interdisciplinary Network of Guardianship Stakeholders, as a member of the Long-Range Curriculum Planning Committee for Utah judges, and as a member of the Utah State Bar’s, CLE Oversight Committee and its Free Arbitration Committee. In 2015 he completed a two-year term as president of the Northern Utah Chapter of the American Inns of Court. 

Connors also has served as a member of Utah’s Board of District Court Judges and served for more than 10 years as the board designated representative to the ABA Judicial Division. He now serves as a member of the Executive Committee of the ABA Judicial Division, National Conference of State Trial Judges, having recently completed a term as nationwide chair of that group. Connors also served as mayor of the city of Farmington, city councilman, and board member of the Wasatch Front Regional Council.

Token.

Judge Heather Welch, Dave, and Judge Toni Clarke

Judge Marion Perkins and her daughter.

Judge Jennifer Mabey and Dave (friends for many years)

Celebrating at Gio Rana's Really Really Nice Restaurant
(that's the real name)

Here's what Judge Toni Clarke said when introducing Dave for the award:

 

"There seems to be a deterioration of civility in the country these days, so we decided to honor the men and women who set an example of civility to others," said Judge Toni E. Clarke, former chair of the Judicial Division. "Judge Missouri was the epitome of civility and professionalism - in the courtroom and in his day-to-day dealings with colleagues, friends and the public.

I first met Judge Connors when he first started being really active with the Conference of State Court Trial Judges. What I learned fairly quickly was he was smart, he was very considerate, he would ask questions, he would make comments, but you could tell they came from someone who gave careful consideration about the situation, whatever it was, and that he was mindful that you can disagree on certain issues, you can have questions about certain issues, but you can be civil about it. You can have conversation and agree to disagree. It was always, and is still always a pleasure for me, even in conversations that have nothing to do with the law, to be able to speak with him on a regular basis. The award is given to a person who exemplifies the qualities of Judge Missouri of civility, courtesy and professionalism towards colleagues, litigants and the public. All of Judge Connors’ colleagues on the bench would agree Judge Connors is deserving of this award.”