3-10-22 EVERY GRAMMA'S HOUSE SHOULD HAVE ONE OF THESE

If you're a grandmother, or an auntie, or a neighbor-lady, and you want kids to sort-of-want-to be in your world, then I suggest you get a costume box. Any old box will do. Dressers, or plastic bins, or even basement closets work as well, if you have more of a need for order than I do. Such a vessel holds all sorts of possibility for kids, little and big kids. It says, without saying, "I value your ability to pretend." I'm a fan of pretending. I do it even still, though often it's while my head is on my pillow and my eyes are closed. I had a blessed childhood where pretending was encouraged. Well, I imagine that was the case, but I suspect in reality Mom had no idea what was going on down there in the basement. Nowadays you would have to be extra careful NOT to have any sort of screen in the basement, because that kind of pretending can go south really fast. I fear we may be losing the power of physical hands-on pretending, where you use costumes and props. Therefore, I keep a wad of costumes down there in my basement. Long live the innocent world of make-believe!

First, you don't really need full costumes.
A pair of glassless glasses and a plastic wand will work.

And you don't have to be little

There are no rules. Nothing needs to match...
or even fit.

It's amazing what a little snip here and there
with a bit of glue and a baseball hat can do.
Age is not a factor.

Funny how one hat can make it a party!

I've just noticed we use hats a lot at our house. Maybe because they are sort of "one size fits all".

You may have thought a princess crown would
make every day a good one. 
Not so.

Tess came wandering in while I was writing a song.

When we were little, and we had no grandmother or auntie
close by, Libby and I improvised by making princess hats
out of wire hangers and silk scarves.

Tess improvises in the movie theater. That's
"snuzzle", her version of her blankie, which is actually
the swaddle her mom used when she was a baby.

I made teeny-tiny Santa hats and beards
for miniature dinosaurs. 

My son John in my antique top hat.
That's his home-grown beard.

One day Libby and I decided to go to Zurchers
party store around Thanksgiving time.

Libby remains my favorite playmate of all time.

This is one of the party hats we use for every birthday.
We have a variety of them.

Gramma's who cook should also have
 a drawer full of chef hats.

The night John got home from his mission in England, 
our friends Bea and Edo were visiting from France.
Hats and music make instant parties.

I went through a phase where I was personally amused by
plastic flamingoes. I put two of them in a planter in our front yard.
Then I made hats for each holiday.
Here, obviously, it is Springtime, perfect for the wearin'o'the green.

I made these bride and groom hats for a
wedding shower we hosted at our house.

And here we have July... flags and flowers and top hats.

Gracie hardly needed the tinsel and wings
to look like an angel.

And here's Gracie again, rockin' the Jessie hat and chaps.

Vintage hats.
(no pride. no shame.)

Little Cal in a big pirate hat.

Cousins in hats... well, sort of.

Cousins singing Cinderella songs

Cousins prepare for battle

... battle is a recurring theme.

random orange lab coats and
left over graduation caps. Everyone needs these.

And every healthy family needs
a flock of chickens in the kitchen

I sewed these nightgowns for my girls
one Christmas. I was just learning to sew.
Ruby's arms were 12" too long.
Can you tell she wasn't too happy about it?
Sorry, Ru.

On Sunday morning, when you want to create an
Army of Heleman, all you really need is a bunch of
knit fabric from the basement and a pair of scissors.

Walter feels the power instantly.
Costumes can do that.

We made all these costumes for our neighborhood nativity.
Some of them are glued.
I am gifted with glue.

... but I actually stitched this Father Christmas
robe for my brother, John, because... duh,
he looks just like Father Christmas.

... and I made all these Heavenly Choir robes
we use every year for my Christmas concert.
Again --- no stitching, only white sheets,
a pair of pinking shears, and some satin ribbon and
safety pins. Talent abounds!

Ah, yes, remember the years I was addicted to Slurpees?

Joe in a vintage costume I got at a
Michigan garage sale.

When your dad is in charge of the Color Run
your Halloween costumes are especially cool.

when you have a costume box, you
get to be authentic at school stuff

Aunties can't resist little Gnomes.

... and uncles make good backdrops.

All the neighbors and everyone at church
knows who to call when they need costumes

(the Bishopric calls fairly often)

This very freakish but awesome bird mask
always falls out of the game cupboard when I
open the door.

Even 2x4's like to wear costumes

Christmas Eve 

We have many years of this scene preserved
in our cameras and our hearts

I could go on and on, but it's 1 am. Frankly, if you have scrolled down to this point you are either family, or you're not able to get to sleep. (I hope this helped.) I'll just leave it here, with a reminder that sometimes we just need to let go of reality and jump into good, healthy, dress up and pretend-ness to keep our lives balanced.

Ru-la-la

Gram ("Want my sucker?")

3-9-22 THE POWER OF NOTHING

Cal spilled something on his sweatshirt.

“Wear your coat to school instead,” his mom said, but Cal is in a spot right now where everything is magnified, and his coat is too stiff, and the stiff coat triggers some reactions we have been working to overcome. So his mom went to work, because she cannot lose her job, and I drove to her house and gently walked my 10-year-old grandson through the process of agreeing to get in the car and go to the store, buy a sweatshirt, then go to school. That’s a lot of steps to potentially trip on, but we made it through all of them and he is currently in school wearing a new sweatshirt.

There are a lot of aspects of this last couple hours that are beautiful: 

My holy angel nudged me to text my daughter in the wee hours of the morning to see if she needed help because this beautiful little family is living in crisis right now. 

She called me and said, yes, they could use help. 

Cal allowed his brain to be flexible and not fixate. 

Ross Dress for Less opened at 9 am, unlike every other store in the area. 

I had gas in my car, and a car that works. 

I am not working (at any kind of job that gives me a paycheck) and I have a flexible schedule, so I am available to help.

I could go on and on about how many good things I am aware of this morning, and being conscious of them makes me feel the uplifting emotion of gratitude.

After I dropped Calvin at school I texted his mom to tell her he was safely in class. She texted back her thanks, then asked how much the sweatshirt cost so she could Venmo the money to me. I replied, (thankful that I could afford such a reply), “Nothing.”

And I got thinking about the power of Nothing.

Of course, it’s a code word.  “Nothing” is code for, “This is the price of love” or “This is what I do because I respect you, or I have compassion for you, or I feel compelled to help you.”

In Spanish “de nada”, meaning “of nothing”, has evolved into the familiar way of saying you’re welcome. 

If we look closely, we are likely to see our days are chock full of nothings: kindnesses done for us or by us. I think of them as little sparks that twinkle in the universe of our lives, adding more light and positive energy. Acts of goodness, whether they feel kind or not, that enrich the world as a whole and uplift lives one at a time: Bending down to tie someone’s shoe, merging gently on the off ramp, thanking the frustrated clerk at the drive-thu. Opening a door. Unloading the dishwasher, especially without being asked. Returning your shopping cart. Tipping an extra 5%. Offering a little encouragement, either to someone else or yourself. 

I suspect the way we feel about ourselves is dramatically influenced by the nothings we perform. And, I have learned from experience, the giving of nothing is much more powerful than the receiving. 

Next time you perform a little kindness, whisper the word NOTHING to yourself. Those little nothings add up.

I imagine our Lord, whose grace and mercy still makes me quiver, I imagine him exhausted, bloodied, covered in sweat and stained with tears, flesh torn and muscles stretched and his brain hurting from all he was asked to process those last hours in his human form. I imagine him sitting up, folding the shroud that had been placed over his lifeless form, placing it on the stone, moving upward to his foreordained place, then pausing, looking back, and whispering;

“It was nothing.”

That’s the price of love.

"It was nothing"
(It was everything)

3-8-22 WE ARE WOMEN (hear us roar)

I’m realizing its International Women’s Day, not because I’m up on all this kind of stuff, but because I finally got to sit down and check in with my pals on social media. 

I start thinking about being a woman, and the historic plight of the female gender, and my personal history of prejudicial treatment…

Then I start thinking about equal rights…

Which leads me to thinking about the difference between equality and equity…

And I start pondering the basic tenets of republican versus democrat political parties in relation to equity versus equality…

and, as is usually the case, my brain gets tired of thinking and I get the urge to go to the fridge.

So I have another helping of chop suey from dinner, even though it’s eleven pm,

And I return to my computer to find what thought started this whole knotted chain.

 

Sometimes I pretend I’m a man. I don’t lose my feminine instincts in this exercise, but I do ponder who I might be if I had my same talents and thought processes and personality, but I was a man instead of a woman. It’s a really curious place to let oneself go. Interestingly, I’m still overweight and a little slouchy, cuz even as a man my body likes to eat too much sugar and doesn’t like to work out. But in other ways I feel different. First of all my daily routine is much more… routine. There’s a lot less super-diverse multi-tasking going on. I feel, in my pretend self, more empowered professionally. And more burdened by a need for success. I don’t love having to shave every. single. day., but I’m loving not having to duck into the Ladies room to see if I have bled through my pants every. single. month.

Because I have decades of actually living in a woman’s body, I’ve seen a lot of change regarding gender fairness. What I’ve seen, in general, is a quest for equality. I’ve seen good men work toward equality, and not so good men taking the low road. I’ve seen good women working for fair and equal treatment and opportunity, and I’ve seen ruthless women hurting the rest of us. I still see women allowing themselves to be perceived as objects, or probably more accurately, perceiving their bodies as objects to be desired. I continue to wonder at my fellow sisters-in-arms buying-in to the power of their bodies to alter the emotions of people around them. If we ask the men around us to resist their animal instincts, we ought to be expecting ourselves to resist the urge to lure them as well. (That there is me on my soap box.)

Anyway, I am lately trying to consider the difference between equality and equity. Equality is low level, first step action toward equity. Equity seems to be an appropriate goal. This is why our whole white-Anglo-Saxon-Mormon family marched through our community shouting Black Lives Matter two years ago. It’s kind of a no-brainer that “all lives matter”. Of course they do. But black lives have been so long unjustly treated, and unfairly regarded by society that we need to swing very far to make up for those among us who are in denial. Equity gives them more room, more grace, more sympathy and empathy from us. Eventually, when equity turns to judgement, and then to grace, there will be no need for shifting, because we will all be on common ground. But until then, I’m willing to give a little from my comfort to balance things out. It’s sort of like the gas prices today compared to one week ago. They have sky-rocketed, we are told, because we have made a decision as a nation to refuse to purchase Russian oil while they are invading Ukraine. Huzzah for America! Sometimes… often times… doing what is right pinches pretty hard. Hard won’t kill us. Loss of integrity will.

So, here’s to women tonight. Here’s to the strong ones, the tired ones, the ones who scratch their breasts every night when they remove their bras and the ones whose breasts have been removed in order to preserve their lives. Here’s to weak women, and overtaxed ones, and those who are black AND female AND unemployed. Here’s to the women who would rather be men, and men who feel like women, and to women who are brilliant leaders, and school crossing guards. Mothers and Aunties and Grands and not-so-grands. Our uniqueness gives us form, and our solidarity keeps our united heart beating. And here’s to the women who lined up in heaven before me, took the big leap and prepared the earth for my generation. To my sisters, who are my strength and my truest friends. And here’s to my daughters, who prove the world improves with each turn, and their daughters, who prove it over again.

I AM WOMAN 

I AM INVINCIBLE 

I AM TIRED

3-7-22 EZEKIEL & ROSEANN

Ezekiel & Roseann

Our friend Ann Dale is a Mother Teresa of sorts.( She would scoff at this, but its true.) She is as selfless and devoted a creature as God has ever made. One of the things she does is run a non-profit that, among other things, has built an orphanage and school in Kenya. A few years ago our family agreed to sponsor a pair of orphan children's education. Ezekiel and Roseann came to the orphanage as siblings. School in Kenya is not publicly sponsored, so students who want education must pay for it. We took on the responsibility of  figuring out how to pay for their education through the years. We make and sell fresh raspberry freezer jam and Orphan Care Packages at my Christmas concerts to help raise funds for this. My whole family is involved. My sister Libby also sponsors a young woman, and has for years. She is now at the point of paying for her university tuition. It can get a little lot! So we are grateful for the generous help of those who help at Christmastime by purchasing these things. All the money goes to our orphans. They need all the help we can give.

That's Ann Dale on the left.

One of the great things about specifically sponsoring kids is that you get to build a personal relationship with them. We have never met Roseann and Ezekiel. But we interact occasionally by mail and email. And every once in a while, when Ann and her team travel to Kenya, we can send tokens of love to them. But we feel a sort of loving ownership in their lives, and an eternal connection as we try to help them be the best they can be.
Today's creative Lent piece is a letter to Ezekiel and Roseann. The foundation team is sending them out this week. They asked for a current family photo to go with it.

March 7, 2022
Dear Ezekial and Roseann -
 
Hello from America! It is a beautiful Monday here in Utah. The morning sun reflects off a fresh snowfall that has laid itself over the trees and mountains. I think God chose the perfect color for snow, it reflects so beautifully and makes everything sparkle.
We wish we could send you some snow, so you could know how it feels, but I'm afraid it would be much changed by the time it reached you. So instead, I'll send our love, which is unchangeable.
 
We gathered as a family yesterday for Sunday dinner and to celebrate two birthdays. Sarah was born on my birthday, March 5th. She was the best birthday gift I have ever received! She is a beautiful woman, a mom to four great kids and a Pediatrician (a doctor who treats children) and a faithful believer in Jesus Christ.
 
We heard you were both baptized recently, into the same church we belong to. It is a joy to share the same faith and feel understood by like-minded people who have similar beliefs. Jesus Christ is central in our lives, and we feel even more connected with both of you because of this shared belief.
 
This letter is addressed to both of you because I want to encourage you to cherish each other as siblings. When I was small our father left our family. It was a struggle in many ways, emotionally, culturally, and financially. My brothers and sisters became very important to me. We are still very, very close, and they are my dearest friends. You have a history that only you two share, and there is comfort in having someone who knows what you have gone through in your life. Hold onto each other. Be kind, and lift each other up through your days and nights. Laugh together. Cry together. And learn together. Pray with each other, and defend each other when it is necessary. You will find beautiful memories come of it, and they will help sustain you throughout your lives. While it is sad and difficult not to have parents to nurture and guide you, you do have each other. For that we are grateful.
 
And, you have us! We pray for you and are lifted every time we have news of you. We understand you are brilliant students, kind and thoughtful to others. We hear you are leaders among your peers, and you share your testimonies without fear. Hooray for your goodness! God has placed you where you are, with your own gifts and struggles, and if you will let Him, He can use you for good. May you be strong and effective instruments in His hands.
 
We are sending so much love and all good wishes.
 
Cori Connors (Gummy)
Dave Connors (Gumpa)
our kids are:
John and his wife Ashley (John has the beard) and their kids Sophie, Parker, Ruby and Walter
Sarah and her husband Dave. Their kids are Timothy, Anna, Joe and Grace
Kate (she is not in this picture. She lives in New York where she is doing graduate school studies)
Annie and her husband Jordon. Their kids are Calvin (he is hiding behind his parents, you can barely see his eyes between Annie and Jordon) Beth and Tessa (the littlest girl)

Connors Family
back row: Timo, Anna Calvin (hiding), Ruby, Parker
middle row: Dave Petersen, Sarah, Dave (Gumpa) Cori (Gummy),
Annie, Jordon, Sophie, Ashley, John
Front row: Joe, Tessa, Beth, Grace, Walter

our back yard in the snow

our front yard in the snow

Click here for more info on Lifting Lives In Kenya.

3-5-22 YOU ARE LOVE (for Sarah)

Sarah was the gift that came from Heaven on my 22nd birthday. She holds a place in my heart reserved for her alone. She is oozing with gifts, but still feels so small. She struggles with things that are, frankly, earth stuff. What is eternal fits soundly in her list of divine character traits. I cherish her!

My creative Lenten sacrifice for today is the rough draft of a song for her. Its hard to read a lyric and know the rhythm that is creating the pattern because of the music. But here it is anyway, because I promised I would let myself be held accountable for what I create each day of Lent.

YOU ARE LOVE                      

For Sarah

  

Time is temporary

Shame unnecessary

It has to be quite scary

For a soul to go through birth

 

No wonder we come crying

Life is terrifying

When you’re used to flying

And instead you’re bound to earth

 

Bridge I: 

But I was there when you began this earthly enterprise

And I recall divinity was shining through your eyes

 

CHORUS:

    You are love

    Endless love

    Timeless spaceless love

    Though your gifts

    Are limitless

    The first and last are love

 

Heaven is behind us

Will eventually re-find us

The in between can blind us

From the nature of our souls

 

So close your eyes and hear it

The whisper of the Spirit

Saying love it, do not fear it

Let your weakness make you whole

 

Bridge II: 

Such a massive spirit’s bound to feel a little tight

I am blessed to be beside you as we stretch toward the light

 

REPEAT CHORUS:

    You are love

    Endless love

    Timeless spaceless love

    Though your gifts

    Are limitless

    The first and last are love

Tag: And frankly, that’s enough

Love is love is love

Mother.

Sister.

 

Doctor.

Daughter.

3-4-22 SEATBELTS

Seat belts feel like church. I don’t think church should feel like seat belts, so I am attempting to shift the way I experience church.

When I was little we didn’t use seat belts. I’m not sure if our cars even had them when we were little. On our trips between Pittsburgh, PA and Blackfoot, Idaho we had cushions that laid in the back of our station wagon and we three little girls bedded down all snug and comfy while Mom drove through the night. We didn’t have car seats for my first two babies. I carried them home from the hospital in the front seat on my lap. It sounds insane now. But it didn’t feel that way then. And riding was physically much more comfortable.

Then laws were enacted, and laws were enforced, and we all started strapping in, at least when a cop was in sight.

I think my personal issues with seat belts began when we bought a car that had automatic shoulder belts in the front seats. As soon and the engine turned over, this robotic sound would rise up as a strap locked in at the shoulder. We had to put the lap belt on ourselves. The parent in me had by that time started taking note of the safety factor of the seat belt. Public Service Announcements from the Utah Safety Council did an effective job scaring us. And I jumped on the scare tactic train by telling poor pre-adolescent Kate about the lady I heard of who did not strap her seat belt on and was beheaded by the shoulder belt in an accident. I think I may have added the clincher visual of her head rolling down the freeway. Not my finest parenting move. I think poor Kate is still traumatized. 

Anyway, I have never been comfortable, physically, in a seat belt. I’m sure it has to do with my body shape. I swear seat belts are made my men for men, of a certain height and shoulder width, with no hips and no breasts. I used to call that automatic shoulder belt we had the "Lucifer strap". Its sole purpose was to protect us, sure, but we had absolutely no say in it. "That's exactly what Lucifer planned... he was going to FORCE us to be good. It's devilish, I tell you!" That automatic seatbelt  was going to force us to be safe, by golly, whether we wanted to be safe or not! . I developed a sort of righteous indignation about that belt because it took away my power to choose. That's where church and seat belts fit in the same emotional category for me. And frankly, when it comes down to it, I am grateful for both, I just don’t want to be forced into either of them.

A few decades ago I was in a car accident on the corner of Shepard Lane and Main Street. A car ran a stop sign and ran smack into the front corner of my van. This was before we had a vehicle with air bags. I sat stunned for a moment, watching steam rise from the scrunched hood in front of me, with steam rising from it. I became aware of the loudness of the music basting from my car speakers, removed my seat belt and leaned up to turn off the radio. There was a piercing pain in my chest, so I sat back and waited. The paramedics arrived, strapped me to a stiff wooden board and hauled me off in an ambulance. I thought something was wrong with my heart or lungs. X rays showed I had a broken clavicle, a bruised sternum, and cracked ribs. All this from my seat belt. I also had an injured knee, broken toe and torn tendon in my finger and forearm. I could not lie down for six weeks. Dave lugged my mom’s old blue chair up to our bedroom awhere I recovered. I did a lot of thinking during that time. I also wrote the song Get Back on That Pony., but that's another story for another time.

I often think about the fact that what harmed me also saved me.

I realized, as I sat there, that what had harmed me had actually saved me, too. 

Now, when I choose to reach over my shoulder, tug on the polyester belt and strap myself in, I feel it press against that tender spot on my collar bone that had once been cracked because of a seatbelt. I bugs me. So I have to parent myself and speak logic. I have a personal brain fight every time I get in the car. A while back, while I was driving and doing a little self-analysis about the whole seat belt thing, I had a little thought that putting on my seatbelt was kind of like saying my daily prayers. Sometimes its no problem at all. I wake up grateful and rested and its easy to pause before God and thank him. Then there are the times I’m grumpy, or sore and tired, or running late for a meeting, and I don’t really feel like praying. That’s when I think of prayer like my seatbelt. In a good way. I decided daily prayer and seatbelts are just those tools given in our humanness to help keep us just a bit safer in a dangerous world. We can choose to use them, or not. And in choosing, I accept the consequences if something should go amiss. 

Seatbelts. Church. I wish the temptation to resist doing what's right would dissipate in me. But I am getting up there in years and it is still alive and well. I guess its part of being a spirit, who I suspect fought hard against Lucifer's plan, put into human form. It's ok. I don't hate myself for it. But I do have a lot of brain fights. And fortunately, usually, the good guy wins.