Christmas Blessings

by Kari Diane Pike

Having grown up in the snowy mountains of northwest Montana, I always struggle to get into "Christmas mode" without some snow and ice. Thank goodness for music and cheesy Hallmark Christmas movies and yummy cookie traditions.

This year has proven to be particularly difficult. Honestly, between health challenges and the recent loss of family members and close friends, I couldn't find it in me to drag out the tree and the boxes and the strings of lights. My husband knew it was bad when, after wandering a bookstore for nearly an hour with the intent of purchasing Christmas gifts, I turned to him and motioned toward the door.

"Get me out of here." 

"But you didn't buy anything. Where else you would like to go?" Doug put one arm around my shoulders and pushed the exit door open with the other. A cool breeze swirled through the door and I shivered. The ache in my heart and the fatigue of a long day made it difficult to walk let alone think and make decisions. All I wanted was my bed.

"Can we just go to church Sunday, sing a few Christmas hymns and listen to a couple of talks and go home and go to bed? Can we just call off all the celebrations this year? I can't do it."

So home we went. A little chocolate and good night's rest helped restore my mood for a day or two. When I realized I had 9 days until Christmas and I hadn't even started shopping yet, I kind of freaked out. 

Then Tuesday happened. 

There's nothing like a little "could have been deadly" accident to bring the important things back into perspective. Doug and Amy were driving north from Gilbert to Prescott Valley on I-17. Just before the Pinnacle Peak road exit on the north end of Phoenix, the semi in front of them changed lanes, revealing a hand truck in the road. With no time to react, they hit the hand truck and lost part of the front bumper along with a parking light and damage to cowling around the tire and some sensors. But no one got hurt!!! And the car was driveable.

The highway patrolman asked if they saw what they hit, because all he could find was a couple of wheels. The hand truck had disintegrated. We have insurance and they will cover a rental car while repairs are made. The mechanics couldn't believe everyone walked away uninjured. We are blessed beyond measure.

Tomorrow the grandchildren are spending the day here decorating cookies and having fun. We will go caroling and play games Saturday evening. Sunday we will change up our traditional Christmas Eve trip to the zoo and act out a family version of the nativity. Family members will perform musical/reading numbers and we will enjoy lots of food and laughter. There might even be a few gifts exchanged...(assuming I can get off the computer and go shopping!)

It's going to be a magnificent Christmas.

I hope your holidays are full of love and joy. Merry Christmas to all and a very happy New Year.

hugs~

Time

by Marsha Ward

It seems like time is rushing by so fast I can barely keep track of the days.

I noticed two days ago that I had a calendar stuck on October. As I regretfully flipped past November, I wondered where all that time had gone.

Had I used it wisely?
Had the hours been spent doing something good and/or worthwhile?

I think so. Two weeks of October were spent traveling to and from and attending a week-long workshop on the coast of Oregon. The over-arching theme of the workshop was "Time," and how authors--especially indie authors--don't have enough of it to do everything they want to accomplish. I came away dazed, and with my head so full of information that I thought it would explode.

In November, I finished working on a piece of fiction that I wrote over the span of three years, mostly because the main character wasn't ready to move on. I can't force characters to reveal their secrets until they are ready. However, I managed to publish Mended by Moonlight on the last day of the month.

I also traveled to attend a family Thanksgiving celebration. That was very nice. I may spend Christmas Eve with that side of the family again.

Now I'm starting a new story. The challenge there is to break away from everything else I do and make time for writing it.

I have so many plans for things to do in the new year: cover re-dos for better branding, writing, marketing, learning. I have to focus hard and pick the most worthwhile projects and endeavors.

What do you do with your time?

Bring on the Retreat!

by Deb Graham

As autumn settles in for good, I realize I’m exhausted. 

Part of this is because I just returned from a trip, and I leave again next weekend. Looking over my calendar, I see these are my 11^th and 12^th journeys this year, and two more biggies are scheduled before the holiday frenzy sets in. By the time my wedding anniversary rolls along, I’m invariably out of emotional fuel. Whose idea was it to marry right after New Year’s?  

Along with a whole lot of travel, I’ve had other bumps in my road this year; a few significant illnesses, my husband retired in May, then started a new (and undiscussed) job of work the following Monday. My eldest son has torn at the fibers of my family, causing sleepless nights and stomach pains.  My favorite (and only) daughter moved away and I grieve the loss of near-daily contact with her and my cute grandkids. I learned the meaning of Sandwich Generation as I worry for her having a rough time settling in and health challenges of her own, plus my mother who rode out a major hurricane at our place. I never aspired to be peanut butter, but sandwiched I am.

Writing has taken off this year; I’ve published three whole books and have several more in various stages of completion. Time-consuming, stressful, and enjoyable, it’s on my mind even when I sleep. I’ve longed for a personal assistant to take over the chores of advertising, website stuff, and other writing-related tasks that are not much fun.

As I said, I go into Fall feeling depleted, which is less than ideal since I live in the Pacific Northwest.  I need all the emotional energy I can muster to get through the upcoming long, gloomy, dreary, soul-sucking, endlessly rainy, dark, chilly days ahead. This year, I’m running on fumes, and it’s only early October.

But there is light on the horizon! I’m grateful to be at the ANWA Northwest Retreat as you read this! It’s my third year going, and I’m counting on the same uplift I found in the other years. The coming together of diverse, strong women, united in faith and common interest is soul-filling. I soak up knowledge insights, and information, but the best part of the Retreat is nurturing my bruised, tired soul absorbs.

These are not ordinary women; they’re creatives, out to push back the darkness of the world by writing uplifting, wholesome pieces that inspire and uplift. They’re warm and accepting, no  matter the level of writing we find ourselves, and just being in their presence is exactly what I need right now. I know I’ll come home re energized, buoyed up, strengthened and confident enough to step forward with feet undragging.

I’m not done unpacking from the last trip yet, but I already set aside a heap to take with me to the Retreat.  I can’t wait!!

When the Family Gets Together

by Kari Diane Pike

About thirty years ago, my husband's parents came up with a plan for a family reunion every three years. Each of the seven siblings has taken turns as the "event planner" with everyone else pitching in to help make things happen. The location has varied: Mom and Pop's house in Calabasas, CA, Bear Lake in northern Utah, an empty school in Cottonwood, AZ, a beach side campground near Santa Barbara, CA, and even the Redwood forest. Activities have ranged from surfing and swimming to hiking and card playing and the giving and receiving of lots of hugs.

This year marked our tenth such reunion. We returned to Mom's house (Dad has been gone for nine years now) to celebrate "Grandma the Great turns 88".  For the first time in many years, all seven of the Ken and Delores Pike children were able to attend. Even most of the grandchildren and great-grandchildren made the journey from as close as living in the same house to as far away as Anuktuvuk Pass, Alaska in order to celebrate our much beloved matriarch.

Dad Pike's family has a long history of family get-togethers - usually geared around Thanksgiving and Easter. With nine children in that family our numbers regularly fell between 80 and 100 people. This year was no exception. We laughed, talked, body surfed, browsed museums, discovered hermit crabs, sea anemones, and the occasional scorpion, and played games with about 117 links from our family chain. I'm happy to report that only one child wandered off and went missing for a few minutes at the beach and no one got run over.

We can't forget about the food. One night alone, we consumed 18 large Costco pizzas, three watermelons, 7 pineapples, 10 pounds of strawberries, 6 pounds of grapes, a #10 can of mandarin oranges, 4 large bags of Caesar Salad mix- plus croutons, and two entire sheet cakes. On other days, parents and grandparents alike pitched in to feed the masses with countless pb&j sandwiches, hamburgers, hot dogs, granola bars, bagels, cold cereal, french toast and the requisite s'mores.

Our daughter Kati played a video she had created from snatches of old home movies taken over the years. Seeing the smiles and hearing the voices of children now grown and older relatives  who have passed on brought tears to my eyes. My sister-in-law Penni provided stories from the lives of Ken and Del and from each of their parents. We played a family trivia bingo game based on the stories and sang "Love is Spoken Here" and  "A Child's Prayer." Old wounds received healing and love and the hearts of the children truly turned to their fathers as we remembered who we are and why we are here.

Getting together is getting more difficult as our family grows and spreads around the world. Del is the last of her generation still living from her side of the family and only one of Dad Pike's siblings remains. The Pike reunions of days past fell by the way side as the older generation passed away. Some how the baton got dropped. I hope that we never drop this one. Families truly are forever.

Hugs~

Reading Through the Generations

Much of my childhood was filled with books, listening to stories, telling stories, and falling asleep to stories. On trips, my parents would play children's books, narrated on colored audio cassette tapes, each tape color coded for it's respective story.  We'd spend hours in the car reading along with the lively storyteller, letting the words come to life in our minds.

Before I was old enough for school, Mother would pile four or five of us on her lap or at her feet to read a few chapters before nap time, often featuring scripture-related themes. Colorful illustrations would fill the pages for us to view while Mother spoke.

At bedtime, Dad would come home, gather us onto a bed, and proceed to tell us lively renditions of The Three Billy Goat's Gruff, Goldilocks and the Three Bears, or Little Red Riding Hood.  If we were particularly lucky, he'd make up an adventure of his own.  One all-time favorite was the Green-Handed Monster From Piccolo Street. Dad would gesture, change voices, and provide lots and lots of tickling. Then he'd tuck us into bed, kiss us goodnight, and our dreams would continue where his imagination left off.

As we got older, reading became second nature.  Mom and Dad had bookcases filled with layers of books in all shapes, sizes and genres.  I remember one particular wooden book case with scroll work and doors.  I'd spend hours pulling the books out and reorganizing them by shape, name, or color - depending on my mood.  When my father passed away, that was the item I requested from his estate.

In their closet, another bookshelf filled with the paperbacks, displayed their favorite titles.  Dad had nearly every Louis L'Amour book written.  Mother preferred romances, particularly Barbara Cartland stories.  As soon as I was old enough to read, I began sneaking into their paperback stash and borrowing a book or two.

Between my library books, and the borrowed books, I was constantly reading. While some children got in trouble for causing mischief, we were scolded for staying up till three or four in the morning reading.

Now that I'm a mother, I work to find new ways to introduce the love of reading to my children. There was no Internet, cellphones, and little TV for me growing up.  Now a days, these items seem to be the babysitter, entertainer, teacher, and friends to people of all ages.

My third child is now eight.  This year she began reading chapter books and exploring independent reading.  This opened new worlds to her, especially this summer when we limited her use of electronics and television.

Now, she's started her own blog, YouTube, Instagram, Facebook Page, and Twitter Account to review each of the books she's read and to give her opinions.  I don't know where she gets her ambition from (ahem), but she seems to be thriving. She mentioned to one of the local librarians that she was starting a vlog, and now the person in charge of author spotlights for all the libraries in the county has requested an interview. My sweet little pipsqueak is loving every minute of it.

I don't know if the vlog will continue past the end of summer, but at the very least Courtney is exploring new genres, authors, and books.  Plus she gets to wear lots of different outfits when she vlogs!

If I am lucky, she will continue her love of literature into adulthood and beyond. Hopefully she will share that love with others around her, reminding them there is more to this world than smart phones, vines, and Snapchat! And she will understand that with each story she reads, entire worlds will open up to her.

What things have you done to encourage reading and literacy with your children, grandchildren, and young ones? I'd love to know!  And if you happen to be a children's author and want Courtney to review your book, drop me a line!

How Writing Can Be Cathartic

It's been four years since my father died. He passed exactly eleven months after my mother. Though the doctors blame Gangrene and Diabetes, I know it's from a broken heart.

For Mom, I cried once for three or four minutes. After that, I was done.

 I never cried for my father. Not as I watched the light fade from his eyes, or when they carted his lifeless body out of the house, or at his funeral.  I wasn't even teary-eyed.

For a while I felt guilty for having no emotion.  My father was a hard man to love, but he was still my father. Wasn't that enough? Apparently my mind didn't think so.

In my heart, I've known for years that Define Normal needed to be written. But I opted to let other projects take precedence, pushing it further down my to-do list.

Finally, this winter, my sisters and I decided it was time to write. The sisters decided since I was the writer (insert laughter here), I would spearhead the project.  My only stipulation was that all stories would be funny. I didn't want Debbie Downer vignettes. Define Normal was designed to heal, not re-open wounds from our past. The Crazy Cady Sisters were created.

We began writing, each of us tasked with turning out one story (3-4 pages) per week, and 1 blog post every two weeks.  At first, we reminisced about growing up together, discovering different perspectives about our family and parents based off our 20-year age gap, and added new memories to the old.  We Skyped twice a month, and most of it was spent rolling with laughter and wiping our eyes.

Friendships were re-kindled, and sisterhood was strengthened. We were well on our way to having something to pitch in September at the ANWA Conference.

However, last night, I was reading a sister's blog post, preparing to add it to our Twitter feed.  The blog discussed all the things our father did for our family of ten children.  As I read the exhaustive list, I cried.  Not delicate trickles down the cheek, but giant crocodile tears, snot running out of my nose, and hiccuping sobs.  Years of resentment, anger and sadness escaped.

I mourned the loss of my father while cursing my ignorance and selfishness. I hadn't noticed his struggles to make our family fun, filled with laughter, and to raise hard-working, hard loving, independently minded children.  I cried over my unwillingness to see, and the many chances I missed to tell him I loved him. I sobbed over his big heart. And my small mind.

When I finished wiping my eyes, I knew the tears were a result of our book. We had written the thoughts in our hearts. Some, we already knew. Other emotions were discovered after they settled onto our pages. All of it will be forever etched in black and white for the world, and our other siblings to see.

In the end, I hope our family will draw closer to one another. If we cannot, at least I know how much my father loved me and each of my siblings. Now, after all of these years, I can properly mourn him.

Best Christmas Present Ever

Best Christmas Present Ever

Our family begins asking, “What would you like for Christmas this year?” in October. Several years ago, I wanted to head them off.

Our kids were all in their twenties; students, newlyweds, one with a young child, two pregnant, busy, all underemployed in various stages of poverty, but each with a giving heart. They’d want to give me a Christmas present; gift giving is a big part of the season’s fun. Telling them, “Don’t get anything for me” would hurt their feelings. Besides, I like gifts!

I don’t need more Stuff, and at this stage of life, if I see something I’d like to have, I buy it myself. What could they give me that I’d really treasure, not tuck away on a shelf? If I could come up with a wonderful, meaningful, inexpensive gift, I’d be happy; bonus points if it was a long-term idea.

I pondered for days. 

What do I value? I value my family, the Savior, travel, conversation, and the power of Story. We’d taught our young ones to tell stories since they were tiny; it's part of the fabric of our family. Stories bind us together and set us apart as people. You don’t see raccoons sitting around telling tales, do you?

That was my answer: I wanted stories! I pondered for days, and settled on these criteria: I wanted a story from each adult and literate grandchild (one, at that stage). I clearly said, “This is not a let-the-wife-handle-it-type gift.” The story was to be non-fiction, preferably a memory from their own life, it could include me, but didn’t have to, and it was to be long enough to properly to tell the story, whether that be eight pages or six lines.

In October, I sent out a mass email to all of our children and their spouses, detailing the gift I wanted. Just think, all they had to do was write a story! It’s the perfect gift---no cost, except their time, no stress or shopping, and it’d be something I would cherish. My heart smiled as I imagined reading stories for Christmas, my birthday, Mother’s Day, and onward.

I was excited to hear their responses. Instead, my email was utterly ignored. Over the weeks approaching Christmas, my broad hints were brushed aside with a sighed, “Oh, Mom, really.” My heart sunk, resigned to another lovely throw pillow or bowl.

On Christmas morning, tears flowed, but not from disappointment. While I thought my kids were ignoring me, they were conspiring. A daughter bought plastic sheet protectors. A daughter-in-law was tasked with designing a scrap-book-type cover for the optimistic-sized loose-leaf bind my son was ordered to purchase. All of them wrote a story, just for me!

The stories gave insight into family members. I learned why a daughter-in-law’s family values education so strongly, and I could feel her shock in finding her dad’s 8^th grade report card with a C+ on it, tucked in with his baseball award. Another daughter-in-law detailed the day of her engagement. I hadn’t known my son proposed to her on a cliff. As he knelt, he “accidentally” dropped the ring box into the valley a thousand feet below. As I read, I could imagine her scream echoing across the canyon, and her relief when he laughed and pulled the glittery ring from his pocket.  

My five-year-old granddaughter dictated her story, and drew a delightful, wobbly illustration of the stuffed felt chickens I had helped her sew the previous month. A son-in-law wrote of a camping trip on a sailboat in Alaska with his eleven siblings... and no running water. My daughter wrote of the things she had learned from me, her mother, and her hopes of being a good mother to her unborn child. Our son wrote of the joy he felt teaching the gospel and bolstering the sagging spirits of discouraged missionaries; in his mission, he was known as a “fixer.”

Another  son detailed memories of a family trip in which we played in the snow on a mountain, acquired sunburns in the high desert, sledded, swam, hiked through a canyon, toured an orchard and sampled new apple varieties under development, rode a ferry, visited a museum, splashed in  a waterfall, enjoyed an old-fashioned soda fountain, toured a hydroelectric dam, crossed a steel-mesh bridge on foot through an old-growth forest, climbed on a vintage train, played on a massive new playground, toured a candy factory (with samples), drove through desert, mountains, farms, forests, meadows, across rivers and valleys and canyons...all in two days. I sighed, remembering our many family vacations, most of which were just that packed. “As long as we’re nearby, we may as well see as much as we can” was an unspoken motto.

I wiped tears, I laughed, I choked up as I read each story aloud. My heartfelt response encouraged my kids: at last, they had a gift idea Mom loved! Every Christmas, birthday, and Mother’s Day since then, I’ve received a set of new stories. That optimistic-sized binder is stuffed now, as stories multiply and grandchildren grow old enough to add their own stories. On sad days, I take comfort in reading over my fat collection of stories. This truly is the best gift I could ask for.

Christmas is coming! If you love stories as much as I do, feel free to take my idea. 

Happy Thanksgiving!

by Kari Diane Pike

Happy Thanksgiving! As a neighbor pointed out the other day, this is a day of giving thanks, and a day for giving. What are you thankful for? What are willing to give and to whom will you give?

Dear Hubby and I are hanging out in Utah for this Thanksgiving holiday. Two of our nieces chose this week to marry their sweethearts for time and all eternity. So bonus: We get to spend time with many different branches of our family all in the same week. Extra bonus: The most beautiful snow fall I have seen in many years. Great big, downy flakes drifted to the ground, piling up almost four inches in the three or so hours we spent preparing dinner and pie crusts and sipping hot chocolate and playing Five Crowns. Of course we had to step outside and celebrate...and take a picture. We even had enough on the ground to make snow angels.

I have been pondering on the virtue of gratitude lately, and not just because dear hubby answered a phone call from a member of the bishopric asking us to speak in church this coming Sunday on the topic of gratitude. To me, gratitude is a virtue that leads to the development of all the other virtues. Gratitude has taught me how to recognize trials as blessings all wrapped up in paper and string. Gratitude teaches me how to forgive as I recognize the role others have played in my life to teach me humility, patience, and charity - and who open my eyes to understanding and seeing that we are all children of a Heavenly Father who loves us and who wants all of us to return to live with Him someday.

I shared this quote a couple of years ago. I still love it:

 It is easy to be grateful for things when life seems to be going our way. But what then of those times when what we wish for seems to be far out of reach? Could I suggest that we see gratitude as a disposition, a way of life that stands independent of our current situation? In other words, I’m suggesting that instead of being thankful for things, we focus on being thankful in our circumstances—whatever they may be.
—Dieter F. Uchtdorf, "Grateful in Any Circumstances

Life is magnificent!
hugs~  

One Plus One Equals Three (or More)

By Kari Diane Pike

A couple of weeks ago our oldest son shared a conversation he had with one of his professors. Kenny has a Bachelor and Masters degree in philosophy, and a Juris Doctorate.  He recently returned to school to obtain a doctorate in philosophy. This semester he is taking nine credits and since he is married and the father of four children he teaches four college classes (12 credits) and works twenty hours per week as a research associate. This particular professor, while reviewing our son's schedule and work load, proclaimed that it was not possible for Kenny to accomplish all of those things. It simply couldn't be done. What made him think he could do all that?

Kenny's professor is not alone in this line of thinking. Another son of ours walked away from a six-figure scholarship to a university in Dallas, Texas when he read in their "terms and conditions" that if he got married before he graduated he would be removed from the program because a married student couldn't possibly keep up with the work load.

I don't remember Kenny's response to his professor. What I do remember is what he wanted to say, but couldn't without offending. Kenny knows he can accomplish his work because he has a loving and supportive spouse. While this single (unmarried) professor goes to work every day and returns home to cook, clean, do laundry, etc., Kenny and Aprilynne share their duties and responsibilities. Kenny can focus on school and work to support his family while Aprilynne takes care of things at home. This arrangement works the same way for Aprilynne. When she has work deadlines, Kenny is right there to care for the children and the home. They are team, and as such, they work together to accomplish their goals - far more than they could do if they lived alone.

A few days later, a friend told me about an experience he had while serving a mission in Nauvoo. He attended a demonstration of working draft horses. The handler gave some facts about the size of the horses and the amount of weight they could pull and under what conditions. He explained that one draft horse could pull about ten times their weight for a very short distance or about one tenth their weight for about eight hours, if the ground was level. He asked the audience how much they thought a pair of those fine animals could pull. Almost everyone agreed that two horses would pull twice the weight as one. The handler then demonstrated how a pair of working draft horses can pull not just double, but three and sometimes even four times the weight that a single horse can pull. He told the audience that the horses that had been raised and trained together could pull the most weight.

I've been thinking a great deal about how this concept of unity applies to my life and my relationship with the Savior.   The Family: A Proclamation to the World states:

By divine design, fathers are to preside over their families in love and righteousness and are responsible to provide the necessities of life and protection for their families. Mothers are primarily responsible for the nurture of their children. In these sacred responsibilities, fathers and mothers are obligated to help one another as equal partners. 

If my spouse and I are unified in purpose and action (living gospel centered lives) we can face challenges and grow together in love and understanding. This unity applies to all the relationships we have with other people - at home, at work, at church, and in our communities. What we create together can be far greater than the sum of what we can do on our own. As we fully rely on the Savior and His redeeming Atonement, there is nothing we can't accomplish.

Life is magnificent!