Thursday, February 28, 2008

Why I Homeschool

One of my little OCD quirks is having a file drawer in my kitchen as part of the cabinetry: pots and pans, plates and cups, immunization records and newspaper articles. So one of my files is labeled: "Why I Homeschool" it holds the bits and pieces I gather in my wanderings that remind me of the bigger picture. If you homeschool, you need to be reminded from time to time why on earth you ever gave up your peace and quiet, your long days of solitude, your soap operas and bonbons (except for me it would be BYU-TV and oatmeal) for all day refereeing, re-learning algebra and dissecting frogs. A recent newspaper article entitled "Passing the Trash" got me riveted back into focus. Apparently, public schools find it such a hassle to deal with teachers unions (aka: The Devil) when it comes to getting rid of teachers who are perves, molesters, or just plain kid-haters, they have to sneak these so-called teachers out the back door and send them to another school. Where they can continue their careers in ruining children's lives. THAT is one of the many reasons I homeschool!

Sunday, February 17, 2008

Love Is...


Today Andy and I celebrate our 25th Anniversary. This is known as the Silver Anniversary--(it takes another 25 years to achieve the Gold status!) In today's world this is an amazing achievement. For us, it's a miracle. We both came from kooky families and when we found each other we brought all our craziness with us. We did our best not to be too dysfunctional for the sake of the children but some of that baggage came along with us anyway. Fortunately we are blessed to have eight amazing children who are turning out wonderfully in spite of us. So, here's to the beginning of the Gale Family, and another twenty-five years of loving and learning!


"Love is something more than feelings of the heart, it is also a covenant we keep with soul and mind."

Thursday, February 14, 2008

That's Amore!


Twenty-five Years ago TODAY, Andy and I went to the Utah County Courthouse to get our Marriage License!
"If you live to be a hundred, I want to live to be a hundred minus one day so I never have to live without you." AA Milne
"Don't just pray to marry the one you love. Instead pray to love the one you marry."
Spencer W. Kimball
Happy Valentine's Day!

Wednesday, February 13, 2008

Sweet Opal


We have lived in the small town of Camas for 24 years. Many people have come and gone in that time, but there are a few "old-timers" who were here when we moved in and are still around. One is a little old lady named Opal. I first got to know her in Relief Society. She was the master quilter. Each year we had an assignment to make 4 quilts to donate to Deseret Industries. This was a big project for a small ward Relief Society, but thanks to Opal, it always got done. She lived in a tiny little apartment a few blocks from the downtown area. Every time I went to visit her, she would have a quilt set up that took up the whole place. She was also our oldest son's primary teacher when he was four years old, and as he grew up, she loved to tell me the same story about him over and over: "When Scott was in my class-- oh my goodness he's growing up isn't he? Anyway, one day in sharing time the question was asked, 'What is the gospel?' and Scott raised up his little hand and said, 'All the good things.' And it just melted my heart-- he was right on the money, of course it is all of the good things!" Over the years, her hearing deteriorated and she had some health problems but she always ended up back in that little apartment and back to her quilting. Eventually, it got to the point where I would have to yell pretty loud for her to hear me, even with her hearing aids. In fact, one of her visiting teachers told me she took her son with her to visit Opal and after they left he looked up at his mom and asked, "Why do you go to that lady's house and yell at her?"

Then she got very sick. She was in the hospital for a week and when she came back to her apartment, she was pretty out of it. She would forget to take her medication and she was often confused when I went to check on her. We assigned someone to call her twice a day and yell into the phone a reminder to take her pills. She was 84 years old and we thought maybe she was ready to go. But she held on. Eventually, her family had to put her in a nursing home. It was a sad day when I packed up her tiny little apartment. Her daughter-in-law was there and the two of us cleaned out her tidy cupboards and boxed up the many, many spools of thread and scraps of fabric. She ended up in a tiny little room (which made her apartment seem like the Taj Mahal) in a pleasant enough nursing home, behind the Shell station. When I went to visit her, she didn't know who I was. She laid in bed most of the day and didn't want to eat. I thought maybe this was it, but she held on. I stretched out the time between visits because I had to disturb her rest just to have her wonder who I was and what the heck was I doing in her room. She had family here in town and I knew they were looking out for her and I didn't see the need to upset her needlessly.

Then yesterday, I was driving by and thinking of her as I always do when I come up that hill and glance past the Shell station to that little blue building where she lives. This time I felt prompted to turn in, so I went in to see how she was doing. I braced myself for the worst. I assumed she was probably further into dementia than when I had seen her many months before.I wasn't even sure if she was in the same room... I walked past the TV room and looked at the two little old ladies sitting there, and what do you know! One of them was Opal. She sat there staring at the TV somewhat blankly. I hesitated to go up to her, but I did. I touched her arm and said, "Hello Opal" She looked at me for a minute, seemed to be trying to place me, so I said, "I'm JoAnna" I wasn't sure she heard me. Then she took my hand and said, "I know JoAnna. I know who you are." I pulled a chair up close to her. I saw that she wasn't wearing her hearing aids, and I felt a little funny yelling at her in that public area of the rest home. But she seemed to expect me to say something, so we visited: me yelling and Opal replying in her soft voice. She told me her son Nolan sometimes takes her for a drive. She asked me if I was still president. (I was Relief Society president back when I helped her move-- back when she didn't seem to know who I was!) I held her hand and she turned toward me and said, "You get to this point and you think of your life before- it seems so long ago and far away. JoAnna, I think of you and I think of someone who is smart and has it all together but, you don't think you're all high and mighty like some intelligent people do, you are always fun and friendly, always have a kind word, always there to help." I was right, she is delirious. She may be hard of hearing but she can see clearly-- she saw right into my heart, saw the person I wish I was.

Monday, February 11, 2008

Just a Tiny Correction


After my whole happiness is... blog, I looked on e-bay to see if they had any of those creepy knick-knacks--just for old time's sake. Then I remembered I was right about the Snoopy "Happiness Is..." book (you can see that on amazon.com if you feel like it), but the statue things said "Love Is..." (same band-wagon, different title). So here's a picture. See, I told you they were creepy.

Friday, February 8, 2008

Happiness Is... Being Big

My first bike was a little gold two-wheeler with training wheels. I rode it up and down the sidewalk in front of our house in Blanding, Utah. I was five and I thought I was finally "big". Big is what you want to be when you are little. Everyone towers over you, everyone gets to stay up later than you, everyone gets to go to school except you. Because they are big and you are little. I have a brother two years older than me. He was always bigger. He had been riding a bike for ages. Now I had arrived. Except he got to ride past the end of the block, and he didn't have training wheels. So, I wasn't "big" after all. I was sure I was ready to take off the training wheels. I needed to prove myself ready for the world of "big". I begged my dad to take them off. He put me off. Two days on training wheels didn't mean I was ready for the next step. I was so sure I could ride that bike without the training wheels-- and I was very persistant and probably very annoying. Finally, my dad got out his toolbox and told me to bring my bike up the driveway. After the training wheels were cast aside, I took my bike back to the sidewalk, swung my leg over and put feet to pedals. The bike wobbled, and started forward and then I crashed onto the sidewalk. What was this!? Wasn't I big? I stood up and looked at my bloody hands and knees. I was a resiliant child. This wasn't going to deter me in my quest for "big". I got back on the bike and tried again. My dad came over to me from the yard where he had been watching. He is 6 foot 5. And he bent way over and held the back of the seat of my tiny bike. He said, "Let me help you balance as you get started, then you can do it." He ran after me and I didn't even realize he had let go. I felt secure so I pedaled away. Suddenly I realized I was riding my bike! Without training wheels! I was BIG! And then I crashed. My dad was right there to pick me up and exult with me in my triumph. "Look how far you went! You can do it!" I found out that day that the only way to get from little to big, is to have someone who loves you keep you steady, and pick you up when you fall. And cheer you on.

Thursday, February 7, 2008

Happiness Is....

Back in the seventies there was this weird little craze that started with the Peanuts comics characters. Charles Schultz compiled a little book called, "Happiness is a Warm Puppy." Snoopy was on the cover hugging Lucy and it was just page after page of one-panel comics. Soon, the "Happiness is..." thing got out of control. There were cards and posters and stationery (kids: that was in the olden days when people wrote letters and put them in envelopes and mailed them through the Post Office-- an ancient ritual that has been rendered obsolete with the advent of e-mail-- back then stationery was a nice gift you gave your aunt or that your aunt gave you).

But, back to my ramblings: The most disturbing product that came out of it was odd-looking little statuettes of a cherubic-looking boy and girl hugging or holding hands, and then the little plaque said something sappy like: "Happiness is... YOU". They weren't naked in the literal sense but you could see their belly-buttons, so it was implied. You would see these creepy little knick-knacks in every dime store (kids: that was in the olden days when you could actually buy something for just a dime; the modern equivalent would be the dollar store. That's today's lesson on inflation!). These could also be found gathering dust in odd corners of people's homes. It was a sign that someone in their life was cheap and creepy.

The only reason I bring that up is because Valentine's Day is coming and it made me think: I should warn people not to buy a gift for their beloved that is cheap and creepy. Put some thought into it. Walmart has a nice selection of Simpsons boxers.

Friday, February 1, 2008

Too Many Princesses

When I was a little girl, my mother was quite creative when it came to Halloween costumes. We lived below the poverty level with a big family (my Dad was a school teacher and we had ten children in the family-- just to clarify). One year she bought a skein of bright red yarn and I went as Raggedy-Ann and my brother was "Red-beard" the pirate. Very economical and fun for both of us. He was swash-buckling through the neighborhood and I was dragging along behind trying to keep my red yarn wig from slipping off my head.

So, one year I wanted to be Cinderella. I pictured myself in a beautiful gown, glass slippers and sparkling tiara. My mother considered that for awhile and then came up with a "better" idea. I could go as Cinderella before the ball. Cinderella the scullery maid. The peasant. The unwanted stepsister. This was a great idea she explained because that was when Cinderella sang and all the little birds came in her window. Cinderella was happy in her rags. And it turns out rags are cheaper than beautiful ballgowns. So I found myself persuaded by her logic. The school I went to at that time had a Halloween parade after lunch on Halloween, so I got the bonus of wearing my costume more than just for trick-or-treating! My mother sewed cute patches on one of my old dresses (it was the sixties-- it was already a peasant dress). Then she cut out a triangle of fabric and tied it around my head. We had a little play broom and my transformation was complete. I wore it to school that Halloween day and spent the day dragging my broom around and explaining who I was. "What are you supposed to be?" "I'm Cinderella" "Cinderella?" "Yes, Cinderella before the ball-- you know, when she was cleaning and getting yelled at by her wicked stepmother and ugly stepsisters!" "Oh..." I was a resiliant child, this didn't traumatize me. I simply felt like a crusader for the under-appreciated. The hard-working Cinderella was more to be admired than the mysterious "happily-ever-after" Cinderella.

I have noticed lately that the whole princess thing has gotten completely out of control. Everywhere I turn there are little girls in tiaras. Disney is making a fortune out of the whole princess phenomenon! At our church Halloween party last fall, there were no less than 30 little girls dressed as various princesses. From Cinderella (in the ballgown--not the rags; her mother must be a spend-thrift!) to Belle to Snow White-- even Star Wars was represented: Princess Leia was there in her cinnamon bun hair. Halloween is one thing, but I see these little princesses everywhere I go all year 'round. At the grocery store I see Sleeping Beauty crying in the cookie aisle begging for Oreos. At the playground, Cinderella is running around in a ballgown and boa, purple feathers floating away behind her. We happened to arrive at the library right before pre-school storytime: it was a princess palooza! These are not special occasion or once in awhile princesses. They are living the dream every day, all day.

So, what happens when all of these self-proclaimed "princesses" grow up and find out they aren't really royalty? Worse, what happens when we have a whole generation of little girls who grow up with a sense of princess entitlement? Frightening isn't it? Take my advice, put away the princess dresses. Dress them in rags and put a broom in their hands. They might as well learn early on that the real joys in life are going to require work.

Happy Birthday Scott!

 It has been awhile since I updated this little family scrapbook on the internet. I like to pop over here from time to time and look at our ...