Our branch has attendance issues. Susan was the only person (toddler? whiner?) in Nursery, and Sally was one of three in Primary. But there were enough adults, including the stake primary president, to bring her audience to about 10. The good news is, Sally is really taking to reading; the bad news is she could (and did) read her talk, despite having it memorized. For this recording we made a keyword sheet that mostly solves the problem. Unfortunately, it’s pretty obvious by now that Sally has inherited her parent’s musical ability, but luckily she is still young enough to believe that it’s the intent that counts.
Senior chooses to make a difference in contest says The Daily Herald in an almost embarrasingly flattering article (odes to her green eyes and brown hair; actually, her eyes are a quite limpid gray). Karin Abigail Hyatt, soon to be attending BYU, has tied for first in Oratory at the Utah State 5A Debate Tournament. Congratulations, Karin, we always knew you were the best! What I like best about this speech and victory is it’s simple, yet sublime message of personal choice and potential for happiness. Karin is the best thing since Anne of Green Gables. We love you!
Having your house broken into is a curious thing. It’s scary, and maddening. It makes me want to leave immediately, and it makes me want to stay and prove that I’m not afraid and won’t let hoodlums dictate my life. Except, wait, I want to leave for myself, anyway, wahhhh. I don’t think you can really imagine how violating it feels until it actually happens–it’s not anywhere near as interesting as you would think from watching CSI.
Tara told me she was surprised I hadn’t blogged about the break-in, because I’d told her how cathartic blogging is. But things kept changing, and how I felt about things changed even faster. Today I called our insurance to cancel the claim I’d started Friday. By Saturday, right before I found my ring, I’d decided that, with a high appraisal and the promise of a little cash to augment (ok, start) our savings, perhaps this was how the Lord was going to answer my prayers. Now maybe He was testing to ensure I would interpret things as being for my good, before answering in a way I wanted initially?
The interpretation of prayers and answers was not helped by the fact that I’d just taught the SWK lesson on prayers. Obviously, I am not an authority on the subject.
You will be pleased to hear that the St Petersburg Police Department have been ABSOLUTELY NO FETCHING HELP in this matter (ok, so usually, I do use the “real” “F” word, but I’m trying to repent damn faster). And the word “fetch” (is that in Napoleon Dynamite?) brings back fuzzy feelings from my survival trip in 1995. Anyway, back to the police.
I’ve decided we are victims of Police Priority, a kissing cousin to Police Brutality. Brutal to the morale, anyway. I’ve seen the police in Starsky-and-Hutch action, come shooting up over the grassy expanse of Crescent Lake Park in hot pursuit of juveniles allegedly smoking (and not pot either, we’re talking regular cigarettes, and no, officer, we didn’t see said juveniles anyway). Are they aware that a mere 2 miles to the south juveniles have graduated from smoking to dealing?
Oh well, who cares? I certainly don’t. Once I shake the dust off this miserable little block, I hope to never be personally affected again by the plight of those so miserably lacking in opportunities– in America, that awful land of repression, restriction, no financial aid for college, no free public education to grade 12, no advanced health care, no freedom of speech or religion or the press. Wait, I think that is some other country. So tell me again why you are sitting on the corner selling drugs?
Sally has been asked to speak in Primary (it’s been awhile, and with her natural ability and incredibly committed parents (not to mention that there are about 10 kids in our primary on a good day), I don’t know why she doesn’t speak every Sunday). Her topic is “My home is special.” Apparently her teachers are unaware of our over-acheivementness; they sent home a fully drafted talk complete with already-colored-and-assembled visual aide from one of those awful Seagull Book books.
After glancing through her assignment at the first stop sign on the way to school, we brainstormed. Sally said, “How can our home be special when we live in a drug neighborhood?” Ahh, good time for a semantic lesson. Then, I asked some leading questions–Do any drug dealers live in our home?(No) Does anyone we don’t like live in our home (referring to actual criminals and domestic-disturbance types rather than the hordes of perfectly nice people whom we just happen to not like)?(No) Do we love everyone who lives in our home? (Yes)
Then Sally revealed what she’s learned about separation and divorce (from school, I imagine). She said, “Our home is special because everyone who lives there is in our family, and it’s special because everyone in our family lives there. Like, if Daddy lived somewhere else in a different home, and I had to ask if we could go see Daddy today, that would be sad, instead of how I can just go walk over to the couch (Dick spent a lot of Sunday afternoon napping) and talk to him.
Maybe I should write a letter to whatever public policy groups study this kind of thing–what makes a home special? Dad napping on the couch.
Ok, so Brad says that after further investigation (which I was too lazy to do yet) mormonwiki.com appears to be under new management and that they are probably legit. I wash my hands of it. Go forth and seek out truth.
This kind of makes me think of Mitt Romney. Viscerally, I find him sleazy; can a good Republican be governor of Massachusetts? Can a good Mormon be a successful politician? Many Mormons (well, at least some of the old women in my R.S.) think it is the greatest thing since JFK or Elvis that we should have a Mormon running for president. Just don’t ask me to man a phone bank, ok?
Brad, my brother whom I do trust, informs me that mormonwiki.com is a “pretty hardcore (if subtle) anti-Mormon website.” Sorry, I should have looked at it for more than 2 minutes before recommending it. I must admit my faith in my fellow man has suffered a bit in the past month (even moreso than in the rest of the time that I have been growing up). But today I did find my wedding ring and my watch. They had been knocked into a basket and/or covered by stuff that the robbers threw around in their haste. I guess we are lucky that they didn’t trash the place after finding no cash and only a digital camera and inexpensive man’s wedding ring. People are scary, the world is scary. Makes me really appreciate those things/people I can count on.