. . . snaptism . . .

. . . i have a very creative friend . . .

. . . she also bakes

the BEST cookies . . .

. . . she is the brains

behind snaps . . .

. . . all i needed to say was:

"yo, peg! what about snaps

for a baptism?" . . .

. . . and here's

what she came up with . . .

. . . lots of delicious cookies including

world renowned gingersnaps,

white chocolate dipped oreos

{in the shape of an '8'}

lemonsnaps

{her newest creation}

and darling baptism~related sayings

all wrapped up in adorableness . . .

. . . could it be any cuter? . . .

. . . the answer is yes . . .

. . . but only when they're held

by the birthday/baptism girl herself . . .

. . . happy "eight is great" day,

angela . . .

{and thanks a million, peg!}

. . . the start of something big . . .

. . . well, technically

it won't be that big . . .

. . . but i seem to always

have song lyrics

running through my head . . .

. . . and this is the one

that popped out tonight . . .

. . . it's been several months

since i've sewn anything

remotely quilty . . .

{goingthroughwithdrawal!}

. . . and so ~ the time has come . . .

. . . urban cowgirl

was calling my name . . .

. . . this fabric collection

is a recent favorite . . .

. . . nearly finished cutting . . .

. . . looking forward

to starting to sew . . .

{is it quilt group day yet?}

. . . round three . . .

. . . today bill was interviewed

by david rookhuyzen

of the arizona republic . . .

. . . we're kind of amused

at all this attention . . .

. . . orange soda . . .

. . . we visited the cemetery

at this time

last year . . .

. . . so ~ tender-hearted addi

requested we do the same

this year . . .

. . . amber left a special keepsake . . .

. . . what follows is an excerpt

from my dad's life story

~ written by him . . .

. . . it is near and dear to me . . .

. . . i love you, dad . . .

"In my poor and not-too-skilled way, I want to let my children and grandchildren know that I know that God loves us and He gives us our daily needs and hears our prayers for special help . . . “Coincidence” just doesn’t cut it to explain why so many things came together at just the right time and in the right way for actual preservation of my life once again. Were they only “coincidences” or were they genuine “mini-miracles” in answer to our prayers? I know the answer for me—and I urge any one of my descendants who might choose to read this some day to know of my conviction of God’s love for, recognition of, and response to our personal needs. He loves me, and I love Him. It’s that simple! And He loves you, too.

It is much easier to see the effects of events on our lives in retrospect than it is at the time of actual occurrences. From the vantage point of 76 years, I can better evaluate those events and give them perspective. Seemingly small events gain significance when viewed against the backdrop of years. The event I will try to describe was not, by itself, any truly memorable experience. It was just one of many little events (happenings, coincidences—small miracles) that have shaped my life.

In the early fall of 1947, I was discharged from the US Army and almost immediately traveled to Provo, Utah, to enroll at BYU. Very soon, it was Thanksgiving time, and, since I had been away from home on the two previous Thanksgivings, I very much wanted to be at home with my family. There was, of course, no money available for bus fare, so I rashly decided to hitchhike the 700 miles. The world is far too dangerous today to even consider such a course of action—but 1947 was a rather kinder, gentler time in history. And so, I packed my clothes in my only little suitcase and walked down to US 91 South, put out my thumb and headed for home.

Some kind soul gave me a lift and in the wee hours of the next morning we arrived in Las Vegas. I even drove part of the way—I believe it was my first experience driving a car and it was a thrill a minute each time I had to shift gears or perform any kind of maneuver on the highway. In any event, we arrived.

My benefactor was on his way to California and I needed to get to Kingman, so we parted in Las Vegas and I found the highway to Henderson, Boulder City and Hoover Dam. This involved a lot of walking to find the right highway—with no sleep, carrying an increasingly heavy suitcase, and increasing fatigue with every step. [But] I trudged along, my little suitcase with its BYU sticker catching the early morning sun.

At last, a man who was going to Katherine’s Landing on the Colorado River in Arizona to fish for trout gave me a ride. When we got to the turnoff to where he was headed, I found myself once again on the asphalt with that case that now weighed a ton!

There was really no traffic on the road to Kingman. Gas was still rationed, there were few cars on the road at the end of the 2^nd World War, and tires were almost unobtainable. Besides, it was November and in Arizona it can be hot in November. Especially in the middle of the desert with no shade, no food, and no water—not even a hat! It became painfully apparent to me that I was in a seriously dangerous situation, weary and miles from nowhere with a merciless sun beating down on my unprotected head. The occasional car that came by must have been sure I was at best an escapee from somewhere or an apparition concocted from heat and miles. No one even slowed down to offer help.

At last, it dawned on me that I had to have help—and soon—or I would perish! And then, I knew that I would have to ask the only One who knew where I was for help. In the blazing sun, on that hot asphalt, I knelt down and asked the Lord for His help. I rested briefly there on the highway, picked up the suitcase, and turned my face south toward Kingman once again. I’m not sure how long I stumbled along, but suddenly I caught a flash of light from the boulders that tumbled down the road fill. I clambered over the guard rail and down into the boulders. In the shadow of one of those great granite rocks, in complete shade and protected from the heat of the sun, lay a bottle of orange soda pop. It was unbroken and undamaged and cool. I struggled up the embankment, removed the cap on the guardrail, and drank that wonderful, sweet, cool liquid. And in that moment, I knew in my very soul that God lives, He loves us, He hears our prayers, and He answers them. Was it only coincidence? Or was it truly a miracle? A small miracle, to be sure, but a miracle none the less.

If we believe, and ask in faith, then God can and does provide the miracles. I got a ride, got to Kingman, got a ride to Phoenix (with my brother-in-law on a mail train car from Ashfork) and was home for Thanksgiving. Was it foolish to do what I did? You bet! Was the lesson learned worthwhile? Absolutely! I gained testimony of the power of prayer and of the reality of a loving Father in Heaven. I want my descendants to know, as I do, that of such small miracles, testimonies that shape our very lives are born. Please borrow from mine if you ever need to! You are a part of me, and I of you, though we have not yet met! But we shall, one day, and hopefully I won’t be a complete stranger to you then. I love you."

. . . happy valen~jack~izona day . . .

. . . it's a

well-blogumented fact

that my dad shares his birthday

with st. valentine . . .

. . . well ~ he also shares his birthday

with arizona . . .

. . . arizona was

a fifteen-year-old state

when my dad was born . . .

. . . arizona celebrates

one hundred years of statehood

today . . .

. . . my dad would have been eighty-five . . .

. . . arizona is alive and going strong . . .

. . . i miss my dad every day . . .

. . . it's always been easy

for me to remember

arizona's statehood day . . .

. . . dad's birthday {the 14th of february}

+

the address of the house i grew up in {1912} . . .

{i felt surprisingly stalker-ish taking this drive-by photo

of the house that built me}

. . . i loved seeing the orchid tree

planted by my dad . . .

. . . our old mailbox . . .

. . . the carport . . .

. . . the used bricks . . .

. . . just thinking about

this state i was born in . . .

. . . i've been on this earth

for six hundred forty-one months . . .

. . . and except for nine months

in california

{my dad taught school there one year when i was a baby}

and sixteen months in provo

{i was so happy to leave!}

~ i've lived in arizona all my life . . .

. . . i love you, dad . . .

. . . and i love you, arizona . . .

. . . an eventful day . . .

. . . let's recap . . .

. . . colby arrives

at a quarter after seven . . .

. . . we chill and catch up

on royal pains

for a couple of hours . . .

. . . around 9:30,

i receive a text from amber

saying that tagg

is having major difficulty breathing

and is being transported

from the gym

to the hospital

by ambulance . . .

. . . fortunately,

chris is able to leave work

and meet them

at the emergency room . . .

. . . we wait for the diagnosis . . .

. . . bacterial pneumonia . . .

. . . after breathing treatments

and a chest xray,

they are sent home

with multiple prescriptions . . .

. . . meanwhile i field

calls and texts

from other family members

and gym onlookers

who've seen the commotion

and ambulance . . .

. . . about 11:00,

the doorbell rings . . .

. . . i answer ~

wearing cheetah-print lounge pants . . .

. . . i see this van . . .

. . . it's these guys . . .

. . . they just showed up . . .

. . . no phone call first . . .

. . . they want to talk to bill . . .

{who doesn't?}

. . . bill comes to the door . . .

{also wearing pajama pants ~ we're casual around here!}

. . . they give him

a chance to get dressed

while they set up

their equipment . . .

. . . they think it's a good idea

to interview outside . . .

. . . they like my flowers, too . . .

. . . jason barry asks questions . . .

. . . bill answers . . .

. . . jason jots down notes . . .

. . . with camera rolling,

i "creep" from indoors . . .

. . . crying baby

isn't good background noise . . .

{two tv interviews in two days and i haven't listened to either one

due to 1] pesky bishop and 2] fussy baby}

. . . interview concludes . . .

. . . jason and photog depart . . .

. . . more phone calls

from concerned neighbors . . .

. . . watch here . . .

. . . another doorbell . . .

. . . i'm relieved

it's my visiting teachers . . .

. . . they bring me

a darling miniature rosebush . . .

. . . i love them . . .

. . . at 1:00, i pray

for quiet uninterrupted naptime

for baby colby . . .

. . . it lasts until 3:00 . . .

. . . when his mom picks him up . . .

. . . i finally put on makeup . . .

. . . and real clothes . . .

. . . cheetah lounge pants

are not acceptable attire

for a mitt rally . . .

. . . we score a prime location . . .

. . . against the front railing . . .

. . . just to the right of center stage . . .

. . . the crowd grows . . .

{along with the press corps}

. . . the weather is ideal . . .

. . . a lovely gentleman

takes our photo . . .

. . . you can see

it was quite breezy . . .

. . . the entire moyer family

is on stage . . .

{way to represent our stake!}

. . . why? you ask? . . .

. . . their lovely daughter,

michelle,

is singing the national anthem . . .

. . . mesa's mayor,

scott smith,

introduces . . .

. . . the guest of honor . . .

. . . the only people

between mitt and where we stand

are photographers . . .

. . . see? we were close . . .

. . . i refrained from obnoxiously waving a sign,

or a book and pen,

or begging for an autograph . . .

{unlike some people}

. . . i am proud of myself . . .

. . . his speech was very nicely done . . .

. . . no notes or teleprompters . . .

. . . we cheered at all the appropriate times . . .

. . . then mitt came down

to shake a few hands . . .

. . . including mine . . .

. . . oh, wait ~ not mine . . .

. . . i was taking pictures . . .

. . . he shook bill's hand . . .

. . . then the really serious guys in suits

said it was time to go . . .

. . . killjoys . . .

. . . we saw ourselves

on the news

when we got home . . .

. . . picture the face of a clock . . .

. . . bill is at about three-thirty . . .

. . . fist pumping . . .

. . . see him? . . .

. . . all in all ~

quite an eventful day . . .

. . . borderline child abuse . . .

. . . poor baby cameron . . .

. . . hope springs eternal . . .

. . . strawberry shortcake

looks so delicious . . .

. . . but his mom

really wasn't in the mood

to share . . .

. . . better luck next time . . .

. . . what have you done with my name? . . .

{no idea how long this link will last}

. . . when george albert smith

{eighth president of the church of jesus christ of latter-day saints}

was young,

his deceased grandfather,

george a. smith,

appeared to him in a dream and asked,

"i would like to know

what you have done

with my name."

president smith responded,

"i have never done anything

with your name

of which you need be ashamed" . . .

. . . in the past couple of weeks,

just because of his last name,

my husband has twice been

asked to speak for or about mitt . . .

. . . bill wrote a letter to the editor

of the arizona republic . . .

{he does these kind of things late at night when he can't sleep}

{if you read his letter, please ignore the ridiculous comments that follow!}

. . . he had no idea it'd been published

in today's paper

until he received a phone call

from a channel 15 reporter

this afternoon . . .

. . . who requested an interview . . .

. . . because of bill's name . . .

. . . and i'll tell you what . . .

. . . if mitt ever asks bill the question,

"what have you done with my name?" . . .

. . . bill will honestly be able

to give the same answer

president smith gave ~

"i have never done anything

with your name

of which you need be ashamed" . . .

. . . reporter christopher sign and i

immediately bonded

because he loved my flowers . . .

. . . because of budget cuts,

he serves as both

photographer and reporter . . .

{trivia #1: he was the reporter who,

every day for four months,

covered the baseline killer story}

{trivia #2: bishop sherwood showed up at the same time ~

see his white shirted arm?}

. . . bill answered questions

for about twenty minutes . . .

. . . a short version of this story

will air tonight at ten . . .

. . . with the full version airing

tomorrow at five, six, and/or ten

depending on the news events

of the day . . .

. . . *what two things just don't mix well together? . . .

. . . while perusing pinterest . . .

. . . i will

~ many times ~

see a beautiful quilt . . .

. . . then i will

~ often ~

click on the picture . . .

. . . which usually takes me

to a blog . . .

. . . and if i see a cat

anywhere near that quilt . . .

. . . i am no longer

even a little bit interested . . .

. . . two things that just don't mix:

beautiful quilts and cats . . .

. . . they will never go together . . .

{*the best answer to this question on yahoo answers:

laxatives and sleeping pills}

{sorry no links to said photos or blogs}

. . . always greener . . .

. . . i'm trying to put on

a happy face . . .

. . . after yesterday's

pity party . . .

. . . these

gorgeous pink blooms

manage to cheer me up . . .

. . . every time

i look out

the kitchen window . . .

. . . because this is the greenest,

most lovely time of year

in arizona . . .

. . . and hey, look! . . .

. . . even our pool turned green

over night . . .

. . . seriously . . .

. . . even the algae

is blooming . . .

{#mustcallpoolguy}