A Memory For Monday (With Ornaments)

This year, I broke from our traditionally decorated Christmas tree... Colored lights, and ornaments that the kids have picked out each year, and some traditional and sentimental ones from mine and Mike's childhood.  Instead, this year, I asked each person in the family permission to do a 'western themed tree' instead.   We all love it.  The children each have trees in their bedrooms, adorned with their own sentimental ornaments.

Everyone wins...
Almost!

Though I love my tree this year, there are a couple of decorations that I miss having displayed.  None of the kids chose them for their bedroom trees, and they didn't really fit the western tree.

They are treasured ornaments and memories.  And so instead, they will be remembered as today's Memory for Monday. 

In December 1982, my friend Lynsey Dyki had a 'Fancy Dress' birthday party (English for costume party). I went as a Christmas tree. At some point over the years, the photo was turned into a tree ornament, and hangs faithfully on our tree each year.

And no matter how classy one's Christmas tree decor is, who can resist hanging this ornament with a photo of Mike in it from 1982?!  (It is now intermingled with the western decorations...)

Merry Christmas!

A Memory For Monday (With Granny and Melanie)

Probably close to seventeen years ago, my parents hosted a Christmas dinner party at their house. A long table had been set up in the kitchen/family room to seat all of the guests. Later that evening when the party guests had gone home, my BFF Melanie, and I found ourselves scavenging some of the left-over dessert. Probably without any conscious thought, but just because we always seem(ed) to do dumb things, one of us sat at one end of the long banquet table and one of us sat at the other as we delved into the surely scrumptious dessert.

My Granny walked into the kitchen, and upon seeing us sitting at opposite ends of the table asked, (insert a proper English accent here)

"Did you get in a row?"

('row' pronounced 'rou' means to get in a quarrel or disagreement)

Every so often, I'll text Melanie to remind her of this memory.  Usually my reminder to her follows having had Mike's extended family over to dinner and/or another large dinner gathering that we have set up a long banquet table for to seat everyone.  It doesn't usually get taken down until the next day...

Last night was no different.  After a dinner party last night with a decent size group, the tables were still up this morning.  As my children sat down to eat breakfast, I sat down at the opposite end of them to eat mine.  With a proper English accent I asked them, 'Did we get in a row?"

Of course they all looked at me like I was nuts, and of course I regaled them with my story of Granny, Melanie and our non-row evening almost seventeen years ago.

I insisted Megan take a photo and instead of texting Melanie, I decided to write the memory down.    And though the memory is inconsequential and of fairly little importance, it is one of those memories I don't ever want to forget.

Happy December!

A Memory For Monday (With Auntie Sheila)

One of my favorite decorations I use every Christmas is a little porcelain Santa & Mrs Claus sitting on a little couch.  I bought it for £5.00 at Harrod's in London in (I'm pretty sure) 1984 on an annual trip to London to 'see the lights' with Auntie Sheila.

Auntie Sheila wasn't my aunt, in fact she was no relative at all.  She was a dear family friend, and as a form of respect and closeness we put 'Auntie' in front of the name, instead of a more formal 'Mrs' or 'Sister'.  Auntie Sheila was a lady of very simple means in a worldly sense.  As a child she spent time in an orphanage of sorts and as an adult had her fair share of challenges with finances, marriage, children, etc.  She could be a little rough around the edges, and though she had very little to offer in terms of material wealth, she offered love, acceptance, kindness and time.  Really.  The most important things to give.

As well as being a frequent babysitter, Auntie Sheila frequently took me to London and frequently gave me books and/or lessons on the Royal Family.   It is from Auntie Sheila that I have a deep love and respect for England and it's beauty, charm and heritage.  Having never learned to drive, Auntie Sheila knew the buses of London like no one else I knew.  With her, we never took the train.  Always buses.

I remember specifically the year I bought my porcelain Santa & Mrs Claus.  I remember standing at the bus stop late that Saturday evening as Christmas lights and city lights shone around us.  We were tired and worn out from a day in London.  I remember I started singing Christmas carols and was soon joined in by what I thought was a nice man.  (Auntie Sheila later told me he was 'a drunk old man.'--and incidentally, though Auntie Sheila was slow and older in years, she was probably just as capable and tough as any bodyguard.)  Auntie Sheila didn't take nonsense from ANYBODY.

When I visited England alone in 1991 an 1996, Auntie Sheila made sure I set aside a day with her to visit and sight-see.  What treasured memories.

(Tiffany and Auntie Sheila, Hampton Court--September 1996)

When Mike, Megan and I visited England in 2000, I was so excited to introduce Mike and Megan to Auntie Sheila.  She (and her daughter, Ruth) fixed us dinner and made us feel welcome in her home.  In that brief visit, Auntie Sheila's love and excitement to be meeting Megan was obvious.  I knew when I said a tearful goodbye to Auntie Sheila that evening that I would probably not see her again in this life.

(Auntie Sheila, Tiffany and Megan--November 2000)

There are many nostalgic memories I have of people, places and things around Christmas time.  And each year when I set out my Santa & Mrs Claus, and we hang our seven crocheted stockings Auntie Sheila lovingly made (for my family growing up and Granny, that my mother kindly passed onto me), I shed a few tears and a few smiles. And I thank the Lord for good people that influenced my life.

What about you?
What people, places and things from years gone by do you treasure at Christmas?

A Memory For Monday (With 'That' Thursday)

While at the local grocery store recently, the girl checking me out and the girl bagging my groceries were discussing the upcoming holiday; Thanksgiving Day. The bagger mentioned that at her college, there are lots of students from another country and how strange that they have no plans, traditions or understanding of the upcoming day.

It took me back to a Thursday afternoon when I was about 12 years old. I was anticipating my dad coming home from work to take my brother and me to mutual that evening. My mom was fixing dinner and was teary eyed (and a little cranky). She mentioned through her tears something about her family 'back home being all together today.'

I remember distinctly standing in our back garden that 'Indian Summer' type afternoon playing with my brothers.   Looking towards the house, feeling glad I was outside and my mother was inside fixing dinner, I suddenly remembered, Oh, it is that Thursday that makes my mom cry. That's why she's fixing a 'Sunday dinner' on a Thursday!!!

I can remember that like it was yesterday.
I had absolutely no reference point for what my mother was missing.
Now I do.
I love Thanksgiving.
Though I didn't 'celebrate' or 'participate' in my first Thanksgiving until I was fourteen years old, I love, appreciate and treasure the holiday.
I now have an understanding as to why my mother used to cry on 'that Thursday.'

Happy Thanksgiving!!!

A Memory For Monday (With A House)

Is it just me, or has anyone else noticed that the days/dates in 2010 are the same as in 2004?
Now duh, I know that happens every few years (my dad and brother are probably screaming the answer at the computer screen as they read), but I've noticed it several times throughout this year.

None more poignantly though than Saturday, November 13th.
Saturday became six years since we moved from our beloved home.

(The front view of our house that carefully disguises the garage part in back...)  

To give a brief overview, I'm talking about our garage turned house that has it's own scrapbook dedicated to it's four year building plan.  It was Mike's dream garage.  Mike had the plans drawn up and started before we were even dating.  Mike will always say that my comment upon first hearing about his 'dream garage' was 'That's really cool."  But in MY DEFENSE, we were just friends and I had no idea we'd ever even date let alone get married....

The whole garage part is too long for this memory and like I said, the building of the garage/house has it's own book of pictures and commentary.  (Please note when you look at the book, Mike is always quick to tell you to only look at the pictures, I'm quick to tell you to be sure to read what I wrote about it.)

Anyway, we built the house portion of our house as though we would stay there forever.  It had a lot of bells and whistles.  We planned to stay there forever.  We loved our ward, we loved our neighborhood, we loved the city, we loved it all.  And then one day, when Ellie was just a couple of months old, I felt like we needed to move.  Mike laughed at first, and then dismissed the conversation anytime it arose.  Within a couple of months, he too knew it was what we were meant to do.  I'll never forget the first time I heard him ask in his prayers that our home would quickly sell, I knew then that this step in our lives was being guided by a higher power.

We knew where we were supposed to move.  We knew it as soon as we saw the location, lot and house plan.  It was a backwards step in many ways.  It didn't make sense to many people, most of all to us.  The only way to get the location we knew we needed to be at was to go through a builder that did nothing custom.  Mike was losing his six car garage, I was losing my custom kitchen.  Yet we couldn't deny the guidance of the spirit in our lives.

I'll never forget that November Saturday afternoon when Mike and I stood alone in the empty, cleared out house Mike built with his own two hands.  As we stood in the barren family room, before walking out the door for the last time, I held Mike while he cried and cried and cried.

Later that night as we laid in bed at my parents house (that became our home for the next five months), it was my turn to cry and cry.  I apologized over and over to Mike that I had ever received the initial prompting.  I kept apologizing for what I was sure was the beginning of the biggest mistake of our lives.

That day was six years ago.
And though Mike still talks about his old garage space, and Megan still talks about the yellow tube slide out back and I frequently lament the loss of my custom kitchen cabinets, for some reason we are where we are meant to be.
We now know it without a doubt.

And we wouldn't trade it for the world.

A Memory For Monday (With Ronald McDonald and A Cap)

When I was about seven years old, Auntie Sue (who isn't really my aunt, but that's a whole 'nother story) hosted an adult only fancy dress party (Which translated into American means a costume party) that my parents were invited to. The party just so happened to fall on the same night as my friend's birthday party.  Fortunately, my dad was able to pick me up from the party I attended in time to get me home to my non-driving babysitter Granny and my brother and still be able to make it to the fancy dress party on time.

You would not have believed the excitement at my friends house that early evening when the doorbell rang and Ronald McDonald was standing at the door.

To.Pick.Me.Up.

That is certainly a stand-out childhood memory to have been picked up from a birthday party by Ronald McDonald.  I was the talk of my school class that Monday morning in school.

And for some reason, that picking-me-up-from-a-party-memory reminds me of a not so pleasant time when my dad picked me up from my friend Kathy Davies party one March evening.

I can remember distinctly the birthday party and watching a Mickey Mouse film projected onto her bedroom wall.  And even though cartoons bored me as a child and I did not enjoy that part of the party, overall I'd had a great time.  And then my smile disappeared when my dad showed up at the door to pick me up wearing a cap similar to this. 

A big lump gathered in my throat and I thought I was going to burst into tears at the embarrassment of my dad wearing the type of cap that our milkman wore.  (Now I DO NOT have anything against milkman, and certainly not against our milkman Barry, but to me he was old, not to mention missing a couple of teeth and had very poor grammar. And although his niceness and friendliness stand out most when I think about him now, as a child he was the only other person I knew that wore a cap like that.)  Well of course Phillip Overall always wore one too, but his personality fitted it perfectly.  It is very interesting to note that I always really liked both Barry and Phillip as a child and now as an adult I recognize them as 'true salt of the earth people' so who knows exactly why I had such an adverse reaction to my own dad wearing a cap.

Oh man did I digress...
Back to my point with the cap...
My dad used to keep his coat/jacket/CAP in our storage room on an old metal garbage can (that we kept unopened bags of sugar and flour in).  It was his own personal coat rack of sorts.

One day not too long after it's purchase, the cap went missing.
M.I.S.S.I.N.G.

And though I was THRILLED and excited about it's disappearance, my feelings towards the cap had never been a secret and so of course I was the first to be questioned.  I honestly knew nothing of it's disappearance.
N.O.T.H.I.N.G.

I pled my innocence and silently (actually maybe not so silently) hoped he'd never purchase another one.  And though I disliked that hat so much that it almost caused tears each time my dad wore it, I still feel badly that it went missing and that my dad (and surely my mother and brother) thought it was me who had caused the loss.  But I can honestly swear on anything that is good and holy that I know nothing about where it disappeared to.

And as much as my dad loves me and trusts me.
I still think he holds a slight suspicion that it was me that caused the cap to go missing.

And even if he was only thirty-something and not a milkman, my dad liked his cap. 
And I'm sorry he lost it.

A Memory For Monday (With A Little Anxiety)

This morning, upon seeing fresh snow on the mountain tops, Joshua asked me, "Can I dwrive to the mountains with Daddy to wook at the snow?"

It's interesting that Joshua at just three years of age would already recognize the fact that
a. I wouldn't take him into the mountains to see the snow and
b. he didn't ask if I would go with him and Daddy to the mountains.

And though I swore I'd never let my kids know of my anxieties and fears.
Somehow, they must.

Maybe Joshua has noticed the slight tension between his two parents when doing such things as, driving in the snow, driving on a dirt road, driving in the rain, or driving on a windy, mountain road.  (We won't even mention flying in airplanes or riding in boats.)

The slight 'tension' in the car goes something like this:
Mike: "You don't have to be holding on so tight to the door handle." or "Sit back in your seat and just RELAX."
Me: "Well if you were driving slower, (or safer, or had the wipers on faster, or took the corners more cautiously, or weren't talking while you were driving, or weren't trying to point things out to the kids, or this or that.) OR if we had just stayed home, this wouldn't be an issue."
Mike: "Just R.E.L.A.X."

I don't remember when or why my fear ever began.
Although I do remember this particular drive very well.

In May 1983, we had come to America to visit my grandparents and attend my Uncle's wedding.    During our stay, my Uncle David took my brother and me on a scenic mountain drive through the windy mountain roads to climb the 'B' on the mountain close to my grandparent's house. As you can see, it was not an enjoyable drive for me.  It was probably not very scenic either, as tears frequently blur one's vision.

And such is my life.
Sure, I may have a little fear and anxiety in me.
But who doesn't?

(And on a completely unrelated side note-everyone at a family dinner last night was convinced this photo looks just like Ellie...)

A Memory For Monday (The Day Before)

As I anticipate Megan's birthday tomorrow, I find my thoughts to be with my dear sister-in-law Cindy who is due to have a baby any day now. And though I am not one in favor of shared birthdays, I hope she has her baby soon. (Maybe just not tomorrow though...) ;)

My due date with Megan was October 20, 1998. (At my doctor's appointment on Friday the 9th, my doctor told me I probably wouldn't make it through the weekend as I was dilated to 'a 4'.)  Perfect! I thought.  I wanted my baby to be born on the 11th--my Grandad's birthday. (Sharing birthdays with a deceased person is ok.) In 1998, October 11th was a Sunday. I woke up tired, achy and anxious for a baby to come. I declared from my bed to Mike that there was NO WAY I was sitting through three hours of church, so "Please kindly call the Primary Presidency and tell them I will not be sitting with my class during the program practice."

And though I am now somewhat ashamed to admit, (and really, we can count on one hand the number of times we've 'skipped church') we both stayed home.  We must have had a severe case of 'nesting' as we cleaned out the large closet in our family room that served as a store-everything-that-doesn't-have-a-place, as well as the items that of course belonged there.

We organized, we straightened and basically were very un-sabbath-day-of-rest-like. But as the closet was clean and orderly, I removed the brand new Winnie The Pooh bouncer that was stored in there, placed it in the middle of the floor and announced, "It (meaning Megan)can come now. We're ready."

And then I waited for a contraction and/or a water break.
Nothing happened.

So we piled up our DI pile and decided to make a stop at the DI and Mike's parents house close by. We continued our un-sabbath-day like behavior as we dropped off a pile of goods at the local Deseret Industries, ignoring the signs that asked not to leave items there when they were closed.

We then went to Mike's parents house and it was there that I had taken the ONLY PHOTO of me posing to show a pregnant belly. (Five pregnancies over now-it is a deep regret of mine.) To make matters worse, this morning when I went to the photo album to pull out the photo to scan in, I see neatly in the column written, "Mike and Tiffany, day before Megan was born." and the photo is G.O.N.E.!
(I hate when I remove photos and do not return them.)

Oh well.

Of course, Megan didn't come on October 11th. My water broke the next morning at 10:20am. I am convinced in my mind now, Grandad kept her there with him to celebrate his birthday, and then gave her permission to go.

And so...
Happy Birthday Grandad!!
(For the record, I do believe without a doubt birthdays are celebrated in heaven.  If not, I'm not much interested in going there...)

Side note to Casey and Cindy--it's Grandad's birthday, don't get your hopes up today will be 'the day.' Grandad might be wanting your baby there for his birthday party too. And well, tomorrow is Megan's birthday and you know how I feel about shared birthdays with the living. But, I'll keep my fingers crossed for Wednesday...

A Memory For Monday (With Casey and James)

I know I've mentioned my two younger brothers, Casey and James a few times in random posts/memories.  My two little brothers that as a little girl, I hoped so much would replace my baby dolls. 

Just recently while going through an old journal, I found a cute, handwritten little note from James when he was about nine years old.  I also still have a Beverly Hills 90210 bookmark that James gave me years ago, and in his childish, hard to read handwriting on the back writes about me being 'the coolest sister in the world.' 

Now, I would hate for James to outdo Casey in his expressions of love for me, but I have keepsakes from him too.  I have books given to me with Casey's childish handwriting saying, "I love you, from Casey"  or "To Tiffany. From Guess?  Anser: Casey"

I lived at home throughout college and though I now regret that maybe I was too busy worrying about a social life and studies, and I probably brushed them off more than I should have, I do have precious memories of time with them.

I remember frequently playing card games with James before his elementary school car-pool came and I remember distinctly Casey appearing at my bedroom door quietly yet excitedly saying, "Guess what? I just found a hair in my armpit."  (Did I really just write that for the whole world to see?  Sorry Casey!)   

I remember fondly the time I spent with them, especially during my college years.  And though I may have been busy worrying about school studies and a social life, I remember taking them on numerous trips toTop Hat Video for video games, to a UofU/BYU football game, movies, restaurants, bowling, etc. etc.    The night Mike proposed to me, it was my brothers I told first as I came into the house that night.  Casey and James were settling down for the night in their bunkbeds and had big smiles on their faces as I told them my news.  It was my brothers that I cried about leaving, as I packed up the last of my stuff the day before my wedding.

And though my brothers don't write me handwritten notes telling me how 'cool' or 'awesome' I am anymore, I'll get the occasional text and/or email from them and if I'm really lucky, once in a while a phone call.   They are now grown-up, handsome men.  One a dad, one a dad any day now, one in Law School at BYU, one studying business at the University of Utah.  And though we all have busy lives,  I love my brothers and guess what? I know they still love me!

I love my brothers.  And it is after them, that Joshua got his middle name 'Jace'... a combination of the sounds 'James and Casey.'  (Creative I know, but I couldn't name Joshua after one and not the other!)

A Memory For Monday (With An Unkind Comment)

As with most of the LDS women's population, I was deeply touched by the words spoken by President Thomas S. Monson at the General Relief Society Meeting on Saturday night.  Not only did it make me squirm a little in my seat, and feel some much earned guilt, but it motivated and encouraged me to be kinder to those around me.

And so today, I'll remember a not so kind comment I once repeated.  This memory, along with Saturday's talk will be the beginning of a new challenge for me...

In England in 1980-1981, the country was all abuzz with the engagement and upcoming marriage of Lady Diana and Prince Charles.  My 1st grade class was equally alive with the excitement and enthusiasm of one of the top news stories of the time. We wrote letters and sent pictures to the Soon-To-Be Princess and Prince Charles.  Our class was thrilled with the letter we had returned to us, water-marked from Buckingham Palace.  (I also sent a letter myself and still cherish my personal reply!)

And so it was with pride, joy and childish excitement that the following photo appeared in our local newspaper with a short caption chronicling the recent events and general excitement of our class.

Cheam Park Farm Infant School 1st grade 

(I am on the top right)

Upon seeing the photo in the newspaper, my mother innocently remarked, "Too bad Leigh has her mouth wide open in the photo."
 
The next morning, immediately upon seeing Leigh at school I retorted, "My mum said you ruined our picture in the paper because your mouth was open big."  I remember feeling slight fear when Leigh's tears immediately started and I quickly attempted to take back my words as fears of her telling the teacher overcame me.

I don't remember if she did tell the teacher.

But I remember feeling really sad that I made her cry.

I should never have repeated to anyone what I heard my mother say.

And thirty years later, I can't help but mentally writhe as I realize,
If I can remember this event, perhaps she does too...

A Memory For Monday (With the Neighbor Boy)

I have a pretty good memory when it comes to fairly useless information.  (Who was wearing what when, what I was doing on a particularly random date, when childhood friends birthdays are, etc. etc.)  Ask me about something academic I remember during the time spent earning my college degree though, and I will draw a blank.

Anyway, back to my ability to remember birthdays...

Yesterday, Ellie was talking about the first day of Fall that is coming up this week.  And I remembered that it very often coincides with a birthday I remember each year.  September 21st is an old childhood friend's birthday, Matthew James.

 (Matthew James & Tiffany, December 1981)

I have lots of stories I could regale you with about Matthew James...

• The time he pinned me against his garage wall and stuck his tongue down my throat. (We were five years old.)
• The time he got sent home from my older brother's birthday party because he wouldn't behave.
• The times I voluntarily participated in kissing him back.  (For the record, I would be APPALLED if my children had kissing friends?!?!?!)
• The time in 4th grade (or so) when he had to sit with an empty bucket in front of him and was told to fill it with spit, because he kept spitting at other kids.
• The time I whispered 4 x 8 = 32 to him in class so he wouldn't have to sit down during a multiplication game.
• The time we 'stole' chocolates from the Quality Street tin under our Christmas Tree while my mom was in the shower.
• The time a girl in our 6th grade class got very excited because I told Matthew James that I was never and had never 'officially' been his girlfriend, and he and Emily could be girlfriend/boyfriend.
• Or the last time I saw him, when we were both 16 years old.  I was visiting England for the first time since moving away and went to visit Matthew with another old friend of mine.  I politely declined his generous offer of sharing what he was smoking with me.  (It was not a legal cigarette...)

Instead, I'll just tell you briefly why I think about Matthew James every single Valentine's Day.  Valentine's Day was not celebrated by children in England, but for some reason Matthew and I always exchanged creative Valentine's Day cards.  We always assumed another identity, usually one of fiction (such as Lucy and Charlie Brown) or one of celebrity status (think Lady Di and Prince Charles) or even an animal identity (his family dog, Jego, and my family dog, Lady).  It was a tradition that began when we were children and continued even until young teenagers.  It ended when my family moved away in 1988.

But, I still think about him from time to time.  When I tell my children stories of our neighborhood growing up, he is often mentioned.  I ask mutual friends about him occasionally via Facebook and I of course hope all is well with him in his life.  I have a lot of fond memories of him and hope that tomorrow, September 21st, he has a Happy Birthday!

Happy Monday!

A Memory For Monday (With Granny & Grandad Next Door)

Just this last Saturday afternoon, I chose Megan and Luke to accompany me to Costco.  Considering it was a Saturday at one of the busiest stores around, it was quite a pleasant trip.  Taking into consideration my regular shopping entourage; a three year old and a one year old... shopping with an almost twelve year old and almost nine year old was sheer bliss.

As we approached the check-out stand, we passed the part of Costco I usually try to quickly pass by without a sideways glance.  (Chocolate covered almonds, chocolate covered raisins, Costco size package of Lindt chocolate, etc. etc.)  Yet for some reason on Saturday, in my more relaxed than usual, frame of mind, (Not having to deal with a three year old and one year old while shopping does wonders for positive mental health...) I glanced to the side and a box of assorted chocolates immediately caught my eye.

And for some reason, as I picked up the box of assorted chocolates to look at, I got a big lump in my throat and in a sudden moment of nostalgia, I began to tell my children about Granny and Grandad Next Door...

Growing up on Carlton Crescent, we lived next door to an elderly couple.  I can't even tell you what their names were, because to us, they were Granny and Grandad Next Door.  (My paternal grandparents were also known as Granny and Grandad to us, so the Next Door was always added as clarification.)

Grandad Next Door had an immaculate garden.  His tulips in the spring and roses in the summer were a beautiful sight.  It was not very often we had much association with them besides greetings and chats across a garden fence, or the occasional knock at the door to retrieve a ball.

But, if you did for some reason go into their house, we were always taken into the back room, where Granny Next Door was always sitting (she didn't venture outside nearly as much as Grandad Next Door).   And there was always a tin with Kit-Kats inside and a box of assorted chocolates sitting on a table, that we were invited to choose from.

So there I stood amidst scores of shoppers in Costco on a Saturday, blinking away tears while telling my children about Granny and Grandad Next Door's flower gardens and the smell of their house. It was that simple memory of our kind, gracious, elderly neighbors that caused me to arrive home from Costco on Saturday with a box of assorted chocolates.

But the real laughter and appreciation from the children (and Mike) came later in the afternoon while we were each eating a chocolate.  I told them about the time a neighbor friend and I decided to make homemade perfume by mixing talcum powder and water together in old baby juice bottles to sell.  I told them about selling a bottle to Grandad Next Door and was scared and didn't know what to say or do when Grandad Next Door handed me his ten pence piece and said, "Thank you very much. Granny will really enjoy drinking this."

Hopefully Grandad Next Door's purchase was simply a courtesy to a young neighbor girl and he didn't offer  to Granny Next Door what he had mistakenly understood was a drink...

Happy Monday!

A Memory for Monday (September 1996)

Following the Sunday evening on the hammock with Mike, I continued on with my plans to go to England.  (Yes Susie, of course, I saw you during that trip!)  

I promised Mike I would send him a postcard every single day.  (I now know Mike well enough to know, he probably didn't really care if he got a postcard or not, but he went a long with my kind gesture.)  In fact, I came across these postcards just a few weeks ago, and really was quite amazed how much information I publicly shared in an-anyone-can-read-it-postcard.  (Especially his mother who probably got to the mail, long before he did...)

I also tried calling Mike once, on Labor Day.  Thinking he would be home, I called his house, but he was boating at the lake.  When his mother asked if he could call me back, I replied, "No, it's ok.  I"m in England, by the time he gets home it will be too late here." 

(Mel and Tiff at one of my very favorite places in the whole world; Boxhill, England, 1996)

My trip to England was a great two weeks of contemplation.  Aided by my BFF joining me for the last week there.  In between me tour guiding and Melanie being the tourist, we daydreamed, made bets, and speculated of my future with Mike.

And it was on this trip, that I had my last serious, deep conversation with my beloved Granny.  I told her that I thought maybe I would marry Mike.  Her reply was, "I know you will marry a good man. You needn't think too much about it."

And really, to make a long story short.
I came home nervous, anxious, excited and thrilled to see Mike.
A few days after returning home, Mike and I, hmmm, how should I put it?

After more than two years of being friends, we moved forward...

(I know my eyes are closed, but remember this was in the days before digital cameras to see your picture.  

Melanie, Tiffany, Brett and  Mike--and their London Policeman hats we brought them back as souvenirs.)

Within a couple of weeks, we knew we would get married. And so with me attending the University of Utah full time, working three jobs and him running his landscaping company, and forty miles between us we 'dated' for the next five months, before actually deciding to get a ring, set a date and move forward.

But the love story isn't over yet.
And I'm not talking about now.

I'm talking about the day Mike proposed...

Stay tuned for why I went into the ladies bathroom stall at a restaurant to cry on the day Mike proposed and why I pinched Mike's cheek really hard after him proposing....

Happy Monday!

A Memory For Monday (With a hammock)

Continued...
Early the next morning, before anyone else woke up, Mike and I took a drive through American Fork canyon.  Not much was resolved or said.  It wasn't that it was awkward, I think we just weren't fully aware yet that the stars were slowly aligning in our favor.

My 'I really like Chad' sentiment was very quickly forgotten by Mike, myself and even Chad.  (Call it what you want, but I didn't talk to Chad for almost six weeks later... But that is a whole 'nother story.)

A couple of days after the camping trip, the four of us, went to the Mount Timpangos temple open house.  Melanie had plans for strategically making sure Mike and I were alone, and she had big dreams that I would just plant a big ole' kiss on Mike's lips. (No, not while in the temple!)

It didn't happen.
I spent the next couple of days conflicted.  

Yet one thing was sure, my faith was strongly renewed.  I knew at this point, what I had told Mike three months previously was the right thing to do.  I am ashamed to admit, that it wasn't until after the camping trip that I fully understood the Lord was on my side!

At this point, I might add, this was the day before everyone had cell phones, and I was busy working two jobs, going to school and enjoying summer, and Mike was busy working (what's new?).  I think we played phone tag a fair amount, but didn't talk for a few days.

And then I bit the bullet and one evening, I drove down to American Fork.  I watched him water his big vegetable garden and then eat a Subway sandwich all the while him acting like our changing friendship was really nothing out of the ordinary.

We talked about us.  I wondered why Mike didn't attempt to kiss me again, but I am smart enough now to realize his male ego was on the line...
By the end of a conversation in a parking lot of the Utah State Developmental Center, I left irritated and frustrated.  (Mike has made huge strides in his communication skills since.)

I didn't see Mike for almost two weeks, until Brett  invited all of us to a BBQ at his house in Provo. 

(Brett, Melanie, Mike and Tiffany, August 1996)

And so it was there, in the front yard of an old charming house on 200 North in Provo, that Mike and I laid  on the hammock alone together, on a warm August night.  Without warning, Mike turned to me and asked, "Do you think you could like me for a really, really long time?"

And then, we kissed.

Two days later, I flew to England for a two weeks...
(And this was back when the US Postal service and a house phone were the main forms of communication...)

A Memory For Monday (with a candy bar)

I love chocolate. I've been making a greater effort to not have chocolate around the house lately, but after church today I had a serious craving for some.

And then I remembered Megan's half eaten Twix hiding behind the i-pod speaker....

So, I snuck the half Twix with me upstairs to my closet to change my clothes.  Of course, I am a nice wife and offered some to my changing-clothes-husband too.
Without thinking, I broke the Twix 'stick' in half.  Except I hadn't put a conscious effort into it and the Twix stick broke very unevenly.

It brought back clear as day the memory I have as a child, that I remind my children of probably far more than they like.

I was standing in the kitchen with my brother, Matt who had been told to cut the Mars bar in half so that we could share it.  Matt cut it very unevenly, and in true big brother fashion, gave me the smallest piece.  I of course exclaimed as any child would, "It's not fair."  My mother in the other room, overheard and simply exclaimed, "Life isn't fair."

My reply each time my children say, "It's not fair" is the same thing, "Life isn't fair.  I learned that as a child when I was standing in the kitchen while my brother, Matt cut....."
And my children begin to roll their eyes...

(For the record, I always make my children do the 'someone breaks/the other chooses' practice when sharing something.)

All that brings me back to the Twix bar I ate today.
I broke and I chose.
And I enjoyed every bite of it.

And Mike didn't even complain. After all, life isn't fair, is it?

(And that will probably be my answer when Megan starts looking for the rest of her Twix... )

A Memory For Monday (Continued...)

(Camping in American Fork canyon, August 9,1996 Tiffany, Mike, Brett and Melanie)

Remember this evening, when I finally built up the courage to tell Mike I liked him more than a friend and he told me "You're like a sister. I could never kiss a sister."?

Well, though it took me a few weeks of tears and heartache (and slight disappointment in the Lord because I knew I had been prompted to tell him...)  I moved on.

 Spring ended and summer began. And after a few initially awkward phone calls and in-person interactions with Mike, I realized he would always be a great friend.  Mike graduated from college and moved home to really get his landscape company going, and I continued doing what I was doing.

I was actually beginning to really enjoy my summer, which I was enjoying even more because of a boy named Chad.  Upon meeting Chad, we become very close friends.  I remember distinctly a drive through a canyon road with Chad discussing my experience with Mike and chalking it all up to 'good experience.'  I was finally over Mike, I was so relieved.

I really liked Chad. 

Summer was passing quickly, and one Thursday night, I got a phone call from Mike lamenting that summer would be over too quickly and we (meaning him, me, Melanie and Brett) needed to go camping again soon.  And so with four amendable schedules, we pulled together a last minute camping trip for the next night.

It was so fun.  The four of us had a great time relaxing and being together.  Laughing and getting along just like old times.

Except for one thing.
Mike had obviously been THINKING. A.LOT. since that fateful May 22nd day that had occured almost three months previously.

And so,
While laying under the stars talking to Mike, I was completely taken by surprise when Mike turned to kiss me.

But I don't think I was as surprised as he was, when I quickly turned away from him as our lips barely brushed and whispered,

"I really like Chad."

A Memory for Monday (with Cigarettes)

Growing up on Carlton Crescent the local shops were just a short, less-than-five minute walk away.  It seemed that almost daily, my best friend Karen, and I would go buy our daily sweets or crisps fix. I don't think it was because we always needed or wanted candy, but because it was very frequent that we would be called upon to do an errand for our parents.  Errands such as:

A visit to the post office to post a letter to grandparents in America.
A visit to the food shop for a can of dog food.
A stop at the bakery for a loaf of french bread to go with dinner.
A visit to 'the old lady's shop' for some elastic and thread.
A stop at the florist for a bouquet of Freesias to adorn the coffee table.
A visit to the chemist to buy some medicine.

And, it was in the sweet shop purchasing our sweets and crisps that we'd ask for '20 Silk Cut, please.'  And the friendly, Pakistani shopkeeper would hand us the small white and purple box with cigarettes inside for Karen's mum.

Me blowing out the candles after my baptism on my 8th birthday with Karen next to me

(And note to Sarah and Susie- do you see yourselves off to the side?)

It was very normal to us.  And very normal to the shopkeeper.

It doesn't seem so normal to my children, who just can't quite grasp the concept that their mother, as a child, used to buy cigarettes a couple of times a month.

Times have certainly changed for me.

A one stop trip to Walmart can almost always do the job.

And I haven't bought a pack of cigarettes in years and years...

Times have certainly changed.

A Memory for Monday (With The Future)

(An unrelated-to-this-post-photo of Mike's family on a Service Vacation to Mexico in 1994--but it's the right time period at least...)

Back in the summer of 1993, my BFF and I (and I honestly can't remember who we went with!?) went to a UB40 concert at what was then, Park West.  We couldn't help but notice the group sitting in front of us on the grassy hill, because one of the girls in the group had very unique, long, brown, tight curly hair.
A year and a half or so later, my BFF and I both happened to notice this girl at the LDS institute at the University of Utah.  We named her (from afar) the UB40 girl.  (Oh man, I could do a whole essay alone on names that my BFF and I used to give people...)

Fast forward a few months, and we recently met Mike (my now husband).  One day we saw him talking to the UB40 girl and another girl.   And so we later said to him, "Hey, you know the UB40 girl?" 

Turns out that she is Mike's sister's BFF!

What a small world!
But, even better, when we explained to Mike why she was named the UB40 girl, Mike told us that he was at that concert with them.

I love this story.
I LOVE it.

Who would ever have guessed that while I was standing at the UB40 concert in August of 1993 daydreaming of a boy named BJ, that my future husband, a complete stranger, was ten feet away from me.

I love that!

A Memory For Monday (With The Look)

 (Completely random and unrelated to the post...My mom, Ellie, Megan and me--February 2008)

I remember clear as day the afternoon riding in the back seat of the car with my older-by seventeen-months-brother, Matthew. However, I can not remember who was the special passenger in the front seat alongside my mother, to elicit the 'You better be on your best behavior' lecture earlier that morning.

And so obediently, Matt and I kept to ourselves. We didn't interrupt, we didn't fight, we didn't even talk to those up front. We entertained ourselves with conversation. I, maybe six-seven years old, but already ever the questioner and random conversation starter asked Matt,

"What do you like to do best? Coughing, sneezing or yawning?

I can not for the life of me remember Matt's response.  But, I do remember my response, more importantly though, I remember The Look that I saw in the rear view mirror.  You know The Look that every mother is capable of giving.  The Look of warning, threat, punishment and quite possibly, doom.

Obviously, I had answered my own question loud enough for my mother and special passenger to hear too.

"I like sneezing the best.  Especially when snot shoots out of your nose."

The Look was enough.

I immediately halted any further discussion of bodily functions and/or fluids.

And for the record, I received no further punishment or talk.

After all, any mother knows that more often than not, The Look is sufficient.

A Memory For Monday (With The Flag)

I had only lived in America for a few days when during the morning announcements at my junior high school everyone in my art class suddenly stood up and began saying something I had never before heard. I must have had a puzzled look on my face, because after everyone sat down, my kind art teacher Mr. Lee called me over to his desk. He tenderly explained that the students had been reciting the Pledge of Allegiance. He went on to explain to me that I didn’t need to join in, but I should show respect by standing with them. His nonjudgmental explanation was a pivotal moment for me. It was then and there that I made the conscious decision to love and respect the traditions and symbols of what was to me a very new country. Since then I have always been deeply touched anytime the pledge is recited or the national anthem is sung, and I can honestly say that I do not take seeing a flag flying for granted.

  (Yankee Stadium, September 2004)

Of course, it was almost 20 years after this experience that I became 'officially eligible' to participate in The Pledge of Allegiance or the national anthem.  And I can honestly say whether I am standing in a school classroom with my children, at home outside around our displayed flag, at a Cub Scout Pack Meeting, a sporting event, a family home evening or even at a rodeo...I get teary eyed each and every time I participate in the pledge or the national anthem.

I take them both very seriously.
I truly am...
Proud To Be An American.