One year ago this April, we celebrated the 90th birthday of my last living grandparent: Geneal Call Cooper. Although her birthday was in January, she had a hip replacement in that month, my folks were in Hawaii, so we pushed her party until spring-time. The family encouraged her to get the hip replacement because she was still so healthy and young. Just look at her, and you will see: This mama does not look 90!

As part of her celebration, my cousin and I filmed her kids and grandkids sharing memories of Grandma & Grandpa Cooper. We also interviewed Grandma about her life, and it was such a blessing to understand Grandma on a new level:

Over and over again family & friends attested: I never heard her say a bad word about anyone!

It was just this past February I mailed her some Valentine's Cards from my kids. She wrote back a thank-you that has been on my fridge. It is dated February 25th of this year. In the letter she is expressing concern over a family member recently diagnosed with cancer. Who would have thought on March 22nd, she would be diagnosed with a rare form of leukimia with the opinion that she had 3-4 months to live. Later in the week she was given 1-2 months to live. In reality, she passed away just 12 days after receiving the diagnosis.

What good is a Valentines Week of Love without some talk about love-making right? This won't be out of hand, I promise. But first, a story about my sweet and GIANT (and by giant I mean 6feet1inch) little sister, Niki.

So in case you're new here, Mrs. Olsen plus her family are Mormons. That means your goal is to marry in the temple, which is a clean and holy place. And a peaceful place too. To marry there, you have to meet several faithful requirements, one of which is to not be a fornicator. God does love a virtuous woman, this I know. Which means that sex is a wonderful and scary mystery to the average virginal Mormon girl getting married for the first time.

For most people who think that lives on TV are standard, this (being a virginal Mormon girl) is NOT normal.

So my little giant sister Niki, bless her little heart, has left her western landscape where Mormon Culture was prevalent, and is now standing out amongst the heathens of the East. *wink*

Which means that Niki, who already stands out like a sore thumb because of her freakish height, is now standing out because she is young, a wife, and has more than 2 kids (East Coast Standard). Her hubs is in a medical residency, and is just about the ONLY guy that is NOT single, and definitely the only one that has kids.

A fellow resident recently gets married, and Niki and her husband arrive at a get-together to meet and greet the doctor and his new wife. When the new bride meets Niki, who is funny and friendly (and honest...bless her little heart), they start talking about how the wedding was. This led to talk of the new bride's amazing and extravagant honeymoon all through Europe.

So get this, this is my brave sister honestly confronting these rare missionary opportunities denied her in the west:

"Yeah, our honeymoon wasn't that awesome. We were supposed to go to a cabin but that didn't work out, so we just drove to Boise, Idaho. But we are Mormons ya know? So we hadn't had sex before we got married so it didn't really matter where we went cause we hardly left the hotel anyway. (Laugh)"

Pause.

Silence.

Upper-Crust East Coaster says NOTHING, looks at my sister like she's a freak and walks away.

Can I just say that she is putting herself out there and is ready to answer your questions about her religion! I LOVE HER. Boise, Idaho? For real? And since I'm injecting myself into this conversation, here's Mrs. Olsen giving upper-cruster a beeeech-slap for not having a sense of humor...or respect.

Well, my sister is right. You get married and hardly leave the hotel room during your honeymoon and you figure things out without the stupid Sex in the City girlfriends sharing tips and one-upping each other in the bedroom. You are alone, you and your spouse, and you learn to:

*share bank accounts
*plan meals
*go to church together
*share dreams
*work jobs to achieve dreams
*go to school without your folks paying rent anymore
*learn love languages
*pray together
*stop taking road trips cause you have bills to pay
*get a purpose
*support
*sacrifice
*serve

and when you aren't UNITED in the above department, how is it you can UNITE physically without a sort of spiritual schizophrenia?

SEX is the ultimate symbol of a united life in the financial, health, religious, parenting, retirement planning, working, building a home, and loving a family department.

I don't say this to ostracize those that live differently from me and my weird little sister. People are still beautiful, even if fornicators. And little sisters far from home, raising 3 kids and supporting a husband who works 90+ hours a week, going to parties and telling it like it is...will ALWAYS be beautiful to me.

With Love,
Mrs. Olsen

I'm not sure what's going on at Mrs. Olsen's house. I mean, I feel like I have a lot to say, but have proceeded on a mystic impetus to shut up. Or maybe turn off. Since I'm averaging one post a month right now (does anybody miss me?) my mystic impetus has temporarily aligned with the mass reminiscing, crossroads of life, wetting-your-pants impossibility of that fateful day: September 11, 2001. Those double elevens hit me today (the 22nd) and said: tick-tock, almost out of time, don't forget. Never forget.

By some summer miracle, this blog is getting updated. There is so much going on, I'm not quite sure where to begin, how to end, or what to expound. So now that I have a second at this way-past-bedtime shush, I thought I'd throw out a taste of Mrs. Olsen's Summer of Oh-Nine so far....


and reverence. Also curiosity, dry heaving & new theories about millenial life. Hmmmm..?


wish these were my toes darnit. Purple!

My mommy moved home from Hawaii, and my sissy got in a big jet airplane all the way across the U.S. so we could digest an Idaho sunset together. Aaaaahh.... p.s. over a foot cut off my locks and the olfactory cells reminiscing Apache Avenue when I got a perm the first time in over 15 years!

Looksie!

A Circus! Right in our neighborhood!

I haven't looked this good in a suit since Ricks College!

If anyone is reading these blurbs: Please take a guess at how much older cousin on the left is than Rainbow Girl?

Round 2 of the neighborhood circus. Notice the cat-like poise of Rainbow Girl via Tiger! Yeow!


Aaahh. For reals my only daughter got baptized and received The Gift of the Holy Ghost, and my heart nearly exploded with JOY!

Joseph Smith, boy prophet and faithful martyr, once sat down with a bunch of friends and taught them a series of lectures on faith. One of the lectures began with this premise:

"Let us here observe, that three things are necessary, in order that any rational and intelligent being may exercise faith in God unto life and salvation."

"Thirdly, An actual knowledge that the course of life which he is pursuing, is according to his will."*

So it was under this premise that I began a more careful reading of scripture. I focused on 2 things: the separate titles of Deity (from "The God of Nature" to "The Stem of Jesse") left me pondering on the many roles that God plays in my life. Next, the underlining of specific attributes of God as detailed by those who knew Him best (the prophets writing scripture).

One day I found a scripture that changed my relationship with God forever. Here it is:

If a [daughter] shall ask bread of any of you that is a father, will he give [her] a stone? or if he ask a fish, will he for a fish give [her]a serpent? - Luke 11:11

All of a sudden a light switch went off! I had a lifetime of experience with a hard-working, unselfish, funny, and amazing dad that put everything in perspective. If I asked my dad for bread, he would definitely not throw me a rock. He would usually pretend to ask for a drive to the breadstore then quietly fill up my constantly-on-fumes gas tank while I stood in the bread line with the $five-spot he tucked in my hand.

My faith grew. My intimidation of a wrathful God was quelled when I realized that I am a daughter of a Father in Heaven who desires not to give a stone in His fury, but wanted me to be good, to have bread, and even catch a fish alongside a beautiful creekbed in the mountains (but not on Sunday mind you!).

For this paradigm shift, and a growth spurt in my faith department, I thank my dad.

Happy Father's Day Daddio.

In honor of all dad's everywhere, watch this amazing clip. Make sure to make it full-screen...it's that good!

*He continued: "For without an acquaintance with these three important facts, the faith of every rational being must be imperfect and unproductive; but with this understanding, it can become perfect and fruitful, abounding in righteousness unto the praise and glory of God the Father, and the Lord Jesus Christ."

Before I was Mrs. Olsen, Memorial Day was mostly about camping trips, parties, or pre-season fun in the metropolitan state of Utah and their homegrown amusement park, Lagoon.  Blame it on my good genes, all my contributing DNA we're alive and kicking 2 and 3 generations back throughout my Apache Avenue childhood.  Who's graves were there to visit?   Memorial Day was my teaser for summer fun just around the corner.  

It was okay.  For a season.

But now I live in a valley that was settled by my and The Mister's ancestors back in the day.  The day meaning those white folks that built permanent structures in the earth, and feared the natives, and sought religion, and worked their asses off for food.  The whole bit.  So for good or bad, they came and threw down roots.   Here in my little valley we visit their pioneer graves at an old country cemetery just a few miles from my home. 



This was back in 2005 when I was growing Vanilla Wafer in my gut. Check out Rainbow Girl in her little rain jacket. 

Look at the rolling hills! 

The settlers named this valley, Avon. They said it looked like Stratford-on-Avon, that beautiful Shakespeare country someone left in pursuit of property, religious fervor, or the American Dream. I'm sure that no matter what they were fleeing, or seeking, they missed their native home a little and welcomed these smiling hills.

It's pretty rare to get The Mister of the House to smile in a photo. Somehow, it works here.   But don't for one minute think our Memorial Day festivities are all somber.  We like to bring some life among the tombstones, and this guy (father of The Mister) usually brings a frisbee. 

 Throwing frisbees is our way of coming to the fence of those that have passed to the other side, and saying We remember!  Look how we move!  Do you miss it? Can you fly?

Tonight after visiting graves, picnics, frisbee, and sun we were chilling at home and watching a movie.  After playing in the backyard, Rainbow Girl rushed in, heart-a-fluttering, to tell us that the neighbor's horse had just escaped from his pen.  Here's the guy right here.  He shares a wall with our feathered ladies of Bok Bok Cottage.

He's probably looking off to our (other) neighbor's pasture. He's been looking over there for a month. Ever since the empty meadow became home for 3 horses, all running together and eating grass. I've been listening to them neigh and whine at each other ever since.

And then....pop!  rush!  he was free!  He bolted to the front of his property, then turned fierce and majestic, tail pitched like a flag, horse on a mission.  Our movie paused and the neighborhood froze.  Folks gathered on their porches.  

With a jolt, the horse cut through a newly seeded yard, then galloped through a vibrant barrier-free yard, turned a corner and trotted in front of our house, and then a rush to the fence along the pasture of the tri-posse that's been egging him on for a month.  Here I am!  And the 3 stooges rushed to the edge and leaned their long necks across and nuzzled.  In their excitement, they all galloped from one edge of the pasture to the other, for one moment pretending that they were a fearsome four-some. Then they softly returned to the edge of the pasture and leaned across the fence and nuzzled some more. 

And then it was over.  Back to reality, there came the bridle and orders for home.  Triumphant, the horse was led back to his lonely pasture and his side of the fence.  

And I treasure this knowledge: that on this Memorial Day in 2009 we came to the fence, and those on the other side understood and leapt for joy.

Speaking of fruitless resolutions, and setting yourself up for disappointment, I am just realizing on this cold day in March that my first quarter of 2009 is nearly over. And also that I wanted to read the entire standard works this year.


Since the standard works are essentially in four sections, that means I should be finishing the Old Testament by the end of this month. And I'm just barely escaping out of Egypt...I haven't even supped in the quiet grace of Esther, beheld the armies of Jericho, or thrown Daniel in the Lion's Den.


But I have to remind myself, that enjoying the scriptures as a long tall glass of water is the better part to being in a mindless hurry. So in order to not be discouraged, and give up altogether, I remember Moses:


Ever mindful of his weakness (slowness of speech among others)he steps into the darkness with faith: The Lord has a plan for me and His people.


With a staff of wonders, a faithful brother as a spokesman, he approaches powerful prideful Pharoah. He has permission to unleash wonders, signs, and tempests if it will get the job done. He has a covenant people who have a special election:

Now that I'm getting a little age on my back, I've been thinking about who I am, how I've changed, and why I could happily be buried in the Colorado River running silty through the Grand Canyon.

You see my point is, that I once hiked through The Grand Canyon and was annoyed to learn that the average visit time was fifteen minutes. And how if I tried to hike right now, I would probably cry and not even have fun. My body testifies of a different life. But my spirit remembers. And smiles.


And how I truly in my heart adore old friends who are sacrificing their taut figures, and degrees, raising little kids who love the Lord. Seeing them do this knowing that once we slept on the trampoline under the stars, dreamed about boys together, or jogged alongside Idaho wheat fields makes motherhood more inspiring to me.


And hearing stories about The Mister's Grandma B (of those yummy caramel marshmallows) and how she grew up in the Depression. Her dirt-poor folks scrounged to get enough sugar to make...lollipops. Just one lollipop for each kid at Little Bernice's birthday party. Excited, she invited her entire class to her birthday party. She proudly displayed the suckers as a rare sweet treat for her guests. Then she waited. And waited. and no one came.

And you know what? She refused to celebrate her birthday for years. Oh, she was giving and loving and serving. But when it came to her birthday, forget it. Get back to her tomorrow. In her 80's, her family finally said enough is enough and threw a surprise party for her.