"Green Green, It's Green They Say..."

Illustrations from Dinosaur Roar
by Paul and Henrietta Strickland

I'm not very green. In fact, I've turned brown. I use ziplocs by the dumpload, my newspapers are tossed in the trash, and I didn't even know about the HOV lane. A couple of green missionaries came to visit tonight and gave me a discussion. I think they're trying to convert me.

I was raised green. My mom used butter wrappers to grease the cookie sheets, and she washed paper cups. I dutifully brought home the wax paper from my sandwich so it could be used in my lunch box the next day. Though my thermos held the memory of yesterday's milk, my mother wouldn't waste extra money for a cardboard carton.

I don't know when I threw out the teachings of my childhood. I'm sure the diaper pail had something to do with it: disposables changed my life. I started contributing to the land fill problem with my sixth kid...interestingly, he's the green one! (Maybe he feels guilty.) He was the one who decided we should recycle our newspapers back in the day. Every few weeks he piled a huge stack from the garage into his truck and carted them to the special bin at the grocery store.

Our Mr. Green Jeans used to have a lawn care business, so he literally contributed to the greening of the neighborhood. He hauled loads and loads of debris to the dump. Maybe that's where he caught the vision.

Before he left tonight he washed out the baggie I'd used to store the bread; it's now hanging on the faucet to dry. As we all know, it's not easy being green. My examples wash and dry the plastic utensils after a family party; they've both bagged bottled water, and they can't let a piece of litter lie in peace. They even grow food. (I guess you can't sit on your thumbs when they're green!)

I don't know if I'm ready to change colors quite yet. Green seems so zesty and vibrant, while brown is relaxing and comfortable. It's just easy. But if I don't adapt with the times, I may become a dinosaur!

Have you converted yet? Do you have suggestions for changing colors gradually?

BYU Blog Talk

Business Card by Amy

I've received requests for copies of the speech I gave at BYU Women's Conference May 2nd, on blogging. If you are interested, please send a request and your email address to my email and I'll send the file to you.

This talk was given as part of a presentation on Family Reunions. I spoke on how to strengthen ties between family members using the Internet and Blogs. It is in a religious context, has some scriptural references, and is not a workbook for the technology of blogs. I used some material that has already been published on my blog, and I will publish more excerpts as posts in the future. (I say all this so you'll know what to expect.)

My talk as a whole has a copyright, but you are welcome to quote from it, or share segments of it, as long as it is attributed to me, with my name and email address. If you use any part of it on your blog it must be linked to travelinoma.blogspot.com You do not have permission to use it in it's entirety for any reason, and long excerpts must be in quotes and linked. If someone else wants a copy of the whole talk, have them email me. My talk may not be used in any commercial form.

I'm thrilled so many of you want to read it and share it, but I'd like to have it seen in the context I created. Thanks!!!

Going on a Bear Hunt

Illustrated by Feodor Rojankovsky

"Once upon a time in a nursery rhyme there were three bears. Cha, Cha..."

Does anybody know the rest of this chant? (It has the phrase, "Hey-bob-a-ree-bear" in it.) Was it in a book?

I'm looking for my childhood.

A Wonder Book (maybe it was a Golden Book) I'd like to find was about a little boy named Henry who painted his house. The last line was "Bessie, I'm a little messy." Do you remember that one? Or the one about a black puppy who got his head stuck in a pitcher of lemonade? If you're of my vintage, or had a mom who kept her 1950's book collection, maybe you know these titles. Another one I'd love to find was about a man who had a merry-go-round on the back of his truck. Anyone? Anyone?

One more thing: James Garner (Maverick) played Rockford, and his dad was named Rocky. Rocky was on a Saturday morning TV show in the 50's and I think he played a clown. (But it seems like the show was a western.) Anyway, does this ring any bells? I'm wondering what the show was called.

And one more one more thing, there's a Little Golden Book out there somewhere about some Eskimo-type bears that lived in an igloo, and the mother bear made them all coats of seal skins.

Thank you beary much! (How could I not say it?)

Counting My Blessings

Illustrations from
My Picture Book of Songs
by
Alene Dalton, Myriel Ashton, Erla Young

The post about my talk at BYU Women's Conference is eluding me. I want to tell you all about it in some light-hearted way, (and I will in the next few weeks) but right now I'm still in a daze.

I didn't fall off the stage, and I didn't sneeze messily into the microphone. I think I connected. Nobody booed, or walked out and I didn't have a hot flash. I was blessed! I got help from heaven.

Five months is a long time to prepare for a 25-minute presentation. I wrote and re-wrote my speech until I was sick of it. In the days before the conference I practiced out loud and it sounded boring and flat. Standing at the podium I looked out and saw over 600 faces seeking spiritual and emotional enlightenment, and I was talking about blogging! It all seemed a little surreal.

But in the crowd I saw faces of friends and family who had confidence in me. I felt a spiritual burst of enthusiasm for my topic, and reassurance that it was worth while. Though I was standing there alone, I had a lot of back-up!

The Choir

by Marty, 1983.

I stepped alone upon the stage to sing my melody;
The audience seemed massive as they gazed expectantly.
My coach, the music Master, saw me clasp my sweaty palm;
"Watch my baton," he whispered, "I'll lead you. Now be calm."

Liltingly the tune began. I heard my intro start,
And then the only beat I heard was coming from my heart.
A tremor shook my untrained voice...the crowd could sense my fear,
"I'm not a soloist," I thought. "What am I doing here?"

And then, among my listeners I saw a loving face.
He gave a wink, I felt his trust, his smile was an embrace.
Self confidence returned, and I fancied that his voice
Joined mine and a duet emerged. I inwardly rejoiced.

Harmonizing voices, yet only mine was heard.
The Master alone could understand the miracle that occurred.
Silvery, another's song rang out to join our air.
A little child's carol was an answer to my prayer.

I visualized our trio, yet watched the Master's wand
As he pointed to a sister, and others just beyond.
In unison they carried me, and the chorus reached a crest.
Their unheard voices soared to lift mine to it's best.

And so each soloist in turn steps out to sing alone,
With eyes upon the Master to whom each note is known.
The tune is new, the words are old, with power to inspire,
When written by the Master, and accompanied by the choir.

Who is in your choir?

Blogapalooza: Picture This

Sista Trip 2008

It was picture perfect. Green and blue balloons floated above tables sprinkled with matching green and blue M & M's. There were darling hand crafted place cards and name tags, personalized with logos and photos; get-acquainted games; a gift give-away; an informative blog tech discussion; a catered, sit-down dinner; a group photograph; and new friends. It was a reunion of strangers.

Blogapalooza had been in the works for months! CeliaFae and her bloggy followers started discussing a get-together in January, and all her readers got an on-line invitation. At first it was a small group who were attending BYU Women's Conference already. They each spread the word, and sign ups were underway by February. Money was collected, babysitters arranged and travel plans finalized.

Blogaplooza group emails started flying through cyberspace. One day I got a message with a video of all the bloggers who had made their reservations. Forty-five in all and they were all young and cute. I had the signature look: older.

Celia posted a blog map showing how we were connected (Gab saw Celiafae on Stie, clicked, Celia commented, Oma saw the comment on Gab, commented, Paige clicked, Bridget commented, Mique clicked...) and how the blogger family tree had added new branches all along the way.

Posts became famous (The Slipper, UPS Flash, Shoesday,) and friendships were formed. Women came from faraway places like Pennsylvania, Florida, California, Washington and Texas. Most went to classes, but some came especially for this meeting of minds.

I sat at a table with a triathlon winner, a mother of triplets, a photographer, and an advocate for special needs kids. None of us had met in person, but we were already friends. Several women said how they got strange looks from non-bloggers when they referred to Blogapalooza. It sounded crazy to the outside world, like a teenage girl arranging to meet her on-line stalker. It was more like meeting trusted, long-time penpals.

Can you picture meeting Anne Frank? Or Mary Engelbreit? Or Anne Geddes? You know them because of the words they've written and art they've created. What if they had seen the drawings you've done, your creative photos, or read your diary? What if they had an appreciation for your work, too? That's a little bit of how I felt.

I'm not a joiner. I'm pretty independent and I like my space. But this is a group I'm glad to be part of. I'll carry a picture of Blogapalooza around in my memory for a long time.

(I can't remember who did all the work, but thanks to every one of you!)

Traveling Companions

Salzburg Bahnhof 2008
(Some other Travelin' Omas)

I stood on a platform today, and let it all hang out. It was incredibly reassuring to see people I love smiling back at me! Emails and well wishes from bloggy friends, and calls from my Heroes were just the ticket to build my confidence. I'd like to track you all down and give you a hug! It's fun traveling through life with you guys.

(More later...)

Be A Star!

Heroes at Reunion, 1983

Have you ever stopped to count the people in your audience? There's lots of admirers watching your performance in life, and you're pleasing a lot of folks. Did you do a bit of good in the world today? Did you cheer someone up? Did you lift someone out of their doldrums for even a minute? The shouts and clapping might be silent to your ears, but they're happening just the same. Look around at YOUR audience. You've got some fans! Give them your best.

Can We Talk?

The Conversation
by
Abraham Leon Kroll

I'm missing some eyelashes. Apparently I rubbed too hard when I took my mascara off last night and now I have a bald spot in the middle of my eyelid.

This couldn't have come at a worse time. You see, I'm speaking at Women's Conference and I want to look my best. It wouldn't be so noticeable if my eye wasn't twitching so obnoxiously. I know a twitching eye is practically invisible to an onlooker, but the new red zit on my nose is a beacon pointing the way.

I wouldn't care so much if I could paint my fingernails a bright color and pull the attention to my hands. However I broke a nail halfway down, so I either have to cut them all off to the nubbins and make them match, or wear inconspicuous polish.

Or get fake nails. And fake eyelashes! But then I might forget and itch my twitching eye and both could fall off in the middle of my speech. My cheeks would turn bright red in embarrassment...but at least they'd match my nose.

I'm so nervous! Can you talk?

Say Uncle!

The Dinner Party
by Jules-Alexandre Grün

What if you could have dinner with a man who was a spy during World War II? Or a man who had lived in India as a young man? I did. Hundreds of times. They were my uncles. Unfortunately, I didn't find out the interesting stuff until I went to their funerals! They just seemed like old men to me.

I liked my Uncle Don because he did magic tricks with quarters. Who'd guess he'd been a world-class tennis champion? Uncle Allen made scenery for the Nativity play we put on every Christmas Eve. I never knew he had been a spy behind enemy lines during the Battle of the Bulge. On D-Day his jeep sunk and he had to swim to shore. Movies are made from stories like these!

My Uncle Walt just died. One of his friends (an 80+ old gentleman) spoke at the funeral and said, "I always wondered how the ugly old coots got all the hot chicks." He was referring to my cute aunt. Then he said, "I just saw a picture of Walt as a 21-year-old sailor, and he was pretty good looking!" On the way out of the church I saw the picture, too. Wow! He was a doll! They married when he was on leave, and she immediately sent him off to war. I think I read a book like that once.

I saw my uncles every single Sunday for nineteen years, and then a few times a year for the next thirty. What a shame I never really talked to them! I knew them at the end of their stories, but didn't realize they had such fascinating beginnings. Those experiences were still part of them, and I missed out.

I'm going to listen a little more closely at the family reunion this year. They invite interesting people to those parties!

What are some stories you've heard from relatives? Are they written down anywhere??

Birthday Boys

May, 2004

"A boy is a theory; a man is a fact."
--Ed Howe

Tattle-Tale

1981

This little bunny had a tale for anyone who'd listen. We regularly called her into our room to find out what was really going on downstairs in the family room. She dutifully and happily reported every single misdemeanor of her brothers and sisters.

One day she came into the laundry room with chocolate chips melting all over her face. "The kids are eating the cookies," she said.

I feel a little like a tattle-tale today. I'm quick to feel picked on and anxious to report the blunders of others, yet I have some chocolate on my face, too.

Most of the time people have good intentions. I've learned a lesson today: we're the pioneers of this blog world. There aren't any rule books yet. We're making it up as we go along, and I think we're doing a pretty good job.

Our cute bunny figured out that tattle-tales aren't very popular. By the time she was six she quit jumping to conclusions, and spreading tales, became a little less judgmental, and enjoyed her chocolate chip cookies a lot more.

I'm going to wash all this chocolate off my face.

(All's well that ends well.)

Rough ABC's

Peter Pan and Captain Hook
by Walt Disney

I've run into some pirates lately and so have a few other bloggers I know. They're taking our valuables. Certain combinations of words have been seen in someone else's treasure chest. One bluebeard actually pinched a few photos and flew them from the mast of her ship. (Get your own husband, Matey!) The Blogosphere is a pretty small ocean and it doesn't take too long for the news to float back.

I work for hours writing my blog. I'm not kidding. I know that sounds like a waste of time to some of you, but I love doing it. I can sit here until 4:00 am, reading my thesaurus, looking for just the right words. I have books of writing exercises that I study, and I use my Strunk and White like a Bible to improve my technique. Writing is my craft, my art. I'm not great, but I'm getting better.

I hope my words have a positive influence somewhere. I hope someone will get a spark of an idea from me. I'm flattered if readers adapt thoughts, or try something I've suggested and make it their own. But don't copy my words!

I love to see a link like, "TravelinOma had an idea that got me thinking..." but please don't copy a post word for word! That's MY hard work! Write your own.

And if you have ads on your blog, you're selling my work as your own. It's called plagiarism. Real piracy.

Sorry to rant. I've been up 'til all hours for a month, writing and rewriting my Women's Conference talk, and my sister saw part of it on someone's blog. It feels like I've been punched in the eye. (Maybe I'll get an eye patch.)

Mother's Helper

She's always been a sweetheart!
(Click here.)

Pack It In

Viennese women are chic.
I wanted to be chic, too,
but I needed to pack it all in one carry-on suitcase.

Packing List
Three pair pants (two of them black)
-or two pants, one skirt-
Four silky T-shirts (black, red, white, green.)
Two slinky-type tank tops (black, white)
Lightweight black Cardigan
Appropriate weight coat or jacket
Denim jacket
Silver jewelry
Long (fake) pearl necklace and earrings
Cream colored long silk opera scarf
Three scarves for jacket (black, green, red)
Two pairs black shoes
PJ's
Four sets underwear

This is all I ever take, even on three-week trips,
and what I wear on the plane comes from this list.

Everything except the jackets can be hand-washed.
I take lightweight fabrics that will dry overnight.

In hot weather I take a gauzy black skirt and blouse, wear sandals,
and leave one pair of shoes and a jacket home.

I pack kits so I can unpack and pack quickly.
Nightstand kit: little flashlight, tissues, lotion, chapstick...
Secretary kit: Check register, calculator, pen, envelope for receipts...
Recharge kit: camera and phone chargers, extra batteries, memory card...
Toiletries, Make-up, the usual...

I use a cool packing cube for my clothes.
It has hard plastic pieces for the top and bottom to keep things neat.
I take a fabric laundry sack, and an extra Le Sac bag that folds into it's own pouch.
If I need to, I can stuff the Le Sac with my laundry bag, check it for the flight home,
and have room for souvenirs.

It never looks like it will all fit.

I like two jackets because I'm always wearing one, and I get less bored with my photos.

I stuff in two different umbrellas to vary my look.
One of them is usually clipped onto my purse, so I think of them as
colorful accessories, even when it isn't raining.

Push it all down, and voila!

Viennese Chic!

P.S. We make a stop at the post office before we leave a city, and mail any purchases home, so we don't get overloaded. (They have boxes and tape there.)

Bon Voyage!

Tilda Louise Borjesson Lavin Lundgren

Tilda Louise Borgeson 1884

Mom used to tell me stories about her grandma. She only knew one of them, because her father's mom died in Sweden. Her mother's mother, Tilda, was born in 1867, in Malmo, Sweden.

Harbor Malmo

She married Anders Lavin when she was just eighteen and at nineteen had a baby boy they named Theodore. She wrote this:

I was raised as a devout Lutheran. When my tiny boy Theodore died at just two years old I began to question God. At this time of sorrow I found a new faith that brought hope of eternal families. On February 4, 1886 the ice was cut in the river and my husband and I were baptized into the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

I knew I would be ridiculed by my family for what I had done, and I was right. All the members of my family turned against me.

Street in Malmo

Only a few days after my baptism I met my mother on the street and she crossed to the other side so as not to speak to me.

(In time they became more friendly and eventually my mother,
my sister, and her family also joined the Church.)

By then a new little boy, George, had filled the void in our hearts left by the loss of our baby. We decided to emigrate to Utah in America to join other Mormons who lived there.

The ship was crowded, and the trip was long and difficult with much illness on board. I was very frightened, as I was only 22 years old.

On board an immigrant ship, 1880's.

When we arrived in Salt Lake City my husband was very ill. I became a dressmaker, and worked at a restaurant where I did cleaning. I went early in the morning and made sure I was through before anyone came, as I didn't want anyone to see me doing that kind of work, though it was honest labor.

SLC Main Street about 1900

If I had had any money I would have gone back to Sweden, where I could get better work. Those were trying days, and I almost lost my courage. Learning the language was a very hard task. The Lord helped me learn English and adjust to the customs.

In just three years we already had an adorable baby girl, Agnes, and another precious son, Joseph. When he was a year old he became very ill. It was the Lord's will that he should go, but it was terribly hard to lose him.

Not long after this great sorrow another beautiful blue-eyed baby was born to us. How proud we were of him. I loved to lie on the bed and look at him. He was such a healthy baby and when my friends came I was over-anxious to show him off!

One day while I was busy in my kitchen, a never to be forgotten accident occurred. I kept a wooden tub outside by the water pump. I left just a very small amount of water in the bottom of it to keep it from drying out and cracking. I had just checked on my baby and then went about my work. Within seconds I heard a terrible scream. My neighbor had come to get water and there she found my baby, Henry, face down in the very shallow water in the tub. He had died instantly, it seemed.

The sorrow was almost more than I could bear. Everyone did all they could for me, but I failed to be comforted. Baby Henry did not have a wet spot on him. His little life was just snuffed out so quickly. Oh, the shock was terrible! He was just a little over a year old. I felt the hope go out of me.

Our oldest son, George was then about seven years old. He came to me in my sorrow and tried to comfort me. I was so bereaved I scarcely knew what I said. I answered him, "Oh, you will probably die too, I guess." Instead of turning from me he looked up at me and said, "No, Mama. I'm not going to die. I will grow up and make you proud, and you will be glad."

It seemed like there was magic when our eyes met. As he said this to me, something in my soul awakened. The faith my little son showed at this time acted as tonic from heaven to me. My faith in God's love was made stronger, and I was again able to walk through this garden of Gethsemane. Little George's prophesy was fulfilled. He did grow up to make me proud, and I was glad.

My prayer from that day on was that I would prove to be worthy to meet my babies Theodore, Joseph and Henry again. I always gave thanks to God that he allowed me to keep my children George and Agnes, who lived to raise seven children each. I have had much joy and gladness in my life."

Tilda's daughter Agnes (in the glasses)
and her husband Axel Lundgren,
with their seven children.
My mom, Junie is the one on her Dad's lap.
This photo was taken in 1930.