Beyond Home’s Bed and Bath!
Dear family and dear friends, 15 July 2009
Yesterday, looking through previous family letters, my eyes became accustomed once more to see such a thing--letters. Yes! Sharing a colorful path in monthly missives was once a vibrant part of my life. I am thinking life has richer color, pausing a moment to capture and share the scope behind or ahead.
Thursday, June 25th, Kristen Marie Thomas jumped to the head of the alphabet. Her photos online for friends’ viewing (even in fireworks from last July) are now tagged Kristen Archuleta. Are you any relation to David? Maybe! They all descended from a common source (maybe Adam) but her “Archie” is now affectionately called Zachary. Her choice to marry in the Logan temple placed Kristen in a fourth generation. Her mother’s maternal grandmother was married there 76 years ago; her maternal grandmother, 51, and her mother (me), sixteen.
We learned at the picnic in a neighboring park following the ceremony that Kristen and Zachary share a common progenitor from Switzerland, John Ulrich Stucki, first mayor of Paris (Idaho) and pioneer of Bear Lake Valley. And one of Kristen’s great grandfathers, Marriner Wood Merrill, a Cache Valley Pioneer and early apostle, was Logan Temple’s first president. Archie (yes, we still slip on names) has Logan ancestors. His mother is a Bowden, sister to Robert C. Bowden, who led the Mormon Youth Chorus. And his father, from Rock Springs, Wyoming, and brother also are called by “Archie”…hence Archie has bounced from A to Z.
Both Kristen and Zachary were radiant. Something like younger sister Amber, anxious to get online and secure that tuition payment, after working and waiting so hard to do something long dreamt of, the culmination of this aspiration brought joy easily read on their faces.
Walking out doors of sturdy stone walls to greet and embrace waiting family members, colors of pink, yellow and orange mixed into a potpourri of photos for further perusal and recollection.
Minus the missing recommend, left luggage, extra cozy car ride, and cultural hall under construction, the following reception at Mercer Island, WA, mingling with handfuls of fellow International School buddies (from her class of 42 and more,) ward friends and family brought “a good time had by all.” Helping to iron 56 yellow chair ribbons and a dozen table cloths while catching up with Megan Gee’s vacation ventures, I enjoyed Amber connecting with a pen pal Grandma and Maria, navigating neighborhoods to treasure hunt for silk flowers. Bulletin boards became floral menageries, chalk boards and windows were draped, disguised; shrubs shone, twinkling white lights as hordes of help swarmed in symphony. A choice musical moment came during a video of Kristen and Zach’s childhood when Brianne’s eighteen-month-old Caleb, on cue, decided to dance. Gladly, Seattle had chosen sunshine Saturday, so the open courtyards added charm and no one much noticed the locked cultural hall.
Choice and beloved young women advisors, primary teachers, and mothers of dear friends washed berries and grapes, planted broccoli platters, and let guests ice their own “fruit pizza” with cream cheesed cookies. Prior to a host of the guests, Kristen had arranged a ring ceremony with words from parents, the couple, and a stake leader from when she was a teen explaining the purpose of temples, the coming together of three acts of a play—a life before, time here, and a hereafter. The blessing of qualifying to enter a holy place and the consequential promises made and kept following became a focus. I remembered the little legs wanting to climb to the top of the highest jungle gym, glad that Kristen now has someone to match her stride and fearlessness. I also am grateful for the upward invitation of kept promises in our lives, remembering a little engine chugging down the mountain he had climbed: “I thought I could! I thought I could!” Isn’t it amazing what becomes possible--things we never thought of, when offered support, encouragement (and the tacking of toile or plucking of strawberry stems) from friends.
Here I am inserting out of sequence a selection of the South Jordan, Utah reception (18 July) to illustrate fruit pizza, citrus tang, treasured smiling, and adept dancing shoes that accompany "thinking we can".
In the travels “home”(via California) we learned to laugh with our blunders. Sunday evening, we gathered cherries off limbs in Tom and April Starkey’s backyard. So proud we were of the $5.99/lb organic fruit we had picked for free! After a glorious—too short—round of Ring around the Rosie, peek-a-boo, playing with 2 year old Ellie and eight month old Thomas, we kissed goodbye and started south.
My sister Carma offered us a taco feast and tour of her new Centralia home.
Amber drove and drove. I-5 through Oregon landed us at California’s border. But guess what we forgot? Fruit inspection at the border confiscates cherries. Regardless of the eating hour, we gorged ourselves on the roadside, offering the attendant a handful of measly unripe remains.
Then, absent tent poles (removed last year to lighten the bag’s weight) our camping adventure became a test of individual ability to toss and turn on a Plymouth passenger seat, waking next morning to look for towels—the campground had a shower, but alas, the towels were held hostage beneath four boxes of reception paraphernalia. So Maria scavenged instead for breakfast. And what should emerge from the food box? None other than a second bag of cherries—the ripe ones! Tom has dubbed it the forbidden fruit…but I promise--we refrained from dropping one pit into the state of California!
After lumbering along Lombard Street,
walking on Fisherman’s wharf,
and sampling Ghirardelli’s peanut butter chocolate,
we headed for Mount Tamalpais State Park, just northwest of San Francisco. After climbing and descending 6.6 miles of narrow curves with a 150,000 mile transmission and one head light, Val’s comfort level with directions diminished (the Google map said to drive in 1.1 miles) it became time to check the State Park confirmation. Its directions were similar, but the instructions in small print were worrisome: “You will need a combination to enter this campground.” Oh yes! The Alice Campground we had first passed was gated with a lock. So, how can we get the combination? “Call an 800 number between the hours of 8 and 5.” The clock read 9:30 p.m. with the sky darkening. All along the curving roads, signs warned, “Cars Stopped On this Road Will Be Apprehended.” (No parking was to be had.) What now? Time to pray! “We are in trouble. We should have read the fine print. Please help us find some clues about who to speak with and what to do.” After a U-turn and 6.6 miles of backtracking, we drove near the chained Alice Campground off a residential area. A vehicle was pulling in to someone’s home. Jumping out, I flagged down the resident. “Do you know someone who could tell us about Mt. Tamalpais State Park?” I blurted out our predicament.
“Oh, I can help you. I am the park ranger!” Just arriving home, ready to enter her house, this woman gave us directions for the campground (11 miles in,) a combination for the locked gate, and help changing reservations for the following day. What are the chances??! Lessons learned? Read the fine print. Pray always.
After checking out Chinatown,
traveling the trolley,
and trekking a (red) Golden Gate Bridge,
and a Golden Gate park
we decided to drive the desert of Nevada,
grateful for a kind oasis stop at Laurene’s sister’s in-laws, the Sorensen’s in Sparks. We arrived home to celebrate July 4th and witness Gee grandparents’ submitting of mission papers.
This deserves a firework display! Both will be content if Grandpa comes near to Bangkok and Grandma has access to indoor plumbing. Suspense mounts. Praying for our family members and good friends in parts far and near, hoping your lives are complete with answered prayers and combinations to help you find rest. Love to you each! The Starkeys
