A New Adventure

Something that my ileostomy nurse, Phyllis, said to me in my hospital room on that dreadful day when I was struggling to cope with Yeti, has stuck with me every day since. The weight and overwhelming realization that my life was never going to be the same, or at least the part that dealt with my bathroom needs was greatly altered. {*note to unassuming reading: this is going to contain some potty talk.} Going to the bathroom used to be so simple. I never appreciated the simplicity of eating whatever I wanted nor my body's automatic digestive process ending with sitting on the toilet, wiping, and flushing, not even having to look at the output in the bowl. Life was so simple.

Phyllis had finished instructing me about "the bag". I listened and acted interested but all I wanted to do was close my eyes and not wake up again or wake up to find that it was just a horrible night mare. So I closed my eyes but when I opened them I was still in a place that I wasn't excited about and the tears came. Phyllis was surprised. She thought she did something to hurt me. Finally, all I could say was that I was having a hard time mentally dealing with the bag. She was so funny and said, "oh, you're having a moment."

With great care, wisdom, and compassion she explained exactly the feelings I was experiencing, which made me cry more. Then came the pep talk. She explained that we're all on this amazing experience, life. But I'm on a new adventure. That's all it is. An adventure. It's not the one I wanted or asked for. But it's the one I've been given and it's still an adventure. And it'll be what I make of it. And she said a few more things about other people's adventures. But my mind stood still on the thought that I love adventures.

I grew up with three brothers and an adventurous father. He took us out all over the Arizona deserts and mountains to explore, climb, and discover. I had many great adventures. I remember once we were near the Superstition Mountains north of Apache Junction for the day riding our motor cycles. Us kids had one little motor cycle to share between us so while we waited our turn we explored. I was always hopeful that I would discovery a new cave or sight that nobody had known about. That day I actually came across an old abandoned dug out cabin or some kind of dwelling. Maybe it belonged to the Lost Dutchman. It was exciting.

What a blessing Phyllis and her talk of adventures has been to me. And now while I look out my windows and see all the green hills and snow capped mountains I can't wait to climb to their tops.
For another {uplifting} story about mountains click on this. I loved what was said about the difficult climbs. “To appreciate the height, you must experience the bottom,” he says. “You can’t appreciate the end without understanding the process.”

Tough Pioneer Girl

My dad has always teased me about being a "tough pioneer girl" ever since I was a little girl. He taught me about my Dana and Hunsaker Mormon pioneer heritage. I grew up hearing the family stories and feeling proud to be a member of a great family. Now that I think back on that little phrase that he would tease me about I wonder if I was a whiner. Being the only girl in a family of boys I imagine that I must of been too girly and it was his way of encouraging me to be strong and less of a complainer.

I can still hear his response in his playful voice after my comments of saying something like, "I'm afraid... or, I can't do that..." Then he would say, "Oh, yes you can. You're a strong pioneer girl."

He has no idea what a gift he gave me with that little phrase. He instilled in me that good old pioneer spirit. When I'm confronted with a difficult trial or situation and I just want to give up or say it's too hard for me, I hear his words, "You can do it. You're a tough pioneer girl."

So here I am trying really hard to be that tough pioneer girl. Tomorrow I go in to the hospital bright and early, to have my large intestine {colon} removed. I've inherited a really bad genetic family {not the pioneer family side} precancerous colon. In time it would turn cancerous. It's really weird how a person like me can seem healthy and normal living life day in and day out and then found out terrible news that will turn my whole world upside down. But the upside down part only lasted a few hours here and there a little.

Wow. How grateful I am to a loving, supportive husband, family and friends who pray and fast for me, great doctors and health insurance, peace and calm that the temple gives me when I attend, priesthood blessings that comfort, wonderful in-laws that take over and love my children when I can't be there, a ward family that lets me know how much I'm loved, and a loving Heavenly Father that is aware of each of us and cares what we're going through.

John says that I'm going to be like that six million dollar women... "We'll make her better than before..." something like that.

And thanks dad, for such a great lesson. I guess I am that tough pioneer girl.

Christmas Stockings

For our book club this month we were asked to bring our favorite Christmas story to share. Although I wouldn’t be able to attend the meeting that night, I still reflected on which Christmas story was my favorite.

After going through all the Christmas Children’s books and short stories in our Christmas binders it dawned on me that there was a story that hadn’t been written down yet. It was my own Christmas Story; a story of giving, compassion, brotherly (sisterly) love, sacrifice, and going the extra mile.

I was sixteen and the oldest at home. It was a difficult time for my family. My mother was absent. She had a terrible nervous break down and left our family and home two months before Christmas. Then my older brother left. So it was me, my dad, and two younger brothers.

As Christmas approached I grew more and more anxious about Christmas morning and how it would all play out without a mother. We grew up with a mother that always made Christmas magical. Not to say that we had tons of costly presents. In fact, we would get about five presents each. I still remember that one was a package of socks and another was always under wear. That was a little embarrassing for me to open as I was the only girl in a family of three boys. Then there was a game and the other one we got every year was a small book of life savers. But the most exciting part of our Christmas morning was our stockings. My mother, I mean, Santa, stuffed them full of treats, trinkets, and thoughtful small gifts individualized for each child. So fun.
I don’t know how my mother did it every year. She was really resourceful and could make anything. But this particular year I don’t think there was much money for Christmas or maybe my father was so depressed and just trying to survive the horrible life without his sweetheart that he wasn’t aware of children needing gifts for Christmas. Those were sad days.

I was able to save a little of my own babysitting money for some Christmas candy and something for each brother, but I think I was so worried about our situation that I must have confided in my best friend, Carrie. She listened and offered words of comfort. She told me that everything would work out. I remember feeling better.

Christmas Eve had finally arrived. I made sure that my young brothers had fallen asleep. With very little to give them my heart broke. I wanted so badly to stuff there stockings full of wonderful and magical things so that for a moment they wouldn’t feel the pain of a missing mother on Christmas day. I had a last minute thought of a little something I could do. So I sat at my father’s desk and using one of his red pens I wrote each brother a special letter from Santa Claus. I told them both how wonderful they were and that they deserved so much and that Christmas would be better next year. With a heavy heart I finished the letters and signed Santa Claus’s name.

As I was putting candy and the letters in their stockings I heard somebody at the front door trying to get in. Could it really be Santa? It was Carrie, with bags in each hand. I couldn’t believe it. She brought over cars, markers, toys, candy, anything that two young boys would love to find in their stockings. She insisted that I help her fill the stockings. She was so excited and happy to be there. I remember at first I felt embarrassed because of our humble situation but the embarrassment was quickly replaced with gratitude. I was grateful for my prayers being answered by a kind and giving best friend who was more than Santa Claus. She was an angel. She made our Christmas a magical one that year. I learned what Christmas was really all about. Christmas is the season of selfless giving and brotherly love one to another.

Thankful Memories

Okay, the turkey was a little dry but I've come a long way in my cooking abilities since the first Thanksgiving dinner that I prepared.

I was a junior in high school and the head cook in my home. My mother wasn't with us that year so being the only girl and the oldest at home I willingly accepted the cooking challenge. I consulted my Aunt Carol, who lived across the street, and was the best cook I knew. Then I made my first mistake by not taking the 18 pound turkey out of the freezer until the day before Thanksgiving I got really good at reading instructions on the boxes and packaging of rice-a-roni and hamburger helper so I did the same for the turkey. It said to place it in the fridge for thawing. When I woke up bright and early to prepare the turkey on Thanksgiving day I couldn't even get the neck and bag of giblets out of the cavity because it was still frozen. In it went with detached neck and all.

I made mashed potatoes and pumpkin pies. My brothers loved pumpkin pie. One thing my mom taught me was how to make a really good flaky pie crust. She stressed ice cold water and always use Crisco. I still do it that way today. I don't remember what else I cooked up but I'm sure there was a bowl of black olives and pickled beets. I couldn't resist checking it every hour. Another no-no. And by 5 o'clock we were starving and the turkey still wasn't ready. My brothers were begging to eat something. So finally we ate but without the turkey. It wasn't ready until 8pm. I can laugh about it now. But back then I was so frustrated and disappointed.

This year it all went like clock work. Beautiful. I had everybody helping out. Addie and Meagan helped with the pumpkin pies. Yes, I taught them the secrets to a really good flaky pie crust. John made the deviled eggs. Andrew made orange jello parfaits. Peter made lots of messes. Meagan finished up the rolls. The table looked amazing thanks to Addie and Meagan. They polished Grandma Rose's silver and set the table with it. And it wouldn't be much of an adventure if we hadn't of tried a couple of new recipes. I roasted the carrots in the oven with thyme and made Sarah's best ever chocolate pie. So simple too. John said that it was the best chocolate pie that I've ever made. He loves chocolate pie. You'll have to try it. It's embarrassing how easy it is.

Sarah's Simple Simply Delicious Chocolate Pie

1 cup heavy whipping cream, whipped up

1 king size Hershey's chocolate candy bar (I used two), melted in a double broiler

Pour hot melted chocolate into whipped cream and fold until well mixed then pour into a Graham cracker crust, the homemade ones are better. Whip another cup of heavy cream and pipe it on top of the chocolate. Chill for a few hours. That's it.