Kazzy's Ponderings

sidling up

noreply@blogger.com (Kazzy) — Fri, 27 Jan 2012 19:00:00 +0000

Today God showed up in my life. He is always there hovering, but today He pulled up a chair and sidled right up against me.

I felt Him sitting across from me when I ate enchiladas with my friend and talked about kids and grad school and other stuff.

I also felt Him when I stayed up until 11 pm talking to old friends after book club. We talked about friendship and trust and decency.

And then I thanked Him in my prayers and we said goodnight to each other.

my take on audio

noreply@blogger.com (Kazzy) — Thu, 26 Jan 2012 02:52:00 +0000

give a listen...

The Boxer (with chat)

my journey

noreply@blogger.com (Kazzy) — Sun, 22 Jan 2012 22:04:00 +0000

I spent the week thinking about my process. My journey.

I had the assignment of speaking in stake conference about filling that journey with hope and joy. I had to think a lot about the warm blanket of regret and guilt that I sometimes snuggle up under. Man, that gets comfy.

In Isaiah we read that with joy we are to draw water from the wells of salvation (Isaiah 12:3).

The bucket of faith.

The rope of grace.

Sometimes we can pull it up on our own. Sometimes we line up at the rope with people in front of us. People behind us. Whatever it takes.

But here is my key -- let each day be a new beginning.

My life is not one big arc, but a series of many many small ones.

i am all of these

noreply@blogger.com (Kazzy) — Mon, 16 Jan 2012 15:12:00 +0000

I remember the first time my sweet grandmother (or Vo, as I called her) told me the story of her parents courting through the window of her mother's home for a full year. My great-grandfather was not allowed in until that time had passed and his intentions were legitimate. "This was the way in the old country," she said. It was romantic to me. The effort that went into winning her over. When you know these things about your roots they are YOUR stories too, and you are able to think of yourself as much older than you appear on the calendar.

I am little ladies with kerchiefed heads, and farmers who keep pigs. I am hard-working immigrants who toil in woolen mills and tend to my children after a long day. I am women who are devoted to family and culture. I am all of the people who have come before me. This is my story.

And this is why I am so excited about the Story @ Home Conference that is being held March 9-10 at the Joseph Smith Memorial Building and the LDS Conference Center in Salt Lake City. The event will be sponsored by Family Search and Cherish Bound and will be all about getting your story told. No, it is not just an event for LDS people. Many from all over are already buying tickets and making plans to come. Trust me when I say it will be so worth your time. Come and be a part of it! Telling stories about your family is like figuring out who you are. This is meaningful stuff, and I am excited about attending. So, if you are a genealogist, a blogger, or simply someone who would like to become one of these mark your calendar now.

For more buzz about this event click here to visit the facebook page for the conference. Or click here to register right now!

hunting for harriet

noreply@blogger.com (Kazzy) — Thu, 12 Jan 2012 02:44:00 +0000

My good friend died a couple of months ago. I cried for a few days and then sang at her funeral. Since then I find myself driving past her house and staring at the dark inside, where so often I would see her silhouette shuffling around or watching a BYU game.

My friend was 95 and her name was Harriet.

On my way home from running some errands today I decided to wander through the local cemetery to see if I could feel her somewhere. I remembered how we hugged every time we saw each other. I remembered how she pitched in to the ward mission fund for our oldest missionary while I was back in school. I remembered dropping in every March 22nd to say happy birthday. I never found her headstone, but I think I found her.

She was sitting right there in my sentimental heart.

think tank

noreply@blogger.com (Kazzy) — Thu, 05 Jan 2012 02:33:00 +0000

After all of the presents and the food and the speaking in church on Christmas day (yeah), we packed up our car and drove down to Phoenix where we helped to celebrate the 50th wedding anniversary of our good friends Benny and Willa Knudsen. I met these people 30 years ago when I was in high school and they have loved me ever since. Even when my engagement to their returned missionary son busted up, they would call me and see how I was doing. They sent letters and packages and love. One of the coolest things about them? They love my husband like a son.

It was warm in Phoenix. There was swimming and long walks and citrus. Glorious stuff. The down time was good. The big soft king-sized bed in the house we rented was fabulous. Time with the family. The pool. The temple. All awesome.

Those 22 hours of the round trip also was good. I slept in the back seat with my son's head in my lap. I listened to a Terry Pratchett audio book. And I thought about things. What do I need to do to be even happier? How can I help my husband? What is the best and most appropriate way to be supportive of my married son and his sweet wife (and upcoming baby!)?

It is good for the head and heart to re-examine. It is good to have a forced time to do it.

With the Knudsen family who were celebrating their 50th anniversary

#4 on his ukulele

The gang minus me at the Mesa Temple

Playing around with photo apps on my iPhone

rest later

noreply@blogger.com (Kazzy) — Mon, 26 Dec 2011 15:21:00 +0000

My days have been filled with merry and bright for the past few weeks.

Temple Square visit in early December

Geo reading or traditional Christmas story to the boys

#4 as Joseph

Our flamingo at the nativity

Making room for the grandkids and the great grandkids in the nativity

Braided bread I make for neighbors

A field trip to the mall for a Christmas scavenger hunt with the special kiddos, a class program where a few of us cried a little, family get togethers, a nativity scene that involved a flamingo and a unicorn, surprising our two teens with a big plasma TV for the family room, and a phone call to Monterrey, Mexico to talk with our son who reeeeally struggled with his English, I might add).

I understand the concern about forgetting the meaning of Christmas. Keep it simple, we hear all season. Remember the reason.

I get that.

But I love the hubbub. I love finding that last cool thing to buy. I love the full calendar and the visiting and the parties. I love all of the things that make these few weeks really stand out from the rest of the year. I can stick it out, even though I may crash in January. What else is January for, except recovering from December?

pahrumpumpumpum

noreply@blogger.com (Kazzy) — Mon, 12 Dec 2011 15:46:00 +0000

Why is it that I get all mushy and nostalgic during the holidays?

Yesterday evening I sang in a concert where a little nine-year old brunette played a snare drum while we sang of princes and fifes. The least emotional of our 20-piece program, yet I could hardly get the words out because I thought of my own little drummer boys and how they are turning into men.

my son, Perry

And when Sister Cutler handed me a list of songs and asked if my husband could play them for the ward Christmas party next weekend it hit me again. There on the list was "When Joseph Went to Bethlehem" I went back 20 years in my mind to when my first-born would sing this song. Each line went up in pitch until his neck was stretched out and his voice cracked and his dad and I would smile and ask him to do it again.

I am home today, taking a sick day. I will be blowing my nose and napping after I write to my missionary son. And as I walk back and forth past my Christmas tree I will see the handmade ornaments and the glittery stars cut out with six-year old hands and I may get a little misty.

Though we celebrate the birth and life of the baby Jesus on this holiday season, I find myself thinking of my own baby boys. Swaddled in my arms, with their own futures to face. And I love Him, and them, even more.

two 47-year old songbirds

noreply@blogger.com (Kazzy) — Wed, 30 Nov 2011 18:33:00 +0000

My friend DeNae Handy came all the way down to Springville from the big city in order to sing with me. We had a blast singing and talking and hanging out. This lady is a professional.

How cool is the blogosphere, helping us to make great new friends and share our talents together?

Click on the titles below and enjoy.

We Three Kings
What Child Is This?

knowing my place

noreply@blogger.com (Kazzy) — Sun, 27 Nov 2011 16:00:00 +0000

Know your place.

We've heard it from parents, maybe teachers. Interesting to note that in this context "place" has nothing to do with physical space and everything to do with social behavior.

We all need our own places. In THIS context I mean both physical AND social.

I have my places.

I have my dining room and the table in it. Around this big slab of pine many great conversations have taken place with my children and good friends. Lots of food has been served at gatherings where we invite friends over and cook Indian food and talk and laugh. At the right angle you can see scores written from when we have played cards or Boggle or other games. Pine is good that way. It holds on to things. I may refinish this table in the Spring, but it is staying in this house because it has become an important place to me.

The den. This is mostly my husband's space that we designed and decorated when he was bishop, so that he could have people over to talk. But I like that it has that kind of history. It has become, since that time, the refuge. When the kids come in they are a little more careful to keep it clean and to even speak a little lower. We write in here. We sing and record in here. We read and gather our thoughts.

There are other spaces away from my home that I crave as sanctuaries (North Carolina sandy beaches, the Duomo in Florence, Italy, the temple). Physical space matters.

Sacred groves, if you will.

Then social places. I can lead. I can follow. I can sit. I can do. I can be the chameleon I sometimes need to be. That little voice tells me, Know your place. And I try to respond appropriately by following instinct.

Places matter. Stand in holy ones, but help people out of ones that are not. What good is a place if it is never shared?

gracias

noreply@blogger.com (Kazzy) — Thu, 24 Nov 2011 05:41:00 +0000

Tomorrow I will start the day by rolling over and giving my husband a big ol' smooch, because I am thankful that he loves me so much and treats me so well.

Then I will get my exercise on at my Zumba class, because I am thankful for a hard-working body that has responded well to my efforts during these past months.

I will then come home and hug my kids (including my married son and his wife who are sleeping over), because being a mom has helped me to realize what life is all about.

Later in the afternoon I will visit and eat and laugh with extended family members who have grounded me during all of these married years.

And at the end of the day I will kneel down and make an accounting of these things, because being thankful means you count and recount all of the ways you have been blessed. I will use my fingers and my toes. My life is good. Real good.

low and comfy

noreply@blogger.com (Kazzy) — Wed, 16 Nov 2011 23:08:00 +0000

"Sometimes the low, comfortable notes are the ones we go the flattest on," she said, as we stood at the mic recording some music. So true, I thought.

So we sang and sang until we felt spent, and I found myself making a little secret fist beside my leg when I had to hit anything besides middle C, which, after a few hours, is my most comfortable place. The place where I feel true and wholly me.

Today my son was unhappy with himself for a B in an easy computer class, so I told him, "Sometimes the low, comfortable notes are the ones we go the flattest on." And he looked at me and nodded.

mean old me

noreply@blogger.com (Kazzy) — Wed, 09 Nov 2011 00:00:00 +0000

Coming home from lunch today I was behind a thirty-something-year-old guy at a stop sign when I saw him chuck a Big Gulp cup out his window. This a total trigger for me. And knowing that it is a trigger I heard myself say, "Oh, dang it," because I knew I would have to follow him and confront him about it. Yep, I just knew that about myself.

I hate confrontation, really, but as I get older I realize that sometimes you have to say things that need saying. Like when I hold parent/teacher conferences, and after I inform the parents that their son is not cutting it on letter sounds the mom looks at her son (her 5-year old special education son), points at his chest and says, "You need to study more!" At this moment I make sure to say that thing that needs saying. I say, "Actually, we can't expect him to take the initiative to study on his own. He needs you to guide him through it."

Confrontation doesn't always need to take the form of yelling or arguing. It can be a calm interaction where you state your opinion, which is opposed to the other person. Unless you throw garbage out your window in my town. In that case you may get an earful that sounds a little something like, "Was I mistaken when I saw a big cup flying out of your window back there? I will chase you down again, you better believe it."

my reasons to make it work

noreply@blogger.com (Kazzy) — Tue, 01 Nov 2011 21:54:00 +0000

Tag-team parenting. Yes, that is the new popular sport at the Burton house. A little two-ships-that-pass-in-the-night action too. But somehow we have been able to stay afloat because we love each other and we love our life together.

I have too many friends to name that have had their marriages fall apart lately. I won't pretend to know the details or the reasons why, but I do know that a mid-life crisis is a real thing. Men can feel trapped. Women can feel invisible. And often once one of them feels a chance for change they think it has to be done without the other person. My life can only be different if I start all the way over. Sometimes this may be true. In extreme cases.

I love my husband. I love my kids. That's it. No preaching.

1. My roller derby profile pic for Halloween (47 and proud of it).
2. My attentive husband.
3. #3 and #4
4. Lola, our new bunny
5. My misionario Mexicano.
6. My sweet DIL and #1 son.

musical monday: fly me to the moon

noreply@blogger.com (Kazzy) — Mon, 24 Oct 2011 04:21:00 +0000

google image

I heard this song during the week and knew I wanted to record it right away.

A little Frankie to start your week off right (click below).

Fly Me To The Moon

unconditional handsomeness

noreply@blogger.com (Kazzy) — Sat, 22 Oct 2011 04:50:00 +0000

one of my handsome nephews

I am a people person. But who wouldn't be, with a "people" like this in the family?

I spend 6 hours a day with little people that teach me about unconditional love, patience, and hard work.

Little people know what counts.

My own children also taught me truckloads about life, and even though they are growing up now, they are still little people to me in many ways. Maybe because unconditional love is the mortar that still holds us all together.

Right before my sons left for a camp out this morning, my #4 bear-hugged me and called me "mama", which I love. And my #3 promised me he would not do anything stupid, like take dares or melt his shoes in the fire, or break his pelvis. Again.

But really, adults are cool too. Just not as cool as little people. Or as good-looking as that hunk in the photo.

because some stories really matter

noreply@blogger.com (Kazzy) — Mon, 17 Oct 2011 04:12:00 +0000

Sweet breads, kale and sweet potato soup, and chourico. These are the things I could expect when my family and I would drive from Virginia to Massachusetts to see all of my grandparents. My grandmothers would speak Portuguese to each other as we all sat together in one of their living rooms eating and visiting. I can smell the food and hear the language when I close my eyes and remember those days.

When your parents are the first generation in your family born in this country, you have stories to hear. You have stories to TELL. I want to tell my story. And this is why I am excited about the Story @ Home Conference that will be held March 9-10, 2012 at the Joseph Smith Memorial Building and the LDS Conference Center in Salt Lake City.

The event will be sponsored by Family Search and Cherish Bound and will be all about getting your story told. No, it is not an event solely for LDS people. There are already people from all over that are buying tickets and planning to come. It is going to be so worth your time. Look, I am a very busy person (like many of you), but when something just feels right when you hear about it, don't you want to be a part of it? Getting those stories told about your family is like figuring out who you are. It is meaningful stuff, and I am excited about attending. If you are a family historian, a genealogist, a blogger, or simply someone who wants to become one of these, please mark your calendar now.

For more buzz about this wonderful event click here to visit the facebook page for the conference.

looking at my hand

noreply@blogger.com (Kazzy) — Mon, 10 Oct 2011 05:19:00 +0000

The other day I came home after work and crashed, which I do sometimes after a long day with the special kiddos. When I woke up I stretched my vision down my arm and looked at my hand. Totally relaxed, it was slightly curled and wanting to grasp. To hold on. To offer something.

I find it interesting that a hand at rest is not wide open and stiff, but soft and curved. No deep thoughts beyond that. An observation of my God-created body.

wet stones

noreply@blogger.com (Kazzy) — Wed, 05 Oct 2011 01:08:00 +0000

sudden cloudburst on 10/1/2011

I ran out for some alone time while all of my men were off at the LDS Priesthood session of general conference on Saturday night. After stepping into a little boutique for some browsing, the heavens opened and God sent shiny down upon us.

The cobblestones, the railings, the passing cars. Everything doused with rain and left cleaner than it had been just minutes before.

Like me. Renewed. Cleaner. Washed after the heavens had opened for me. Through living prophets' words.

menopausal roadkill

noreply@blogger.com (Kazzy) — Thu, 29 Sep 2011 04:09:00 +0000

roadkill
yup. sometimes I am roadkill.
often i allow it.

when did i start letting my emotions get the better of me? although I have always been a heart-on-her-sleeve kind of girl, it seems like I have this need to bubble right up to the surface lately.

such and such is starting to really get under my skin
or
time to be honest (cry cry cry). i am unhappy with this situation...

not a bad thing, honesty. but i am ragged out after all of those feelings leave my body, sometimes like a slow leak, but lately more like an all out explosion.

this premenopausal state is a tough place to live in.

on the way home from dinner with my husband tonight, i had a total flashback to our first few dates. we were byu students. it was Fall. 25 years ago. it was like i could smell football and leaves and apples and all of the other symbols of the season.

and even though i was jamming to some loud moroccan music as i reminisced, the little spicy tears welled up.

courage, kazzy. courage. it will all be over in a few years.

reward

noreply@blogger.com (Kazzy) — Sun, 25 Sep 2011 23:00:00 +0000

Six eyes to look outside and check the weather. Come back and report to the class.

Then those same eyes stare up at me asking,

"How will you teach me today?"
"Will we sing?"
"Can I paint my picture of the fish?"

You pull off your shoes and put your socks on your hands and wave to me from your seat, and I just smile, because really, who wouldn't?

You are my morning reward.

review of Melanie Jacobsen's Not My Type

noreply@blogger.com (Kazzy) — Thu, 22 Sep 2011 21:57:00 +0000

WhAt TyPe ArE yOu?

I just finished reading Melanie Jacobsen's Not My Type, and I gotta tell ya, it feels pretty appropriate to sit here at my computer and write a review about it, considering that the main character, Pepper, does the same thing at her job as a grunt journalist.

I haven't read a book like Melanie's for so long, that I felt like a sponge, soaking up the language of teen-twenties' sarcasm. And the identity crisis that comes with a broken engagement? Been there. Done that.

As Pepper is trying to re-enter life as a single adult, I found myself pulling for her to hold on to her quirkiness (which she does), and reshape her attitude (which she also does). This character is real and independent, and she grows with each chapter, as she follows her therapist/father's advice to show more gratitude in her life. I could have used that advice 25 years ago. sigh...

The supporting characters in this book are fun and affirming, and the best part is that they each, directly and indirectly, play a part in Pepper's life getting back on track. I am a supporting-cast kind of reader. If a main character is developed fully that is well and good, but texture comes from everyone around her/him. Texture galore here.

I found Melanie's voice on every page, having spent time with her before. It was an honest book and one that will have mass appeal. Such a fun read!

hail to the queen

noreply@blogger.com (Kazzy) — Wed, 21 Sep 2011 04:47:00 +0000

I couldn't help myself. There we were at the wedding dinner last Friday night and I was seated right behind Aunt Larene. The 88-year old woman who never changes. Who always has a sweet smile. Who has taken great care of herself. Who has the most brilliant white hair I have ever seen. I had to snap a photo so that I could remember that it's ok to get old. And maybe one day I can be a silvery queen too.

memories of the desert

noreply@blogger.com (Kazzy) — Sun, 18 Sep 2011 17:39:00 +0000

1400 miles in 48 hours. Throw in a wedding dinner, wedding, and a couple of great hotels. This was my weekend.

Geo and I had not driven to SoCal since we left there over 17 years ago. We had had a great experience in LA when he attended USC for his PhD, but time marches on, the family grows, and priorities shift. So an invite to a wedding was a great excuse for a getaway, just the 2 of us.

I was really struck by the Mojave on this trip. Interesting in its own way, but dry and scratchy and lonely. We made that trip twice a year between 1989 and 1994 when we would drive from LA to Salt Lake to visit family. Before cell phones. With 2 babies. Yikes.

So now, as we are 120 miles from home, I glance up from my iPad and over at my husband's face. A little drier and scratchier than it may have been 17 years ago when we left California for our new home in Utah. But not lonely like the desert. Not lonely at all.

We are two cedar trees sitting side by side, ready to withstand this life. Together.

respond

noreply@blogger.com (Kazzy) — Wed, 14 Sep 2011 04:16:00 +0000

One thing we hear over and over again in special education is that for kids with special needs direct instruction works best. Direct instruction is where the teacher explicitly teaches and students watch as she takes them through a lesson. As opposed to exploratory learning, where a concept is introduced and the students do a lot of self-teaching, through group activities, trial and error, etc. I even had a special ed professor who said this latter type of teaching was the "hippie way." you may as well sit around smoking something and talking about your feelings with the students Ah, I loved that professor...

In my class you hear a lot of this:
"This is a seven, class. What is this?"

And the students give the choral response:
"A seven!"

My response:
"Yes, it is a seven. This is an eight. What is this?"

Their choral response:
"An eight!"

Etcetera, etcetera.

I was a skeptic at first, I will admit, but I have become a believer. I even have a sign up on my board that says RESPOND, and by the second day of school my special little kiddos can tell you what the word is and what it means. It is that important in my class. The only time my kids raise their hands is when they need to share a personal comment or ask a question. When it comes to giving answers we do it all together. And believe me, Miss Karen is a stickler, asking the question over and over until every student is answering with every other one.

How much stronger do you feel when you get to answer together with other people? When you say "amen" together? When you sing together? There is power in unifying our voices.

"This is called MORE POWER TO THE PEOPLE, class."