It's Thanksgiving Morning

Wayne, Kimberli, Paul, Tasha, Lola, Jeff, Andrew, Michelle, Richard, Sarah, Alyce, Ben, Ann, Jeremy, Sarah, Cory, Anna, Davis, Noah, Logan, Peter, Caroline, Shane, Patrick, Bryan, Clayton, Jacob, Aaron, Nick, Penelope, Axel, Charlie, Johnny, Junormis (who will arrive in February).

My kids and their kids. That's 34 people I love very much and am thankful for on this Thanksgiving Day 2009.

Other people and/or things I'd like to mention:

1. My aunt Allie. I have loved her and looked to her all my life as an example of beauty, class, accomplishment, courage. And she has a glorious voice.
2. My brothers and sisters. I love them, too, and we're all still here. I'm thankful for that.
3. My parents, because they were so good and without equal. Never two others like Wilford and Lola.
   
4. The Macy's parade. I have turned it off again this year because it is now rendered much less a parade than a long boring commercial for the programs on the network that is telecasting it, like NBC or CBS. "Oh look, it's . . . whoever, star of whatever. What a surprise." Yeah, right. I remember watching the Rose Parade every New Year's Day. It seemed pretty simple: turn it on, watch the floats and horses and marching bands and do some ooh and oh and ah-ing. Okay, I'll say it. Those were the days. Not that I wish them back again. No.
   
5. Pumpkin pies. Yes, we know. But this year Alyce has made her first, including the pie crust, and I'm sure it will be good. And Jeremy made pumpkin pie with their very own pumpkin.
   
6. Tomorrow, I'll make one--Libby's pumpkin, of course--and think of Wayne, his pies, and his annual experiment with various spices. Always turned out good and got eaten up.
7. I am healthy, have a good home, have kind generous neighbors, own a car I like to drive, have a few good friends, live in a good ward and enjoy the association there with good people, have freedom to do as I wish--with very few limits--am not wanting.
8. The gospel of Jesus Christ. I'm thankful for it, for him.
   

It has begun

Look, I can't help it, but the 2010 calendars are already starting to stack up. I actually bought one; it's a Marilyn Monroe. I liked her, okay?

I guess I just wasn't thinking. Because . . .

1. When I bought those big chewable vitamin C tablets at GNC, they gave me a calendar, not because I bought vitamin C, of course, just because I bought something;
2. Veterans of Foreign Wars sent me one in the mail this week with US flags on it, thanking me for being a loyal supporter since 2005, can't throw that one away--because of the flags;
   
3. My visiting teacher, Linda, brought me one yesterday--her annual gift--with pictures of flowers from Hawaii (she's Hawaiian), and the one for January is the Lehua, which is also Linda's middle name, better keep that one;
   
4. I'm quite sure I'll get one from the bishop (supplied by Relyea Funeral Home) at tithing settlement, temple pictures and bits of church history and stuff;
   
5. And I've asked Paul and Tasha for one like theirs from last year with pictures of their family through the months, and I want that one.
   

So?

The Pitcher

Before I fell asleep a picture came into my mind. It was Wayne pitching as he did in many fast-pitch softball games.

I don't know what brings such a picture to mind unbidden, but once it has come, I can bring it back again and again, which I did. And I remembered how good he was, how fast. He had three pitches, said my son. That's pretty good in softball.

In Santa Monica, we had a really good team--Wayne, Fred, Sam Wise, Phil Cardon, Don Taylor, Jimmy Cook, LJ, and others--all young and fast and good ball players. They went to regionals, which always sounds really good.

Here in Idaho our ward team was also good, but it wasn't the only good team. Those Middleton guys and the Kuna guys were tough to beat and it was always a real joy to win against them.

Women had teams, too. I played for years, and once in a while pitched. I was a good hitter, but not such a great pitcher. Mostly I played first base.

Slow pitch softball became the official game of the church at some point for men and women. I played it a few times, but I never liked that game to play or to watch, with its no lead-off rules and its extra outfielder. Fast pitch had excitement and, well, fast pitching.

I can still see Wayne out there rocking a little bit before pitching the ball, that fast windmill delivery of his.

Noah Stewart Schiess, His Day

Today is Noah's birthday. He's 10. Noah is a handsome blond boy whose glasses lend a look of scholarly seriousness, not that he is all seriousness. He likes play, no doubt about it, and has lots of friends to play with.

Noah's speech is precise and deliberate, as if he has a sense that he is imparting wisdom, something very important for his listener. Well, I believe that is his sense.

He is a boy who likes to know things. I expect he is almost, if not completely, an expert on World War II tanks and airplanes and other weaponry and munitions. He knows a lot about bugs, too.

His dad is my son Wayne Charles, named for his father Wayne Gordon. As we spoke by telephone the other day, my son said he misses his dad, no surprise there, but not only for himself. He misses him for his three boys. He'd like it if those boys could just sit with Grandpa Schiess and talk a while. We'd all like that.

He had, said my son, a way of finding a unique quality in each of those boys. They don't remember that. But Wayne remembers. A boy like Noah could use a sit down with his Grandpa Schiess. That could be an interesting exchange of wisdoms.

Happy Birthday, Noah.

And . . .

Thank goodness for music.
Thank goodness for people to sing it.
I know my mother would love to hear this little women's choir (it's the choir that's little) we've got going for stake conference. I love hearing it.

Saving Time

Saturday night I set about turning my clocks back and by the time I had finished, the extra hour was gone. I'm sort of joking here.

Maybe Alyce was right. I began to think it a silly thing to have so many clocks. I'm not really a clock watcher. But I seem to be a person who makes strange purchases. Like, at one time, I bought sets of stainless steel flatware. Nowhere near as many as my clocks. Don't ask me why, because I don't really know.

I have to stop myself at Costco so I don't buy more laundry detergent, and I'm pretty sure I have at least a year's supply of dishwasher soap and paper towels and Kleenex and toilet paper. Maybe a year's supply of chocolate chips, too, even though I don't make cookies much any more. And we needn't go into the matter of plastic containers.

And so, as I re-hung the downstairs bathroom clock, I came to see it as simply another supply, a lifetime supply of clocks. Just in case of something.

I wonder, does this fall into the to each his own, there's no accounting for taste categories?

Anyway, I thought it all over, briefly, and realized that I have no current intention of getting rid of any of the clocks. I also realized, again, that I am kind of a strange person.

Then I thought, "It's my house, my clocks, not such a bad thing and no big thing, and, besides, no one cares," so I went to bed. Then I got up and changed all my watches.