Church was wonderful, as usual; just what I needed. The regular Gospel Doctrine teacher was back from her vacation, rosy-cheeked and rested from skiing and visiting with friends. This year we are studying the Doctrine and Covenants [modern canonized revelations] and church history. She passed around a picture of the Salt Lake Temple and asked us to look at the statue of Moroni which tops one of its six spires [why six, I wonder? twelve is a pretty big number in Christianity, why not 12?]. His feet stand on the capstone.
The Book of Mormon is frequently referred to as the keystone of our religion; the keystone is that wedge-shaped stone at the top of an arch that holds everything together. Remove the keystone, and the structure collapses. A modern prophet has called the Doctrine and Covenants the capstone of our religion; the Book of Mormon will lead you to Christ, and the Doctrine and Covenants will lead you back into the presence of the Father. [And Christ is and always will be the chief cornerstone of our religion. No matter what some traditional Christians have been led to believe.]
See, I was too paying attention in class! Even though I had a sock in my lap that was arguing with me.
In other ward news, our Relief Society president became engaged on New Years Eve. She is a schoolteacher and will be getting married in June and moving to another state. I am so happy for her, and I will miss her. I love working with her in church.
And I learned that the Silver Fox may be even more silver than I thought. We were discussing how a church that began in obscurity in New York in the early 1800’s is now a world-wide church with over 13 million members. In the study guide, it says that there have been six historical periods since its establishment: the New York period, from 1820-1830; the Ohio-Missouri period, from 1831-1838; the Nauvoo period, from 1839-1846 [when Joseph and Hyrum Smith were martyred]; pioneering the West, from 1846-1898; expansion of the Church, from 1899-1950; and the worldwide Church, from 1951-present. We were wondering why 1950 was such a pivotal year, and the Silver Fox raised his hand and said that he was alive in 1950 [that was a given; I figured he is older than I], and...
I might have wandered off, chasing rabbits in my head at that point; I’m guessing that he could be anywhere from 60 to a very lively 70. Oye. Maybe that whole hand-on-the-knee bit a few weeks back was the gesture of a man to someone the age of his children? Does not bear thinking!!! Oye, squared!
Amazing discovery: my ladybug kitchen timer moonwalks when it rings! Now, that might have something to do with the fact that it sits on my mousepad here at the computer, and the table slants slightly to the rear, because of the weight of the monitor and printer.
Postscript from the fireside. Our stake president was supposed to speak to us tonight, but his daughter in another state went into labor three weeks ahead of schedule, and since he is a good dad as well as a good stake president, he stayed there to welcome the new grandson. One of his counselors spoke to us, instead. The one in your ward, Secondborn, President Whozit. Good man, nice relaxed assortment of stories and scriptures, and something meant absolutely for me, though I’m sure he didn’t know that when he walked into the room. I love it when I am in the right place at the right time and prepared to learn and I hear it and I get it.
Something I didn’t get, however, was the memo that not only should I put that amazing assortment of ingredients into the crockpot and put on the lid and set it to LOW, I should also remember to plug in said crockpot. I could have taken a nap. Instead, I kept myself awake at the keyboard all afternoon, setting and re-setting the timer until the allotted 3.5 hours were done. When I went out into the kitchen to take the cake to the potluck, the sides of the crockpot were cold as a bill collector’s heart. The insides weren’t any warmer. This is what I get for daydreaming about guys instead of napping or knitting.
I reached in the fridge and grabbed my precious boule so I would have something to contribute to the potluck, and off I went [remembering to plug in the crockpot and make note of the time]. We had some great soups at the potluck. Brother Abacus was kind enough to bring me a glass of water when he saw that I hadn’t gotten myself one. And later, during dinner, he handed me the perfect straight line.
Somebody mentioned the stake president’s new grandson, and one of the sisters said that she had three sons and three daughters, and now also has five grandsons and five granddaughters. I said that I have five daughters and three granddaughters and when the grandson arrived, we had no idea what to do with him.
Which is when Brother Abacus said, “Be gentle now. We’re fragile. That’s why 93 of us are born for every 100 of you, or is it the other way around?”
To which I responded, “The other way around. More of you are born, because fewer of you make it to maturity.”
Which was not intended as a slam, but the woman sitting across from me got the giggles, and then I started laughing, and all the women at our table roared when he said, “And some of us never get there, right?”
Well, I didn’t say it, now did I?
I also got an explanation for “Crazylegs”; the good brother said it’s an old, old term for people who love to dance. Yes, that would be me.
This is what was waiting for me when I came home last night.
And an hour later, the crockpot cake was finally done.
At great personal sacrifice, I did not eat the whole thing before bedtime.
- Four years into widowhood, after one year of incredible happiness and nearly 14 years of single blessedness. Have given up perfect manicures and pretty hands in order to resume playing the soprano recorder and to see if I can figure out how to play bluegrass banjo. Singing in the shower. Still really, *really* love to knit!