Inspiring

Oh baby!

I can’t even read this story without wailing! Seriously, I have used up at least 20 tissues in the past ten minutes.
A baby was found alive in Castilian Springs, TN in the wreckage of the recent tornado. Rescuers while surverying the wreckage of a home stumbled upon many baby things. Then they saw what they thought was a doll. Then the doll started to cry.
His mother was dead just 100 feet away. It was reported earlier that is father was dead too, but I don’t find anything about him.
Is it just me, or does every mother instantly try and figure out how they can get there and take this baby home?
I heard the story on the radio earlier and immediately came home to research and make sure this baby had a home. I was so happy to find him safe in the arms of his grandmother. I guess I will have to wait for a true orphan to rescue.
And, I cry because the child has a grandmother who will give him everything he needs. I cry because his mom is gone, but she can look down and know that her baby will still live the life she had wanted for him. I cry because there is only one person who helped this baby survive, and that is the God who created him and watched over him. What a beautiful story this is, if you can look at the things to be grateful for.

Grandma Dorothy

When I recently wrote a story about my mom, I spoke of how my mom learned to love people from her mom. I absolutely adored my really amazing grandma, Dorothy. I am blessed to come from a family of loving and caring people. Ever since my mom’s mom died in 2006, I have wanted to write about Grandma Dorothy. Shannon’s post about her Grandpa Charlie inspired me even further.
I will try and make this short because my post about my mom was SOOOOO long. As long as I preface this story with the idea that sometimes life’s greatest lessons are taught in an instant I will not feel like I have chided Grandma by making this shorter.
Grandma and all of her family were very poor. Grandma came from a different generation however and because she was poor, she felt an even greater need to keep what she did have spotless, tidy and ironed. Grandma was meticulous in the way she lived her life. She was truly beautiful inside and out. I only wish that I actually owned a picture of her younger. She was a knockout.
So, grandma never had much of anything her entire life. My mother was grandma’s oldest child. When my mom and her sister started working and making their own money, they had a grand idea. They would treat grandma to a day on the town and buy her a nice coat at a good department store. My mom and her sister were so excited to give grandma this treat.
So, it was a huge dissapointment to my mom and her sister when they went to the department store and were treated very rudly by a flippant saleswoman. The woman seemed so snotty and was so rude to my grandmother that my mom and aunt dragged her out of the store swearing that they would never shop there again.
When they got out to the street, grandma asked Mom and Aunt Shirley if they would take her to the five and dime store. Grandma went into the store and bought a nice scarf with a little box and ribbon. She got out of the store and wrapped it up and told Mom and Aunt Shirley to follow her. To the chagrin of mom and her sister, Grandma marched right back into the department store. Grandma was focused on her one task: to find the sales clerk that had treated her so badly. She walked right up to her and handed her the present. Grandma said, “Sweety, I thought that you must really be having a bad day, and so I got you something. It isn’t much, but I hope it will make you smile.”
The clerk looked absolutely astonished and ashamed. Tears filled her eyes as she opened the scarf. Mom and Aunt Shirley were looking on still feeling like Grandma was way too nice. The clerk cleared her throat and choked out the words, “I am so sorry for the way I acted to you. My husband died last week and I just haven’t been myself.”
Of course Grandma wrapped her arms around her and then proceeded to give her a pep talk.
And whenever I get down, all I have to do is think about my Grandma and the endless amount of pep talks she has also given to me in word and letter. Grandma was the most amazing letter writer. Grandma always made me feel like I could do anything. I hope that I can learn to kill them everyone with kindness, just like her.
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Gangbangers
The kids and I are all home from church today because Bella has been sick. It is Sunday, the day I try to rest and think about spiritual things, so I thought that maybe I should blog about something a little more serious. Gangbanging seemed serious enough.

I have been reading this book called “Convicted in the Womb” by Carl Upchurch. I borrowed it from a friend of mine who is getting his Masters to be a Therapist. It is a good book that allows you to get into the head of a child who later finds acceptance by joining a gang.

Because I try to be a good Mormon girl, I really cannot recommend this book. The swear words just keep on coming and some of these words are bad enough that I have never even heard them before in my entire life. And because I am a little bit rebellious I just keep reading, but at least I simultaneously pray that I won’t advert to pulling out the curse words the next time I get angry. I am not reading the book for the curse words, I am reading it because I want to understand the human race better. It is so unfortunate that there are actually children in this world who grow up in an environment like Carl Upchurch’s. It is just so foreign to me.

For example, he had one pee stained mattress on the floor that was his bed. The mattress was located on the underside of a leaky sink. The family’s rat trap would need to be emptied almost every morning. The cockroaches were so bad that he slept with the blanket over his head so that they couldn’t climb all over him at night. His grandma was a prostitute and his mom did nothing but collect welfare checks. Carl never got any affection or affirmations or anything that could be construed as positive. He never was taught to shower or brush his teeth and never had clean clothes. To my dismay this was in Philadelphia the 60’s. He went without food a lot and it was his own responsibility to get up for school and out the door every day, from the time he was in kindergarten.

I have been living in a state of shock for the past 24 hours while I have been reading this book. I know that there are kids out there that live like this: a lot of them went to Abigail’s old school, but I just didn’t realize that it was this bad. It makes me want to go and round them all up and bring them home for some good old fashioned love and concern.

So, it now makes sense to me, while it never has before, why these kids grow up to be gangbangers. Being in a gang is the only way they find belonging. While our children grow up with that at home, the only way for these gangbangers to have a similar experience is to join a gang. So, sometimes you have to get through all the cursing to learn something new. Who of us does not want a solution for gangs? I am here to tell you that the solution is so simple: it is pretty much the solution to every societal woe: the solution is simply love.

Well, the reason for this entry, is to write a story about my mother. As you all know, my parents are both pretty crazy. It wasn’t hard for them to produce a child like me. I got a little of each of their nuances which are slightly crazy and a little crazier. I love my parents dearly and after reading a book like this, I am more grateful for the way that they raised seven children in a loving and flourishing environment.

So, my mom took this loving and flourishing environment with her everywhere. She learned to love from her mother; it was in her DNA to show love and concern for everyone she met, especially children. I cannot tell you how many times, I would come home to find my mom sitting at our kitchen table discussing something heavy with one of the friends of mine or my siblings. I never understood why our friends liked to talk to my mom so much. As a teenager, I did everything I could to avoid her. But again, reading has given me new understanding. These friends felt the unconditional love of my mother, some of which may not have felt it at home.

So, here is the funny part of the story (I bet you were getting worried that you wouldn’t be getting a chuckle today, huh?)

While we were growing up, we had a few favorite places to take family outings. One was the beach, one was Thrifty’s to get ice-cream, one was the Oceanside pier to get XL jawbreakers. Others were the movies, Sav-on to get some candy, and the mall to get a Shaved Ice. (Funny that all of these places involve food) And lastly but not least by any means was Show Biz. Show Biz was the original Chuck E Cheese. All of ShowBiz’s have been converted to Chuck E Cheeses, including the one from our neighboring town Oceanside, CA.

My mom and dad would take us to Show Biz a few times a year and it was a huge treat. I am sure that my mom had to convince my dad to spend the money. Buying pizza and tokens for seven kids is not a small feat. I mean most people only spend that kind of money when one of their 2.5 children have a birthday party and invite all their friends.

So, this one Saturday, we had all had our fun at Show Biz. I am sure we had been there for a good couple of hours before we headed out to the station wagon to go back home. What a surprise that we exited into the middle of an ensuing gang fight. Now, you have to know my parents to know how unfortunate to the fight was the arrival of my parents. My dad was and is a big tough former Highway Patrolmen and my mom is an unlicensed and unofficial social worker. (She probably helped more kids in her lifetime than any social worker could imagine). My mom also has been known to have a mouth like mine. One day she almost got my dad into a fight with a Hells Angel at the 25cent hamburger joint (but that is another story)

So, what happened from this point on is not only the funny story but an inspiration to mankind. Mind you, all seven kids are lined up like ducks in a row behind my parents. My brother Erick was approximately the same age as these teenage boys and he was staring on up front with mom and dad. My mom says to the gangbangers, “Boys, what do you think that you are doing? This is no way to solve anything. Don’t you know that people care about you? We don’t want to see you killing each other.” My dad stood next to his wife in words and stature. He didn’t say anything, but his mere presence was enough.

One of the gangbangers had shouted out, “Hey (probably some cuss word), mind your own business.” The details are shody here, but I am certain this is approximately accurate to the actual story. My dad’s glare was enough to shut the gangbanger up. My mom continued on as her initial speech didn’t seem to have enough impact. My mom and dad were not about to walk away and let some kids kill each other. And remember this was in the 80’s before the cell phone was invented, so there was no, “Hurry call 911.” The following words came naturally from my mother’s mouth, “Boys, this is nonsense. My husband and I love children too much to let any one of you get hurt today. Now c’mon inside and my husband will buy you all some pizza.”

It was as if a bomb had been dropped. I can still remember the shock so apparent on the faces of these hardened criminals. A stranger was going to buy them ALL pizza. Both gangs looked back and forth from their homeboys to their blood sworn enemies. The glances were asking each other, “What do we do now?” There was no need for them to discuss because my parents didn’t give them any time.

My mom went and wrapped her arm around the leader of one side and my dad walked over to the other. They led the leaders into Show Biz and there was no other choice for the homeboys than to follow. We little Wills children brought up the rear. What a delight it was to see my mom take all the gangsters into the Show Room and find them each a seat, while my dad went and doubled his money output for the day by ordering 12 more pizzas.

It didn’t stop there. My mom said, “Rick, get these boys some tokens. They fight because they don’t have anything better to do.” She made sure she said that loud enough for them all to hear.
Dad bought them each a generous amount of tokens, (which after clarifying with my mom and dad, was only really 4 tokens each -all they could afford-, but hey, that was still another 20 bucks they didn’t really have) hoping that if he and mom could keep them inside long enough having a good time, then maybe the fight would be cancelled all together. We all exited feeling like the heroes who had saved the day.

The discussion in the car on the way home went something like this. Mom to Dad, “Do you think that they will still have a fight, should we call the police?” Dad said, “I can’t believe you Sharon. You are one crazy woman.” Mom to Dad ,”One crazy woman that you love. And, one crazy woman that may have just saved a life.” Mom to kids,”Remember this kids, all people have a part of them that just wants to be loved. They act badly because they haven’t been loved.”

Yep, that’s my mom and dad. As a couple, they could do anything, including stomping out gang activity from the world as I knew it.

And in the words of John Lennon:

All you need is love. All you need is love. All you need is love, love,
love is all you need.

Papa’s Puns

A comment left on my post from yesterday made me think that my father-in-law is secretly reading my blog. (I would be so honored) The anonymous comment was in regard to me working as a cashier at Target and said:”Some people hope for change; some people talk about change, but I’ve been working hard to make change since 2007!!!!!!”

Sure, anyone could have left this comment, but really, who left in this world has a pun in his pocket so readily? Duane does like to torture us all continually with his play on words, but it never really gets old. He may be getting old, but unlike him his humor will live forever. I don’t think that it would be possible to erase the practice of punnery from the Gold DNA. I am left to wonder where it all originated. I have been told that Grandpa Gold was a great humorist also.

So, I chose the picture of Duane above from behind. I am sure that he will be able to come up with something really good using the word behind. (He always does)

What is a pun exactly? It is just humor that is a play on words. Try to come up with some of your own, it is quite fun. I must warn you though, you may have to think really hard, I have been sitting here for the past 30 minutes and haven’t been able to come up with one. Thank goodness for the google search. It brought up this page from UT which left me wondering if punnery is a Southern thing. No wonder why all those Southern guys are funny.

In our family, Duane’s puns are numbered. Duane likes to pull out his little plays on words whenever his wit is up to the challenge, which unfortunately for us, is always. After ten years in the family, I have observed that Duane always awards himself with a little chuckle as to tell the intended listener that they had better acknowledge the humor also. I love this! And, I also love how the family tries to remember which number the pun is whenever Duane has succeeded at remembering. Really the jokes have never been assigned numbers for that would take all the pun out of it.

According to Erskine a pun is the lowest form of wit. Now, don’t be offended Duane, he also says it is “the foundation of all wit”. Freud also said that, puns are “the cheapest- can be made with the least trouble” (which Duane will find as a compliment I am sure because the Gold’s pride themselves on being thrifty.)

Leave it to Oscar Levant to astutely point out: “A pun is the lowest form of humor- if you didn’t think of it first.” I am making it my goal this year to memorize a few puns so that I can perpetuate the humor into my children. I would also love it if I could master the lowest and cheapeast form of wit – wit in any form, is good to me. It may be an accomplishment of a lifetime if I can ever think of just one good pun before good old Papa.

Here are some puns just for the reader’s delight: (these are all Duane typical)

1. I used to be twins. My mother has a picture of me when I was two.
2. I work as a baker because I knead dough.
3. A dog not only has a fur coat but also pants.
4. Today I’ve got a pressing engagement. I must go to the cleaners.
5. I recently spent money on detergent to unclog my kitchen sink. It was money down the drain.

What are you building?

The famiy room fairy and other forms of bribery have already been tried to help my three daughters learn their cleaning responsibility. I am always looking for new forms of bribery…any suggestions?

Last Saturday morning, the girls’ toys were everywhere, as usual. LG and I actually tried to bribe the girls with bacon. Can you say, “Will work for pork?” LG gave the girls the chance to earn four pieces of bacon if they could get the room clean during the 20 minutes we were preparing breakfast. All three of our girls would eat a whole pound of bacon if you let them. Can you believe our bribery tactic only worked for Bella? LG, Bella, and I loved eating all that bacon. Abigail and Sophia only earned themselves one lousy piece. Man, we were so hopeful!

On another note, the following story was shared with me via e-mail. I think that this may make some mothers out there chuckle, as I am sure they can relate to me and my bacon bribery as well as this anonymous author’s feelings about motherhood.

Unless you are a mother or plan on calling your mother and praising her name after you read this, you can stop reading now. And you mothers: get your tissues ready.

It started to happen gradually. One day I was walking my son Jake to school. I was holding his hand and we were about to cross the street when the crossing guard said to him, “Who is that with you, young fella?”

“Nobody,” he shrugged. Nobody? The crossing guard and I laughed. My son is only 5, but as we crossed the street I thought, “Oh my goodness, nobody?”

I would walk into a room and no one would notice. I would say something to my family – like “Turn the TV down, please” – and nothing would happen. Nobody would get up, or even make a move for the remote. I would stand there for a minute, and then I would say again, a little louder, “Would someone turn the TV down?” Nothing.

Just the other night my husband and I were out at a party. We’d been there for about three hours and I was ready to leave. I noticed he was talking to a friend from work. So I walked over, and when there was a break in the conversation, I whispered, “I’m ready to go when you are.” He just kept right on talking.

I’m invisible. It all began to make sense, the blank stares, the lack of response, the way one of the kids will walk into the room while I’m on the phone and ask to be taken to the store. Inside I’m thinking, “Can’t you see I’m on the phone?” Obviously not. No one can see if I’m on the phone, or cooking, or sweeping the floor, or even standing on my head in the corner because no one can see me at all.

I’m invisible. Some days I am only a pair of hands, nothing more: Can you fix this? Can you tie this? Can you open this? Some days I’m not a pair of hands; I’m not even a human being. I’m a clock to ask, “What time is it?” I’m a satellite guide to answer, “What number is the Disney Channel?” I’m a car to order, “Right around 5:30, please.”

I was certain that these were the hands that once held books and the eyes that studied history and the mind that graduated summa cum laude – but now they had disappeared into the peanut butter, never to be seen again.

She’s going¸ she’s going¸ she’s gone! One night, a group of us were having dinner, celebrating the return of a friend from England. Janice had just gotten back from a fabulous trip, and she was going on and on about the hotel she stayed in. I was sitting there, looking around at the others all put together so well. It was hard not to compare and feel sorry for myself as I looked down at my out-of-style dress; it was the only thing I could find that was clean. My unwashed hair was pulled up in a banana clip and I was afraid I could actually smell peanut butter in it. I was feeling pretty pathetic, when Janice turned to me with a beautifully wrapped package, and said, “I brought you this.”

It was a book on the great cathedrals of Europe. I wasn’t exactly sure why she’d given it to me until I read her inscription: “To Charlotte, with admiration for the greatness of what you are building when no one sees.”

In the days ahead I would read – no, devour – the book. And I would discover what would become for me, four life-changing truths, after which I could pattern my work:
No one can say who built the great cathedrals – we have no record of their names.

These builders gave their whole lives for a work they would never see finished. They made great sacrifices and expected no credit. The passion of their building was fueled by their faith that the eyes of God saw everything.

A legendary story in the book told of a rich man who came to visit the cathedral while it was being built, and he saw a workman carving a tiny bird on the inside of a beam. He was puzzled and asked the man, “Why are you spending so much time carving that bird into a beam that will be covered by the roof? No one will ever see it.”

And the workman replied, “Because God sees.”

I closed the book, feeling the missing piece fall into place. It was almost as if I heard God whispering to me, “I see you, Charlotte. I see the sacrifices you make every day, even when no one around you does. No act of kindness you’ve done, no sequin you’ve sewn on, no cupcake you’ve baked, is too small for me to notice and smile over.

You are building a great cathedral, but you can’t see right now what it will become.”
At times, my invisibility feels like an affliction. But it is not a disease that is erasing my life. It is the cure for the disease of my own self-centeredness. It is the antidote to my strong, stubborn pride.

I keep the right perspective when I see myself as a great builder. As one of the people who show up at a job that they will never see finished, to work on something that their name will never be on. The writer of the book went so far as to say that no cathedrals could ever be built in our lifetime because there are so few people willing to sacrifice to that degree.

When I really think about it, I don’t want my son to tell the friend he’s bringing home from college for Thanksgiving, “My mom gets up at 4 in the morning and bakes homemade pies, and then she hand bastes a turkey for three hours and presses all the linens for the table.” That would mean I’d built a shrine or a monument to myself. I just want him to want to come home. And then, if there is anything more to say to his friend, to add, “You’re gonna love it there.”

As women, we are building great cathedrals. We cannot be seen if we’re doing it right. And one day, it is very possible that the world will marvel, not only at what we have built, but at the beauty that has been added to the world by the sacrifices of invisible women.

The Southern Baptists

In no way do I want to be disrespectful to my friends of other faiths, but I just gotta blog about something kind of funny. I love the Southern Christian people. We are surrounded by people who are not afraid to talk about their faith and this is not only refreshing but faith promoting. The picture above is the Historical First Baptist church in downtown Knoxville.

But, on with my entry. (Please don’t be offended anyone) In the South, we are known as the Bible Belt. I never quite understood what that meant until I moved here 4 years ago. We literally have a different church on every corner. (as opposed to different LDS ward buildings in Utah) On some intersections you can even find two different Baptist churches across from one another. I have no idea how many different sects that there are in the Baptist church. Here are the ones that I have learned of: Southern Baptist, Primitive Baptist, Calvary Baptist, First Baptist. Some of these could just be names of congregations, I’m not totally sure. The point being that we are the Bible Belt because people around here really read their Bibles.

From what I have learned about Baptists, the most important thing one can do is be “saved”. Besides that, it doesn’t really matter what you believe and as a Baptist you can go to whichever church you want, picking a preacher that you like. Agreeing with all the doctrines preached is a huge bonus, and the main reason that the number of congregations are always growing. Being a Mormon, however, is not acceptable to people of the Baptist faith. The Baptists don’t consider us to be Christian because for some reason their preachers have taught them that our being saved is not the same as theirs. I still have yet to figure that out.

Here is an interesting website I came across tonight: Knoxkoupons. I can make no sense whatsoever as to why there is a website that totally focuses on church congregations with the title having the word Koupon in it. I am also unsure as to whether or not I should be saddened by the fact that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is not on the list.

So, onto the funny part. As I have mentioned before, we have a funny way of talking here in the South. I never really thought about the origin of our vocabulary words until I was recently enlightened in Sunday School. Here are two seperate Bible references that we studied within the past couple of weeks.

Rom. 8: 18
18 For I reckon that the asufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the bglory which shall be revealed cin us.

Rom. 12: 14
14 Bless them which persecute you: bless, and curse not.

So, I got an answer to a question that I had never bothered to ask just by going to Sunday School. (this could be some kind of motivational “attend your meetings” speech) The question: Where do Southerners get their vocabulary? The origin: The Holy Bible. Two Southern phrases from tbe Book or Romans: “I reckon” & “Bless his heart”.

Our family especially likes the Southern phrase, “bless his heart.” You can almost get away with murder, as long as you are willing to say “bless his heart” after you kill someone. For instance, “Oh honey, you are getting so fat, bless your heart.”

The Library

We love the library! We live in a country where we can pretty much get any book we want to read for free at our local library. It is too bad that more people don’t take advantage of the opportunity. If I were a perfect mother, I would take the kids every week to storytime, but I am not, nor will I ever be perfect.

I think I have done alright though….look at how engaged all three girls are by the story. They really do love to learn. That is what counts, I guess. There is nothing better than a child engaged in a children’s story.

Harry Golden, author of Only in America, said, “The library, I believe, is the last of our public institutions
to which you can go without credentials. You don’t even need the sticker on your windshield that you need to get into the public beach. All you need is the willingness to read.”

See the light

At church today, during the kids’ learning time, one of the leaders pulled out an object lesson. She had drawn a picture of a lightbulb and showed it to the 25 children, ranging in ages from 3-8, as she explained that she meant to bring a real lightbulb but forgot it in her rush out the door.

So, she posts the lightbulb and throws out a question to the kids: “If this were a real lightbulb what would it need to light up?” The first child pulls out the obvious answer from a child….a lightswitch.

My daughter Abigail raised her hand and eagerly awaited her turn to be called on. She was called on second. Now, remember, she is 6 years old. She says as matter of factly as possible,”Electricity!” Where does this child come from? I called her “little smartie pants” in front of all the other kids. I think I kind of embarassed her a little. But, golly, what am I going to do? The kid almost knows more than me already. I am doing way too good of a job teaching her. (Just kidding) I really do give all credit to her Father’s genes and the time that she spends with her Papa asking question after question….bringing me to my favorite quote.

“All knowledge begins with wonder.” – Noah Webster

So, go find out something new today.

My Children’s Book


Here is the cover of a book that I envisioned a few years back. Abigail helped me draw some crude pictures and we put prototypes together for my parents & in-laws for Christmas ’03.

I think it is a great book with an even more important message. I won’t give it away here.
[Wouldn’t want to ruin my chances at a copyright.]
I will give you the first line: “You can be a student, if you learn to try.”

I guess after my last entry, Yoda,this is, you can see that I am hypocritical in my book. Trying isn’t enough. We have to do! That is where we all fall short. I admire people who don’t just try, but do. I am a doer. It is really hard for “doers” to understand “tryers”.

I came across a great illustration of someone who DID in spite of critics.

“The concept is interesting and well-formed, but in order to earn better than a ‘C’, the idea must be feasible.”
– A Yale University management professor, in response to student Fred Smith’s paper proposing reliable overnight delivery service (Smith went on to found Federal Express)