The Us in Our Marriage

Along with the stress and grief of losing two fathers this last month, Brett and I have been apart more than we have been together. It is really getting tiresome, this alone thing. Yes, I have Abbey to keep me going right now, and Brett has the funeral, his family, and our other kids, but there is nothing more peaceful, more centering than the "us" we have become. So as a result, I have been way off center these past weeks.

It isn't like we have never been apart. There have been quite a few times in our marriage when miles have separated us. For instance, when Brett joined the Air Force back in the 80s he was in training in Texas then in Mississippi. We were apart for probably ten weeks. Then there have been times when he had to help with Scout camp, Pioneer Trek, or I was a leader at Girls' Camp. Brett has never had a job that has taken him out of town much, but there have been those few trips here and there. But this separation has been different.

Yesterday when Abbey was getting ready for school I could hear her in her bathroom doing a somewhat toned-down happy dance. I said, "It looks like we have a happy girl here today." She said she was sort of happy. When I asked her what that meant she said, "Well, two of my grandpas have died and my mom and dad keep leaving . . . . . " I could tell that she was feeling a little guilty for feeling some joy sneak into our tragedy. I quickly told her that it was okay to feel happy, in fact it is very important for little girls to be happy. After I said that, her happy dance picked up the pace and exploded out like sunshine.

Well, my happy dance is half way around the world, and I kind of feel like having a large temper tantrum until he gets back. Brett is the person in our marriage who gives us permission to take a nap on a busy day. He is the one who will start the compliment-giving contests, or the thumb wars when we are waiting somewhere. Brett is the one who asks me what my happy and sad are for the day. He breathes hope and peace into my chaotic day so often I can't even begin to remember all the times of resuscitation. I love you Brett. I am counting the days until Sunday. I hope Doha International Airport is ready for a wild happy dance!

Grandpa Kearney

Brett's dad, who just turned 90 on January 5, is in his final days, if not hours, on this earth. What a life this man has lived. What a legacy he will be leaving behind. We sorrow with all of the Kearney family and wish it wasn't so, but last time we saw Dad Kearney (Kenneth J Kearney) he talked of his mother, the legendary Erma Lee Gordon Kearney Peck. He has been looking forward to seeing her again I'm sure. His father Michael Edward Kearney died when Dad Kearney was only two years old. As a young accountant he died after accidentally sticking himself with a lead pencil, leaving a widow and two sons. Antibiotics would have saved his life, but they didn't have the miraculous medicines of today. I'm sure Dad Kearney will be welcomed to heaven by his loving parents who have waited a long time to see their son again. He will also be welcomed by two of his children who have preceded him in death: Sommer and Danny.

The legacy that Dad Kearney leaves behind to continue on is a large one - twelve children who have looked to him as the family patriarch for a very long time. There will be a giant hole in our family with the passing of this man. As his daughter-in-law, who was very afraid of him long ago, I have seen a gruff man soften, or maybe I was the one who softened as I came to know him. Dad Kearney has been a devoted father who chauffeured children to school, dance lessons, nail appointments, and jobs. In fact he didn't stop driving until a few years ago. He has been a devoted husband. He is an adoptive father who accepted my Brett along with his sisters as his own. He has been a bishop, the family cook (his bread is legendary), an artist, a proud grandpa, and an energizer bunny these last ten years. We love you Grandpa Kearney, and we are grateful for all you have done to make our lives rich with your wisdom, love, and perspective.

*While I was downloading the pictures for this post, Kristy called and told us that Grandpa Kearney had just passed away peacefully with one last look at the loved ones in the room. Oh how I wish Brett could have been there. He loves his dad so much. This special dad is the one who took Brett, his two sisters, and mom to the Ogden Temple to be sealed as an eternal family. Oh how grateful we are for that blessing, especially now.

Grandsons

Okay, so I have to brag for this post. I hope you will indulge me just a little. It was so good to be with my grandsons for a few days right after Christmas. It was the reward I received for flying for 34 hours to get to Utah for my dad's funeral.

Thomas is the brightest three year old I've ever met - since his mom that is. The first day we were together, while Thomas was munching on his breakfast, I asked him what he wanted to do with me while he was in Utah. I thought he would tell me he wanted to play in the snow, read, go to the library (one of his favorite activities), or play cars. With a mouth full of Cheerios he simply said, "I want to have a conversation." So of course I obliged and we started talking about whatever was on his mind. I can't remember what it was, but I could tell that is truly what he wanted to do with me. A few days later he told someone else (maybe Ben or Mary?) that he wanted to have a "cold" conversation with them. So they proceeded to say cold words like brrrrr and snow, and freeeeeeezing, and frost. What a funny guy! We did get to play in the snow eventually, thanks to the Smiths who invited us all to their first annual Snowman Building Contest on New Year's Day. One morning when everyone in the house was fast asleep, Thomas paid me the ultimate compliment of yelling, "Grandma! Grandma! Grandma!" when he woke up instead of calling for his mom. It was one of the nicest wake-up calls I've ever gotten. If you get a chance to be around Thomas, make sure you ask him to tell you a joke. It is a great experience.

Then there is Kimball (Kimballicious). He is a baby full of joy and patience like no other baby I've met, at least not since his Uncle Ben. Feeding him breakfast was even fun. His big brown eyes are something new in our family - Jared brought in the beautiful brown eyes - and when Kimball looks at me, it seems like he is looking into my heart. He is just a baby, but there is a wisdom there that suggests an old soul. He is also a relaxed little guy and let me cuddle him and move his arms and legs all over the place. We had fun playing peek-a-boo and eating together. Kimball LOVES to eat and it shows in his delicious chub. He is already talking and says "Santa" really well, and when he saw Thomas riding with Mary's dad on the four-wheeler, Kimball was watching very closely and said, "WEEEEEEEEEE!"



Grandsons are so much fun. This summer I get to watch them for a week while Kristy and Jared go to Hawaii. I am already counting the days!

Thanks, Robert Frost

I am up in the middle of the night because my inner clock is all messed up from traveling half way around the world this week. So since I can't sleep, I thought I would blog. I have had a lot of time to think these past two weeks - traveling to Bountiful by myself for my dad's funeral. There have been many thoughts on overload. A certain poem keeps coming to my mind, maybe because of my dad's passing, or maybe just because I have been thinking of the frailty of life and the power of forgiveness. Please read "Thanks, Robert Frost" Every time I read it something inside breathes a sigh of relief. Someday I might have someone read it at my funeral, that is how much it means to me. After you have read it, I would like to hear what you think of it - its meaning, its significance to you. Maybe you will hate it. I want to hear that too. I just think this poem brings up some topics that are almost too difficult to put into language. What do you think?

My Dad

I hope you all had a wonderful Christmas. We had the most different Christmas we have ever had. After waking up early to sweet Abbey's excitement, we went down to the tree and opened all the surprises from Santa. Then we skyped with Ben and Mary - it was their Christmas Eve. Then the phone rang and I felt a dread I haven't ever felt on Christmas Day before. I knew it was my step-mother calling to tell me that my dad had passed away.

My dad has had Parkinson's Disease for several years now, but the last few years have been quite a trial for him and his wife as he struggled to fight a losing battle. A few weeks ago he told my step-mother that eating wasn't worth it anymore - he was losing the ability to swallow which is one of the last stages of the disease. Then he stopped eating and drinking altogether. The Hospice staff confirmed that his body was shutting down. My step-mother let us all know so we could prepare - if that is even possible. It has been difficult to be so far away, but when we left, my dad and I had said our goodbyes, knowing this would be a possibility. Then on Christmas Eve at about 11 PM Utah time, while my step-mom was holding my dad's hand and reading him scriptures, my dad took his last breaths.

My logical mind can reason with my emotional mind, and I am convinced that this was the best present Dad could have received - to be released from his broken body. I have imagined all the reunions he is having in heaven with my twin brother, my sister, his parents, and two of his own siblings. I could even feel his happiness. Yet, the emotion of losing a parent is more powerful than I ever imagined. It is a wake up call for my mortality, because if my dad dies, my dad who used to have all the answers to my three year old questions, anyone can die, including me. I'm sure everyone comes to this realization when they lose a parent, but even though his frail health should have prepared me for this day, I feel bereft.

So the rest of our Christmas day continued to be uniquely strange. While I was talking with my step-mother and emailing family the news, Brett continued making the crepes, bacon, and biscuits I had started. Then our friends Felicity and Jesse came over and played with Abbey (thanks so much guys) while Brett and I dealt with booking my flight home. In the middle of breakfast the plumber came to fix the sink in one of the bathrooms (Christmas isn't a holiday here). Then I made a batch of rolls and a cake to take to the dinner at Priedeman's we had been invited to. Then when we got home from dinner I wrote an obituary. There seemed no time for sadness.

I'm sure my Dad would have wanted everyone to celebrate the life of our Savior on this day - honoring the one who makes this experience full of hope. And just as Abbey wrote in her message for Grandma to read to Grandpa before he died, I know that I will see my father again. I will see him standing fully erect and dignified as he did before this disease took his perfect posture away. I know we will be able to hug once again. Thanks, Dad, for teaching me about patience, humility, forgiveness, and so many other virtues we all struggle with.

Petra

The next two days of our Jordan trip took us to Petra. If you've seen the Indiana Jones movie The Last Crusade, then you will recognize some of these photos. Petra means "rock." Excavations in the 1950s unearthed a neolithic village at Al-Beidha which dates from about 7000 BC, and now only 5% of Petra has been excavated. The real stars of Petra were the Nabataeans, a nomadic tribe from western Arabia who settled in the area around the 6th century BC. They soon became rich by plundering and then by levying tolls on the trade caravans in the area. The temples and tombs are hewn from towering rock walls of multi-colored sandstone. The desert tribes who sculpted them cleverly hid their capital city from the outside world. It wasn't until Johann Ludwig Burckhardt of Switzerland, in the early 1800s on a long-planned expedition, who lived as a Bedouin and passed himself off as a Sheikh so he could obtain the trust of the local people, that the western world was finally allowed (unknowingly) into the legendary city.

We arrived in the modern city of Petra after the sun had already gone down, but we were in time to buy tickets to the Petra by Candlelight tour at 8:30 PM. It was beautiful to hike through the narrow canyon (the Siq) at night, especially with the path lined with paper bags with candles inside and a full moon in the sky. We were told by our guide that there are thousands of candles used for each candlelight tour. As we came out of the canyon after a short 2 kilometer hike, we were speechless. The Treasury is the first building on the hike, and it is the one featured in the Indiana Jones movie. There were candle bags across the steps of the building and it was a spectacular sight. Bedouin musicians were performing on ancient string instruments and singing haunting songs, and everyone sat down on rugs to watch. It was pretty cold that night, so we were all bundled up as much as possible. Compared to Utah this time of year, the temperature was balmy, but the wind was pretty nippy and Abbey got too cold and too tired before the festivities ended, so we left early and missed the Bedouin storytelling.

The next morning we were up and ready to see Petra with sunlight. At first we felt right at home, because the canyons in Southern Utah are much like Petra's rock formations. It was glorious and overwhelming to stand in front of these cliffs and think of the hands that carved the pillars, the statues, and the gorgons. The site was filled with people, camels, donkeys, and aggressive souvenir-sellers. We were quickly convinced that we needed a camel ride, so Brett and Abbey got on one and I got on another. It was surprisingly comfortable to ride around the square, but Abbey later accurately described it as a teeter totter ride. Camels are notoriously ornery and Brett's camel "Jack"quickly took liberties with the journey and tried to find his own route. My camel decided to reprimand Jack with a bite to the ear when we were posing for pictures.

As we explored the different buildings and sites, I learned that a writer I had been told about was there in Petra selling her book entitled Married to a Bedouin. Marguerite van Geldermalsen is a New Zealand-born nurse who was traveling in Jordan in 1978 with friends. When they were invited to stay the night in a local souvenir-seller's cave in Petra, they accepted and prepared for an adventure. Marguerite's adventure continued throughout her life, because she ended up marrying the kind Bedouin host and raising a family in a 2,000 year old cave. She became the resident nurse for the tribe there and learned to live like a Bedouin.

Sure enough, as we explored the various souvenir tables, we noticed Marguerite standing out with her red hair and freckle-faced complexion in a sea of Arabs. She was kind and signed one of her books for me. She answered a few questions and told us about her grown children who are very educated and accomplished. Her husband died a few years ago, but she still stays connected to Jordan and lives there as well as Australia. Marguerite then sold me some earrings made by the enterprise for local women that she supports. The Noor Al-Hussein Foundation provides training and marketing assistance to ventures which create needed jobs for women and revive traditional craftsmanship throughout Jordan. Marguerite has used her notoriety to bring attention and much needed sales to these ventures. I walked away from her with so many questions about how a very civilized woman could embrace such a seemingly backward culture. I will have to read her book to uncover that life-altering decision.

As I mentioned in a previous post, Brett went native on us and wore his Arab headgear all day in Petra. We had quite a few second glances with some Arab men commenting about what they thought of this obviously white western man wearing a traditional Arabic garment. Some of these comments were given with half smiles, some with less than friendly stares. Maybe it was a good thing we didn't know Arabic this time. All through Petra there are men and boys who are high pressure salesmen trying to convince all the visitors to hire their horse, or camel for the trip or to buy their handmade jewelry. As we were leaving Petra, another horse rider was pressuring us to hire his horse for the rest of the walk out. "For your daughter!" he would say to Brett. When he realized we weren't taking the bait, he yelled to Brett, "For YOU Lawrence of Arabia!" Brett is going to repeat that story a few thousand times. I think he liked that little comment, made in derision, but complimentary nonetheless.

Here is the inside of a tomb we explored.

The aggressive salespeople that filled Petra almost outnumbered the tourists the day we were there. Some of them were very charming, others not so much. I was amazed at the number of children there on a week day - school? One family caught our eye and we asked if we could take a picture of the mother with her three children. Two of the children ran off to play before I snapped the picture, but hopefully you can get some idea of the personality of this family. She was very kind, saw that I had bought Marguerite's book, and told me that she was a cousin of Marguerite's husband - a celebrity! When we left she said, "A gift for your daughter!" Then she wrapped a bead bracelet around Abbey's wrist. Brett promptly gave some money to one of the little girls. A generous heart can be found in all walks of life.

Abbey was a trooper through this whole adventure, so I must give her credit for not being the typical whiny kid on vacation. She was brave, patient, and tough, and she really enjoyed our trip. She is a lucky kid to be able to have these international experiences. As an eight year old I don't think I could have been as resilient as she is. Way to go Abbey!

The rest of our trip in Jordan was pretty much uneventful. We stayed in Amman the last night and then flew back to Doha. I never thought I would be happy to say I live in Doha, but after visiting such an impoverished country, I have a new appreciation for the thriving economy and the industrious people who care for their surroundings here. I guess oil money makes the difference, but there is also hope in Qatar with a ruler who puts his people and their growth high on his list of priorities.

I'm sorry if I got a little too detailed in this travel log. I had requests from Kristy and others to give details, so I did. Thanks for reading!

Dental Hygiene

This morning before leaving for church I asked Abbey if she had brushed her teeth. She thought for a moment and then said, "Yeah, I must have eaten a lot last night because I sure had a lot of tooth mold." (I hope no one is eating right about now because that is pretty gross.) Then Abbey explained that because she got to have a movie night with Brett last night she had been too tired to brush her teeth before she went to bed - hence the tooth mold. I thought it was a very good description of that fuzzy stuff that builds up on teeth sometimes. Abigail has always had a very inventive way with figurative language.

The Dead Sea and Baptism Site

The most beautiful two days of our trip to Jordan was at the Dead Sea. After our first night in the dumpy hotel, when we stepped into the Movenpic Dead Sea Resort Hotel, we felt like we had walked into paradise.



Our room overlooked the deceptively beautiful Dead Sea. At night we could see the lights of Jericho and Jerusalem from our eastern viewpoint. The weather was blissfully cool, and the breezes that blew in through the window were calm and hypnotic. I don't think I have ever slept so soundly.


The food was decadent and we ate way too much. There was a man in the lobby one day, dressed in traditional Turkish attire, pouring wonderful lemonade from an elaborate golden flask for anyone who wanted some. The gardens at the Movenpic resort reminded me of what I imagine the Garden of Eden to be. The photos here do not do it justice. We also saw an olive tree that is 1400 years old. Amazing!

There were four different swimming pools plus the Dead Sea to conquer. There is no way to describe what it feels like to float in the Dead Sea. The harsh, salt covered rocks were well worth the torture, because I have never felt so buoyant as I did when I finally reached float depth. Because we live so close to the Great Salt Lake in Utah, we thought we knew what it would feel like to bob around in the Dead Sea. This was nothing like that brine shrimp pool in the U.S. I could have stayed in there all day trying not to let my backside pop up and tip me head first into the salt water, but Abbey didn't care for the salt very much.

So after the salt water, we investigated all the pools at the resort. The beach pool was the most interesting, because we could walk into the pool from a man made sandy beach and then dive in the deep waters at the other end. Brett mostly investigated the shade and took pictures of his feet relaxing. Our two days at the Dead Sea ended all too quickly.

After leaving the Dead Sea we traveled about 30 minutes to the site by the River Jordan where scholars believe John the Baptist baptized Jesus Christ. We definitely wanted to go there since Abbey had just been baptized herself a few weeks ago. The River Jordan has receded so much over the years because of diversions for crops that there is actually no water at the actual baptism site. So our guide took us to a point beyond the Greek Orthodox Church where there is a narrow part of the river that remains.

We were only a few feet across from the Israeli border and could see the flag waving on that side. We asked our guide what the Jordanian soldier posted there would do if someone tried to cross into Israel. He told us that he would give sufficient warnings and then use his weapon. That was quite a contrast to the actual purpose of the site.

One of the more interesting parts of our trip happened at the River Jordan. When we were at the river's edge, with our guide's permission, three women from our group went into a small changing tent and changed into white baptismal gowns. Then they proceeded to go down into the river and they baptized themselves. This picture of Abbey looking on is very significant given her recent experience. I later asked her if she knew the difference between her baptism and theirs. She said that the water was cleaner in the Arabian Gulf. She smiled and then knew the answers I was looking for. As we got onto the bus to leave the site I noticed the women who baptized themselves got on with some pop cans full of water from the river. I guess they wanted their own kind of souvenir.

The Greek Orthodox church was interesting to see, but very different from my idea of what a house of worship is. I took this picture of Elijah for my grandson Thomas Elijah. It is quite striking, but gaudy.

The whole experience of those two days really left us with grateful hearts. We were grateful to be walking the earth in the same land that the Savior walked. To see the glittering lights of Jerusalem was an almost reverent experience, maybe even more so than if we had actually gone there. We could look at the city where Jesus Christ walked with a distant view and pull back from the intricate details that make up Jerusalem and focus on the most poignant, life-changing parts of the city - our resurrected Savior was tried, crucified, and then lived again in that city on the hill.