THE MIKE HAYES STORY

Innercity Missionaries

My Husband and I served two years as inner-city missionaries at the St. Benedicts Manor in Ogden. It is a government-housing complex with about 100 members who deal with various disabilities. Mike Hayes gave an impressive talk in Sacrament meeting on one of our first Sundays at the Manor. His testimony was powerful. The missionaries were assigned to visit the members monthly in their apartments. Our first visit with Mike was a cherished experience. We knocked on his door and he opened cheerfully and invited us in. We spent a few minutes discussing his work and career goals. He collected bills for a nearby business; he did part time drafting and had an online business with hopes of success. We were impressed at his ambition with his obvious handicap.

Mike happened to mention that he had only been active 3 years. I asked him what brought him back into the church. He told the following story:

"I am an epileptic. I was having seizures so often my life seemed hopeless. I decided the only answer was to end it. I sat on the bed with a 32-caliber revolver. I was contemplating where the best place to shoot would be—in the mouth or at the temple. As I sat there discouraged and distraught something came over me and I dropped to my knees and prayed. I stayed there for a long time pouring out my soul, pleading for help. I glanced at the shelf by my bed. I saw a book—my old dusty scriptures. I put down the gun and picked up the scriptures. They fell open to 2 Timothy 1:7"

For God hath not given us the spirit of fear but of power, and of love and of a sound mind. Be not thou therefore ashamed of the testimony of our Lord…
"I cried and dropped to my knees and prayed again. I had my answer."

He pointed to a spot on the wall with the scripture printed out below a picture of the Savior. He said the scripture sustained him daily.
I asked him about his health. He said he got an implant to control his seizures and now only has one or two grand mauls a year. He told us he was happy and hopeful—that the gospel had given him a new life.

We left uplifted as we often did with these wonderful people who were trying to live the gospel with challenges most of us can’t even imagine.

PERFECT POTATOES AU GRATIN

My husband has an onion adversion.  The garlic was a nice replacement.  This is rich and easy to put together.  The cheese is good but not necessary. 

 4-5 largish Potatoes russett or red, Scrubbed Clean

 1-½ cup Cream
 ½ cup Milk
 2 Tablespoons Flour
 2 cloves grated garlic fried until light brown in 1 T. oil
 1 teaspoon Salt
 Freshly Ground Pepper, to taste
 1 cup Sharp Cheddar Cheese, Grated (optional)


Preheat oven to 375 degrees.
Spray a 9x13 baking dish with Pam .
Slice potatoes, chunks or slices as you like. (About 5 cups)
In a separate bowl, whisk together cream, milk, flour, garlic, salt, and plenty of freshly ground black pepper.

Place 1/3 of the potatoes in the bottom of the baking dish. Pour 1/3 of the cream mixture over the potatoes.

Repeat this two more times, ending with the cream mixture. Cover with foil and bake for 30 minutes. Remove foil and bake for 20 minutes, or until potatoes are soft, golden brown and really bubbling. Add grated cheese to the top of the potatoes and bake for 3 to 5 more minutes, until cheese is melted and bubbly. (the cheese is optional. The potatoes are so rich you don’t really need it.)

Book Review - FIRE IN THE BONES by Michael Wilcox

One Wednesday in June I sat in the swing in my Secret Garden and finished reading Michael Wilcox’s book on William Tyndale, “Fire in the Bones.” It may have been the peaceful setting I was in or simply the power of a man’s life that touched my soul so deeply I couldn’t keep from shedding tears. Brother Wilcox wrote the book because he believes Tyndale’s life is not celebrated enough. After reading the book I have to agree.

The next day I attended my book club meeting and sat with a group of women to discuss a book of no account. I had read it but felt that I had wasted some precious time in the process. It was mildly entertaining but as I sat there with these women, that I have read books with for 25 years, I couldn’t help but wonder how many had read any scriptures that week. I thought of Tyndale and his sacrifices. He gave his life because he wanted every English speaking person to be able to read scriptures in their tongue. He wanted the common man to know the words of Christ better than clergy. Is that happening?  Do we fill our minds with junk food words and miss the nourishing words of scripture?

Jeremiah is a story from the scriptures that speaks to my soul. He was a contemporary of Lehi, left in Israel to preach repentance to the rebellious Israelites, as Lehi went on to a new land with his family. Jeremiah stayed to be beaten, verbally abused and put in prison for his preaching. God wouldn’t let Jeremiah get married because He didn’t want him to bring posterity into such a wicked society. Perhaps the most poignant cry to the Lord in scripture comes from Jeremiah in chapter 20 of his book. He said:

7: O Lord, thou hast deceived me, and I was deceived: thou art stronger than I, and hast prevailed; I am in derision daily, every one mocketh me. For since I spake, I cried violence and spoil; because the word of the Lord was made a reproach unto me, and a derision daily. Then I said, I will not make mention of him, nor speak any more in his name. (then perhaps the most beautiful words in all of scripture) But his word was in mine heart as a burning fire shut up in my bones, and I was weary with forebearing, and I could not stay.”

So it was with Tyndale. So it needs to be with all of us if we are to be changed, comforted and inspired by the power of the ”word.”

On an April day in Coventry England in 1519, “7 parents were burned at the stake for teaching their children and family the Lord’s Prayer and Ten Commandments in English. “(p.1)

“To keep us from knowledge of the truth, they do all things in Latin. They pray in Latin, they christen in Latin, they bless in Latin, they give absolution in Latin, only curse they in the English tongue.” William Tyndale (P.9)

“Brought up from a child in the university of Oxford, where he, by long continuance, grew up, and increased as well in knowledge of tongues...as especially in the knowledge of the Scriptures, whereunto his mind was singularly addicted...” I believe that scriptures can addict us all because I have come to know that there is a power beyond the words in scripture.

“Now faith...is the gift of God given us by grace...I never deserved it, nor prepared myself unto it; but ran another way clean contrary in my blindness, and sought not that way; but he sought me, and found me out, and showed it me, and therewith drew me to him. And I bow the knees of my heart unto God night and day, that he will show it all other man; and I suffer all that I can, to be a servant to open their eyes. For well I wot they cannot see of themselves” (Tyndale, p. 37)

Michael Wilcox lays out all the events of Tyndale’s life from his youth. He eventually lives in exile to Antwerp in the Netherlands where he translates and publishes the New Testament. Tyndale's desire is that one-day the plow boy would know the scriptures as well as the clergy. The small books of scripture are smuggled into England by merchants who hide the books in their goods. The people are hungry for the words of Christ. They are willing to risk their lives for this opportunity and those caught with scriptures are punished, many at the stake.

This book made me aware of how certain men alter the chain of events necessary to allow God’s will. I wonder about the workings of God. It seems to me He only goes so far in order to influence but not control. He allows wicked men like Henry the VIII and his desire for a divorce to open a door for reform as Henry leaves the Catholic church. I will never feel the same about Ann Bolyn as she is converted by a Tyndale bible and sees the need for the common man to have it. She tries to influence Henry as she can. She will eventually lose her life in the evil stream of political events of Henry’s selfish life.

I have never thought much about translation before and how the choice of words can change things so much. Tyndale studied languages and knew many. He took the process very seriously and retranslated his work several times before he was satisfied. His New Testament translation changed the English language to a higher level as it became widely read. Tyndale’s lyrical and poetic phrases charm and soothe the soul. It created a desire within the people to be literate.

The political climate in England was becoming more accepting of the scriptures in the hands of the people when Tyndale was finally captured in Antwerp. (but not by the Catholic Church). He was placed in a cold and dreary castle for a year and 135 days before he was killed. If he had been in England he might have been spared. Within two years of his death Henry allowed the Bible to be read and ordered it to be placed in all the churches. The clergy were to “expressly provoke, stir and exort every person to read the same, as that which is the very lively Word of God.” (p. 225)

How did the people in the villages and towns respond to their new English Bible? As in London, they crowded the churches to read and discuss the truths they found therein. Throngs became so thick and the services and sermons so often ignored that Henry issued another edict requesting his people to benefit from the new Great Bible “most humbly and reverently,” using it “quietly and charitably every [one] of you to the edifying of himself, his wife and family.” (How things have changed. I believe the churches are largely empty in England today.) (p.225) The King James Version took as its core the Tyndale bible.

The power beyond the words in scripture is the power of love that comes through Christ. Tyndale believed this.

“Christ is the cause why I love thee, why I am ready to do the usmost of my power for thee, and why I pray for thee. And as long as the cause abideth, so long lasteth the effect; even as it is always day so long as the sun shineth. Do therefore the worst thou canst unto me, take away my goods, take away my good name; yet as long as Christ remaineth in my heart, so long I love thee not a whit the less, and so long art thou as dear unto me as mine own soul, and so long am I ready to do thee good for thine evil and so long I pray for thee with all my heart; for Christ desireth it of me, and hath deserved it of me. Thine unkindness compared unto his kindness is nothing at all; yea, it is swallowed up as a little smoke of a mighty wind, and is no more seen or thought upon.” Tyndale (Ibid. p. 113)

Tyndale’s lived these words. It is not surprising as the fire in his bones burned from his dedication to translating the scriptures. He understood that the message of Christ was love and he knew this message in the hands of all men would change them and society in consequence.
4 ½ years ago in February I took a challenge from Scott Proctor of Meridian Magazine to “Read Scriptures Every Day NO MATTER WHAT!” The no matter what has made the difference and as I am into my fifth year I am beginning to feel Tyndale’s addiction. The word is beginning to burn in my soul and I love it.

Mike and I made a quick weekend trip to LA recently and I forgot to pack my scriptures. (Which hasn’t happened since my commitment.) I felt a little panicky wondering how I was going to read. Mike came to my rescue as he brought his Book of Mormon. Yes, he did bring scriptures but they were in Spanish. So, I had a little experience in translation. For three nights Mike read to me in Spanish (which I thought was beautiful) and translated the words into English for me. Mike has a gift and love for language as did Tyndale. He has been teaching himself Spanish for 6-7 years. Tyndale taught himself Latin, Greek and Hebrew in order to do his bible translations.

Thank You Michael Wilcox for teaching me about Tyndale. I am grateful that I feel some of his “Fire in the Bones.”

INDEX OF MY POSTS

For some reason I am unable to get the "search" capability to function on my blog.  I have an old template (which I like) and unless I am willing to change it I may not be able to get it to work so for you who have looked for recipes on my blog go to the very bottom, below the paintings where I have posted an Index.  Most of the recipes are together.  Just click on what you want and it will take you there.

MY FAVORITE PIONEER STORY

B.H. ROBERTS CHILDHOOD STORY  - Taken from "Defender of the Faith" by Truman Madsen

Ann Everington Roberts was born in Norfolk England. Her parents were dead and she supported herself working in a shop trimming hats and sewing fine dresses for the ladies of the countryside. In 1848 when she was 21 she married a young blacksmith, Ben Roberts.  One night in the streets she heard the Mormon missionaries speaking.  That night she sat up reading the bible passages they had talked about. The next day she went to find them again. She was eventually baptized. Her husband wasn’t interested and they separated.


Ben sent Ann some money and she decided to use it to come to the Zion of Utah.  Mary, her 12-year-old, was left with some distant relatives to work in a china factory. The girl would work in the factory for her keep. 5 year old Henry was left with some recent converts to the church, The Toveys.

Henry's memory: As she stopped from dining table to pantry door weeping, I, with childish sympathy, plucked her gown and in my broad Lancashire dialect said, “Muther, what op?” And “Why art crying?” Mother knelt on the floor beside me and with her arms around my shoulders told me of the intended journey to America—Zion, and how I would have to be left behind with a Brother and Sister Tovey, and Sister Mary was with some distant relatives by the name of Pie. And it was only now a day or two when this separation would take place. As she held on to me telling the story, sobs and tears became more profuse; at last, folding me in her arms, she sought of me brokenly a promise that when I grew up to be a man I would come to her in “Zion.” Freeing myself from the embrace, I stood erect in the middle of the floor, and with childish solemnity promised her, “I will come.” (Truman G. Madsen, Defender of the Faith , p.8)


Ann took with her Annie and a baby boy Thomas. The baby contracted ship fever on the way over. He was sick and wasted to a skeleton by the time they started across the planes in a covered wagon. He died before she reached Utah. She could not bare to bury the baby in the dirt. The captain of the wagon train brought his breadbox and buried the little boy.


Ann moved to Bountiful after arriving in the valley. She opened a shop where she made hats and did sewing and tailoring. She needed to support herself but also save enough money to send for her children still in England. This took her three years often sewing into the night. But when she sent for the children Ben could not be found. The Toveys became tired of restrictions placed on them by the church and disappeared shortly after Ann left taking Ben with them.They wandered through the English countryside with a Bible, a violin and a little clothing. They slept in doorways and hedges and begged. Mr. Tovey was a stonecutter and he would work a little. Henry was employed carrying large buckets of mortar and stones. His bones were permanently damaged because of it.


Mr. Tovey would often play his violin in Taverns and they taught Henry to sing some old English ballads and they would entertain and pass the hat for pennies. One evening some soldiers heard their little show and suggested that Henry would make a good drummer boy for the army.  Henry was 7 when the Toveys quarreled and decided to split up. They remembered the comment of the soldiers and decided to enlist Henry in the army as a drummer boy.


He was accepted and measurements were taken. He was to return the following day but that night Ben had a dream remembering the promise he had made to his mother about going to Zion. He knew if he joined the army he would never see his mother again. He climbed out the window and ran away.


He decided to try to find the Mormon Elders that had known his mother. For many weeks he wandered about eating when he could find food and sleeping with other street urchins in empty boxes in doorways. He couldn’t find the Elders but eventually found the Toveys again.


One experience was spiritually profound and prophetic. Henry and Mrs. Tovey were traveling through the green lanes of England, going to see about some work. As they sat down to rest a breeze wafted two or three pages of newspaper close by. Henry rushed to gather them up and begged Mrs. Tovey to read them as he loved to be read to. She went to sleep in the middle of the reading. He said of this experience:

I sat alone with the paper and my thoughts, marveling at the miracle, that a paper could speak to one only if he had the power to read it. On this thought my mind dwelled and after some time elapsed I spoke out loud: “Will the time ever come when books and papers will speak to me? Will I ever read books?” Then a peculiar silence, and the soul-voice said, “Aye, and you’ll write them too.” Then all things seemed to be swallowed up in an immense and wonderful silence. I had no inclination to move or disturb the silence. It seemed as if the whole universe had become an ear, and a voice, and a slight trembling shook my frame as I listened to what might be called the very vibrations of silence. So I sat entranced a long time. How long I did not remember. But I was immersed in that silence until my old lady companion groaned, and awoke, and the journey was resumed.  (Ibid. p.21)

 
Ann had been in America 4 years and Henry had passed his 9th birthday when they found him. He could neither read nor write. But he was a keen observer. Ann had sent supplies and bedding for the wagon train ride west for the children but it had been lost. Henry slept with the men under the wagon but with only his sister’s petticoat for a covering.


During the day he wandered far afield from the wagon train in exploration. Once he was left behind and forced to swim the Missouri River before he could catch the wagons. He lost his coat and shoes. This made him sad as he remembered his mother as neat and well groomed and he hated the thoughts of seeing her in this disheveled condition, especially without shoes.

Along the trail they came upon some burning cabins. Henry stayed to investigate. Sticking out between two burned longs were the legs of a dead man with a pair of practically new pair of shoes. He pulled them off and ran to catch the wagon train. He did not wear this precious find but hid them until the time when he would meet his mother.

The wagons rolled into the city streets, and at last the great moment had come. The lad rushed to the provision wagon where his treasure was hidden. They were a man’s shoes, much too large for him—but they were shoes, and slipping his bruised and swollen feet into them, he marched at the head of the procession up Main Street to the Tithing Office, where his mother awaited him.

BH Roberts would become a great writer and church historian, quite amazing when you know his beginnings. I have often questioned the sanity of his mother in leaving 5 year old Ben with people she hardly knew but I have come to have great admiration for her faith.

ITALIAN SALAD DRESSING DRY MIX

I like Good Seasons salad dressing mix but it is expensive and has lots of  MSG in it (not good for us) so I did some research on making my own and like this mix very much.  I try to make a salad for most every meal and we usually use the Balsamic Vinaigrette version.   This one is also good as a bread dip. 

Italian Herb Salad Dressing Mix

1 teaspoon oregano leaves (crushed a bit if large)
1 T. onion powder
1 teaspoons basil leaves
1 teaspoons paprika  (makes it a beautiful color)
1 1/2 teaspoons pepper
2 Tablespoons garlic powder
4 Tablespoons salt
1 tsp. Celery seed
¼ tsp tyme leaves
1 T. sugar
Mix and store in an airtight container.

To make dressing use 2 tablespoon mix with 1 1/2 cups olive or vegetable oil and 1/2 cup wine vinegar and ¼ C. water.  If you like a sweeter dressing add another 1 T. of sugar.  This recipe is easily halved.  The flavor improves as it sits.

Balsamic Vinaigrette:  4 tsps. dry mix with 1 C. olive oil and 1 C. balsamic vinegar.

THE WATERFALL

Sometimes I get ideas that at the time seem great but mostly they involve my husbands brawn and willingness.  The forested area in our back yard has had a dirt hill that the landscapers dug out for topsoil for our grass.  From the beginning I thought it would be a great place for a waterfall.  We live in rock heaven.  The empty lot next to us yeilded enough rocks to cover a 20 ft. recessed area leading down to the flagstone patio that we built the summer after we moved in.  This spring while I was on my morning walk I spied a very large pile of rocks next to a new house that was doing landscaping.  I asked the owner if he cared if we took some he said, "They are yours."  We took the seats out of our van and loaded 9 loads of rocks into the back of the van and dropped them in a pile next to the dirt hill.  Mike was a reluctant participant and I did have regrets when I saw what the process entailed.  It rained a lot this month but we built a waterfall, working harder than old people should work.  I was so tired some nights that I couldn't sleep.  But it is spectacular!--A 10 foot fall with about a 20 ft. stream.  Someday Mike will put his foot down when I get these ideas but maybe not. 

THE REUNION

This is the family of Lyman Duane Hamblin and Fanny Adeline Noble.  My grandmother Iris is standing just behind the baby on the right of Fanny.

This is an early reunion.  The man with the black bushy hair on the top left with a dot above him is my grandfather Cliff Palmer.  The woman with the baby on his right is my grandmother Iris.  The baby is my mother.  The top middle couple are Lyman and Fanny. This is about 1926.

This is the Hamblin group at Rock Creek in 1958.  I am sitting on the ground in a white shirt in the front right.  The three boys to my left are my brothers Jack, Cliff and Andy.  Tia Bennett is sitting in front of me.

This is  my Grandma Iris and Clifford Palmer family who were at the Rock Creek reunion in 1958.  The tall man is my Grandpa with my mom and dad on his right, my grandma Iris on his left. My mother's sister Bobbie and her husband Jack Graves are on the left of my Grandmother.  The Children from left to right:  Edward Graves (baby), me with the dog, Iris and Barney Graves, Cliff, Andy and Jack Marvell, my brothers. Click on the picture for a larger view.

These are the girls that I told the joke to, Tia Bennett and Iris Grave and me in the middle.

THE REUNION

I can close my eyes and see the paradise that was Rock Creek in the high Uinta Mts. Of Utah. There was a bumpy dirt road for the last miles before arriving at my Uncle Willie's lodge. I didn’t mind the jostling we children got from the back of the truck at this point, because the tall pines and quaking aspen arched the road and the cool mountain air was fragrant with forest smells. I knew soon we would jump from the truck and begin looking for cousins and hugging aunts and uncles. This was always a happy time and place. This was vacation for our family, the Hamblin Family Reunion. We didn’t go to Disney Land, Yellowstone or to see the sights in Salt Lake, we camped and fished and Rock Creek was my favorite place. For many years of my childhood the Reunion was held in this glorious spot.

My Grandmother was the daughter of Fanny Adeline Noble and Lyman Duane Hamblin. This reunion was a gathering of their posterity. It was held every July the week after the 4th. It was always well attended by the 11 children of Fanny and Duane and the 56 first cousins who had a great fondness for each other. It didn’t matter that their lives had taken various turns with bumps and jags—they had history together. My mother said that when the 8 sisters were young mothers, all who could would often gather during the summer at one of their homes with their rag tag group of children and stay for days on end. It was told that they chatted and laughed far into the night after the kids were asleep and they finally had some peace.

The Hamblin children would break off into little groups for camping at the reunion. My Grandma Iris was always near her sisters Mollie and Erma who were close to her age growing up, so our families were better acquainted. The children of these aunts had more boys than girls. My mother’s sister Bobbie had a daughter Iris, who was 3 years younger and Aunt Mollies daughter Jessie had a daughter Tia who was 4 years younger and we stuck together. We wandered the woods collecting treasures and chatting nonsense as little girls do.

I am going to confess some embarrassments that I have never forgotten. I told the little girls a naughty joke. This was it: A little girl needed to go to the bathroom so she went to her teacher to get permission. The teacher said, “first recite the ABC’s and then you can go.” ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOQRSTUVWXYZ , “Where is the P?” asked the teacher. “Running down my legs.” Said the little girl. After returning to camp one of my little cousins tried to tell the joke to the adults but the only thing that came out with clarity was the P running down the legs. I will never forget the humiliation of getting caught doing something questionable with these people that meant so much to me. I actually don’t remember their reaction. I think it was brushed off but I never really got over my feelings of being tainted in their eyes.

Rock Creek funneled into an area that created a large pool called “The Stillwaters.” We took our swimsuits to swim in it. This had to be the coldest water on earth and I can’t believe I actually got in. The water would paralyze every inch of your skin and after a few minutes you actually started to feel warm, but you couldn’t breath very well. Once the top of my swimming suit fell off and I didn’t even feel it. I jumped out of the water exposing myself to all the boys there. Maybe it helped that I was as flat chested as they were.

Each year one of the Hamblin children would be responsible for hosting the reunion. They would organize the activities and choose the location. It wasn’t always at Rock Creek but this was the preferred site for many years. We all arrived on Thursday afternoon and would leave on Sunday evening. The days were filled with activities for the children, family meetings, potluck dinners, auctions, talent shows and church. There is a lovely spirit when you meet with your cousins sitting on a rock in the woods praying and talking about Jesus. The sacrament was served and a testimony meeting was always part of the service. I believe God meant the witness of your blood kin to be more potent. At least it felt like that to me. There were a good many of the attendees who were not active in church at the time but our gospel heritage tied us together and active or not a powerful thread pulled us into the spirit of belonging to a family that believed that we are bound together forever. I think this belief activated many members of the Hamblin family over the years, including my mother. It is the amazing power of the hearts of the children turning to the fathers and the fathers turning to the children. The first convert in this family was Jacob Hamblin, who knew the prophet Joseph Smith. His spirit was always there in our gatherings as we told his stories.

My favorite part of the event was in the evenings, sitting around a large bon fire, singing the Hamblin songs. The families were huddled together in little groups with blankets and coats on those crisp mountain evenings. We ate hot dogs and roasted marshmallows then settled into the music. I could see the light of the fire reflecting joy in the faces of these good people as they sang the songs handed down over the years from Fanny and Lyman. Music was always important to this family. A history written by their daughter Lois told the following: “Each morning before going in to breakfast we gathered around the cheerful fireplace and sang a hymn. Then we would kneel in family prayer...Sometimes if the hymn we sang inspired us we would sing another one.” (Hamblin Red Book p. 72)

My mother had a strong soprano voice that could be heard a mile away if she was looking for you or sweet enough to melt your heart when she was singing. I loved the sound of her voice echoing in the trees on a still night when camping. She would bring her guitar to the campfire and sing an old Civil war song called “Two Little Boys,” and we would cry. It always made me cry. I know every word to this day. I can hear the harmony of “Love at Home,” as the group sang with the conviction of its importance. I can hear my grandmother’s deep alto voice singing “Whispering Hope,” and I was enchanted by the words.

Soft as the voice of an angel
Beathing a lesson unheard
Hope with its gentle persuasion
Whispers a comforting word

Wait ‘til the darkness is over
Wait ‘til the tempest is done
Hope for the sunshine tomorrow
After the shower is done.

Whispering hope, oh, how welcome thy voice
Making my heart in its sorrow rejoice
‘En in the dusk of the twilight
Dim be the regions afar
Will not the deepening darkness
Brighten the glimmering star

Then when the night is upon us
Why should the heart sink away
When the dark midnight is over
Watch for the breaking of day.

They sang old cowboy songs like “Baggage Couch Ahead,” and “My Juanita”—songs I had never heard anywhere before but were poignant and sad. I belonged to these good people, simple and humble but bonded together with love. It made me realize that my family was bigger than the craziness and dysfunction in my home. This reunion would forever shape who I am and who I want to be.

As long as my mother was alive I continued to attend. It was always so important to her. As the group increased and the old cousins died off the reunion broke into smaller family groups but I am glad my children had a taste of these experiences.

Here are the words to "Two Little Boys"  in case you want to have a nice cry...but it's not quite the same without my mother singing it in the forest. 

TWO LITTLE BOYS

Two little boys had two little toys
Each had a wooden horse
Gaily they played each summer’s day
Warriors both were they

When one little chap he had a mishap
Broke off his horse’s head
Wept for his toy then cried for joy
As his young comrade said
Did you think I would leave you crying
When there’s room on my horse for two
Climb up here Jack and don’t be crying
We can go just as fast with two

When we grow up we’ll be soldiers
And our horses will not be toys
Ad It  may be that we will remember
When we were two little boys.

Long years had passed and the war came at last
Bravely they marched away
Cannons roared loud, mid the mad crowd
Wounded and dying Jack lay

When loud came a cry and a horse rushed by
Out of the ranks so blue
Galloped away to where Jack lay
And came a voice came loud and true

Did you think I would leave you dying
When there’s room on my horse for two
Climb up here Jack, we’ll be flying
We can go just as fast with two

Say Jack you're all a-tremble
Or it may be the battle’s noise
Or it may be that you can remember
When we were two little boys

ROSEMARY TOMATO BREAD DIP

I was staying in St. George.  I had a bag of Roma Tomatoes and a rosemary bush outside and wanted to make a bread dip for some dinner guests, so I concocted this.  I loved the flavor combination and have done it several times since.  I have even used it on sliced roast beef and grilled chicken and it was lovely.  It is also good as a shrimp dip.  (Yesterday I tossed it with a little chicken, pasta and parm cheese...awesome!)

5-7 Roma tomatoes boiled to remove skins (Use more than 5 if small)

Grate 2 large cloves of garlic and about half an onion (¼ C. coarsely grated sweet onion is good)

Put ½ C. olive oil in a saucepan with the garlic and onion. Fry until it begins to brown stirring constantly. Chop the tomatoes into quite small pieces add to the garlic mixture with ½ tsp. salt, ¼ tsp. black pepper and 1 T. finely chopped fresh rosemary. (I have never tried dry but you would use less and might want to crush it up a bit) Add a little crushed red pepper if you like heat. Cook and stir until it is a nice thick consistency, about 10 minutes. Serve in small dipping bowls with dinner or as an appetizer in a basket with crusty French bread. It can also be served as a sauce with your choice of meat or as a dip for shrimp. I love this stuff. I can eat it out of the bowl with a spoon and be very happy!

BOOK REVIEW - PATHS OF GLORY by Jeffery Archer

This is not a book I would normally read but someone in my book club wanted to review it and I was lent a copy so I decided to give it a go. I must say it surprised me. I liked it a great deal. I have never read Jeffery Archer before. His writing is not flowery but crisp, fast paced and human. I wasn’t familiar with the story of George Mallroy, who made the first attempts to climb Everest. Archer painted a picture of Mallroy as a man that was driven, honorable, loving, a climbers climber from the time he was a small child and self confident, perhaps to a fault. But the real story and perhaps the one that kept me in was his relationship to his wife. He wrote her every day when they were apart, even from a tent at the 40 below heights of Everest. They had three children together and he seemed to thrive on his family life. He was a bit scattered, usually late and disorganized. He ended up teaching school when he couldn’t get into a PHD program at Cambridge. His wife Ruth came from a wealthy family. Her father wanted to keep them in a life style in which she was accustomed. They weren’t socialites but appeared to be dedicated to home and family.

George climbed everything, including the Eiffel Tower (he spent time in a French jail for this) and the Basilica in the Pizza San Marco in Venice. (to impress Ruth before they were a couple) He narrowly escaped from the Italian Police. When you have climbed everything there is nothing left but Everest, especially when no one has ever done it before. After the first failed attempt when he had a sense of how foolhardy it was, how unpredictable the weather was, how difficult the breathing was at that altitude, how devastating it was to lose men in avalanches, how could he go back when he knew the dangers? It seemed selfish to me for him to jeopardize his life at the expense of his children and a woman who he professed so great a love. I chalk it up to self-confidence gone awry, especially since he was in uncharted territory. He thought he was subject to different rules because of his great strength and abilities. I believe he also got caught up in the push from others who wanted him to succeed and thought he could. I recommend it even to skeptics of Everest stories.

RUTH AND GEORGE MALLROY