Part 3 of 3

Really, guys, this is it.  And then I promise never to read another book ever again.

If you have no idea what I'm talking about...I'm talking about Hero: The Life and Legend of Lawrence of Arabia by Michael Korda.  I started talking here then here and I just keep going...

So, I told you I would tell you why I think T.E. Lawrence is a hero.  First off, I have to say that it's much trendier these days to say that he was a self-centered narcissist, a two-faced manipulator, a no body accidentally made famous, and/or a repressed homosexual.  (Has anyone noticed how everybody is supposedly a repressed homosexual these days?  Go ahead--pick up any biography written in the last twenty years and you'll see what I'm talking about.)  But I'm going old school like Korda.  This guy was a hero.

Remember what I said about how Britain promised the Arabs an independent nation after the war if they would rise up against the Ottoman Empire but then the British signed a secret treaty with France promising to split the Middle East between the two of them?  (It's actually much more complicated than that, but we'll go with the simplified version.)

Lawrence was instrumental in convincing the folks in charge that it was worth supporting the Arabs in a rebellion.  He was very good at persuading those in authority (and collected contacts in high places better than Mary collects toe nails.)  Lawrence wanted the Arabs to have their own united, independent nation. He had genuine respect and admiration for the Bedouin men with whom he served.  Lawrence and Feisal, the commander of the Arab forces, had an unspoken plan that the capital of this new Arab nation must be Damascus (in Syria).  As Lawrence made tactical and strategic decisions (he was brilliant with both tactical and strategic military planning and, yes, Greg I just used the words "tactical" and "strategic"), he never lost sight of his ultimate desire for the Arabs to take Damascus.  Damascus would be the key.

At some point Lawrence surely learned about the Sykes-Picot agreement with France.  Lawrence must have been racked with guilt, knowing that he was asking these men to die for nothing.  He knew that Britain's continual promises were hollow, and he was deeply (deeply!) ashamed.  So much so that at times he wondered how he could go on.  Fesial, too, was most definitely made aware of the meanie treaty through his contacts, though he and Lawrence never spoke of it.  But both Feisal and Lawrence understood, with new urgency, the importance of the Arabs taking Damascus--before the French got there, and even before the British got there.  If the Arabs, and the Arabs alone, were to take Damascus, then they could claim it as their own.  (Lawrence hoped this would give the British enough of a reason to back out of the Sykes-Picot agreement.)

So the race was on.  The French would arrive from the north, but not for some time.  It was British forces, coming from the south, who were on the path to take Damascus from the Turks.  The British General Allenby's regular forces and Lawrence's rag-tag Arab army were on different but parallel courses to Damascus.  General Allenby was not naive--he understood Lawrence's real intentions, but he did nothing to stop him.  Allenby respected what Lawrence was trying to do.  This is why I think Lawrence is a hero.  He knew the Arabs would be wronged, and he was doing everything in his power to right it.  There he was, pushing on through the harsh desert, racing to take Damascus first on behalf of the Arabs.

Now, it's a little unclear who "took" Damascus.  The Turkish troops were already retreating by the time anyone arrived, so there was no resistance.  Lawrence arrived on the same day as an Australian Light Brigade (whatever that is?).  Feisal and his men arrived two days later.  The Arab army had beat the bulk of Allenby's British troops.  Feisal was immediately named King of Syria.  Hooray!  They did it!

And everyone lived happily every after.

Yeah, right.  Soon the Picot-Sykes agreement came to light, the Allies won the war, Lawrence and Feisal attended the Paris Peace Conference to lobby for an independent Arab nation to no avail, Lawrence wrote a million letters to his friends in high places, the French showed up in Syria and killed bunch of people and took over, Lawrence got his pal Feisal a job as king of Iraq, Jordan was created so Feisal's brother would have a country to be king of too, and basically everything sucked and has ever since.

So Lawrence wrote a book, enlisted in the Air Force under an assumed name, and spent the rest of his life quietly building search and rescue boats and hanging out with D.H. Lawrence (like that's not confusing) and the Shaws until one day he wrecked his motorcycle and died.

The end.

It's hard to recommend a book that is so long and clearly intended for people with well-groomed white beards.  But I will say that any book about T.E. Lawrence is likely a fascinating look at the morality of war from the political perspective as well as the personal.  Korda does not shy away from the complexities and contradictions within Lawrence.  But he ultimately views him as a hero...which is refreshing (even if it's not as trendy as Justin Beaver).

Phew.  Topic closed. (Hey, doesn't every mommy blog need a little dysentery now and then?)


P.S.  Don't you want one more picture?

Also, did you know you ride a camel side saddle?

P.P.S.  If you should ever read this book, you don't need to read the whole thing.  The only reason I didn't put it down after Damascus was because Korda kept saying that Lawrence did a really weird thing later in life but he never said what it was so I had to keep reading because how could I not with that carrot dangling in front if me?  Yes, Lawrence did a really weird thing later in his life.  If you want to know, I'll tell you what it was--it is pretty weird--and then if you read the book you only have to read half of it, or even less.

Dusting off the cobwebs

Anyone know who this is?

I'm dusting off the cobwebs in my mind surrounding T.E. Lawrence.  It's been a busy month, but it will not end before I tell you a little more about Hero by Michael Korda.  I already posted something about the book, but I didn't get to talking about the man himself.  So, today:  T.E. Lawrence (via Michael Korda).

Warning:  It's been a while since I finished the book, and I'm working mostly from memory here.....so I don't suggest you use this as a source for that Lawrence of Arabia history report due on Monday.

I'm going to be boring and give it to you from the beginning.  Lawrence's father, Sir Thomas Chapman, was an Anglo-Irish baronet who abandoned his wife and ran off with his daughters' governess, Sarah Lawrence, to live in relative poverty.  They left Ireland behind, moving to Wales (where their second son, to be known one day as "Lawrence of Arabia," was born in 1888), eventually settling in Oxford.  The family, Sarah and Thomas and their four sons, took on the name Lawrence.  Sarah and Thomas hid their past from their sons.  The children did not know their parents were unmarried or that their father was Sir Thomas Chapman, 7th Baronet of Killua Castle in Ireland.

Korda believes that Lawrence was the first of the children to suspect that they were illegitimate.  He believes Lawrence knew the truth for years (during the volatile teenage years) before his parents' past eventually came to light.  Korda argues that Lawrence was greatly affected by his illegitimacy--that he was deeply ashamed, that it caused him to feel alienated from, well, everyone, and that he continually was driven to "prove" himself in order to compensate for the shame.  I suppose all biographers play the role of psychologist, but it did get a little tiresome how often Korda used the illigetimacy to account for Lawrence's actions.

But it was even more tiresome how much Korda blamed Lawrence's opinionated, strong-willed mother for seemingly everything.  I started to get the impression that Korda would attribute the entire Arab Revolt to T.E. Lawrence's attempt to escape his mother's apron strings.  It was a little too much cliched Freud for my taste.  Or maybe I'm just worried about the lengths my own children will go to in order to escape me.  (Hmmm.  Perhaps I shouldn't have forced them to pose for Easter pictures after all!  Oh no--and I forced David to have his shirt tucked in for five minutes!  Well, if he ever takes off across the desert alone, we'll all know why.)

From an early age, Lawrence was drawn to a life of adventure.  It is interesting to see how one experience led to another, how one adventure prepared him for the next.  Notice the progression.  It's like perfect stepping stones.

As a child, his father introduced him to bicycles, which led him to spend hours as a teenager exploring the countryside.  Then, as an undergraduate, he spent the summers bicycling across France photographing medieval castles.  He soon found himself in search of more medieval castles, and in the summer of 1909 he embarked alone on a three-month walking tour of Ottoman Syria to study crusader castles.  (Do you know how crazy this was??  He went alone in the summer to places seldom if ever seen by outsiders and covered over a thousand miles by foot. In case you're wondering, he did almost die.  More than once.)  A year and a half later, he was working as a field archaeologist at Carchemish in Northen Syria, where he was well-suited to the climate and culture.  (Hey, Incirik friends, anyone remember seeing the turn off for Carchemish on the way to Sanliurfa?)  He worked there for several seasons, perfecting his language skills and learning how to resolve the tribal disputes that erupted among his workers.  The site was also near to where the Germans were building an important railway for the Turks.  As such, he had regular contact with German technical advisers, as well as with members of the Ottoman bureaucracy.  A few months before the outbreak of World War I, the British military sent Lawrence and a colleague from Carchemish on an archaeological survey of the Negev Desert, which would be of strategic importance should war ever break out between Britain and the Ottoman Empire.  Of course, the archaeological work was merely a cover for their real mission of intelligence gathering and mapping the area, with special attention to anything of military importance.

After the war broke out, his previous experiences led him to be posted to Britain's Middle Eastern headquarters in Cairo on the Intelligence Staff. His first-hand knowledge of Syria and the surrounding areas, his earlier work at intelligence gathering, and his language skills, as well as his familiarity with the German-built Turkish railroads, were invaluable.  Throughout his life, Lawrence, who was something of an odd duck, had the ability to impress people in positions of power and authority (while simultaneously annoying his lowly immediate supervisors).   It is not surprising that Lawrence was soon chosen for several special missions.  And that is when his life gets really interesting.

It is this part of his life--the "Lawrence of Arabia" part--that makes picking up the book worthwhile.

The British decided to help the Arabs rise up against the Ottoman Empire.  It was Lawrence who saw in Emir Feisal, a son of the Sharif of Mecca, the face of the Arab Revolt.  And oh, what a face...

Feisal is the guy in front.  Does he not ooze leadership and honor?  (By the way, Lawrence is the one to his right.)

So it was Lawrence who criss crossed the dangerous desert with Feisal.  Nonstop adventure.  Nitty, gritty, dirty, bloody, smelly, sweaty adventure---

He and small groups of Arabs dynamited trains, the blood and limbs of Turkish military and civilian passengers raining down on them after the blast.  He returned alone (which is insane) into the desert wilderness to rescue a lost Arab fighter.  He resolved disputes among rivaling tribes.  He procured from the British modernized weapons for the Arabs, and he also distributed bags and bags and BAGS of gold to local tribesmen.  In fact, he sometimes traveled with so many bags of gold that finding enough camels to carry it all could be a problem.  (He was marvelous at working with--and bribing--the local tribes.  He respected their tribal culture. He understood, and so was comfortable with, their ever shifting loyalties.  It's too bad he's not around to help us in Afghanistan.)   He would ride on a camel for days at a time without stopping to sleep.  He disguised himself as a woman for reconnaissance missions, sneaking into towns behind enemy lines.  He and Feisal took their army across an uncrossable desert  in order to inflict a surprise attack on the port of Aqaba (proving that the Arab irregulars weren't a waste of those bags of gold). He lived off dates and the filthy but precious water of desert wells.  He suffered attacks of dysentery, malaria, boils, and countless other illnesses.

And he loved it.  Rather, he thrived in it.  To say he loved it would be wrong--because he felt conflicted, sometimes ashamed, about what war requires of human beings.  But it is fair to say that he thrived in the Arab desert and the chaos of the Arab Revolt.  He was the kind of man who did what had to be done.  Here is an example, from early on in his involvement with the Revolt.

Lawrence and a small ill-assorted traveling party set out on a march of more than a hundred miles through the desert so that Lawrence could relay important information to another Arab leader. Unfortunately, Lawrence was deathly ill with dysentery and in no position to travel.  He was exhausted and barely conscious, but onward he pushed, his companions lifting him onto his camel.  When they stopped for the night, Lawrence lay down and slipped into a feverish unconsciousness.  Soon he awakened to discover that one of his men had been shot--by another one of his men, named Hamed, from a different tribe.  The ethics of blood feuds required that the killer be killed--the victim's tribesmen demanded justice.  Lawrence, even in his fevered state, could see that Hamed would have to be killed to avenge the death.  But Lawrence could also see that this would be the beginning of a never-ending blood feud.  Once Hamed had been killed, Hamed's tribe would be compelled to avenge Hamed's death, and so on and forever.  The allegiance of both tribes to the Arab cause was important, and Lawrence knew the movement could not tolerate the blood feud that would inevitably ripple throughout the army.  Still in his near-delirium, Lawrence saw that the solution was for he himself, as a stranger and non-Muslim, to execute Hamed.  So Lawrence, who barely had the strength to stand, shot Hamed in the chest.  Still alive, Hamed dropped to the ground howling, blood spewing from his wound.  Lawrence, his hand shaking badly, shot him again, but this time he only got him in the wrist.  Lawrence tried to compose himself, moved closer, put the pistol under Hamed's jaw, and pulled the trigger.  Then Lawrence collapsed into bed for a fitful, sleepless night.

As Korda explains, "Hamed's death marks the point at which Lawrence gave up the moral comfort of . . . observing events from a distance."  A reader of Lawrence's life sees him grappling with the realities of war, struggling to maintain a sense of morality.  (Does morality even exist in war?  Where is the line?  Who decides where the line is...if there is one?)  It is remarkable to read about Lawrence because he not only had an understanding of the bigger pictures of the conflicts in the Middle East, but he was on the ground, aside the troops, at the front line (or hidden behind them with dynamite),experiencing the daily physical and moral challenges of war.  And he was an excellent, prolific writer, so we have access to his observations, thoughts, and feelings--about the big picture and the small.

This post is long enough.  Tomorrow I will tell you why I think he is a hero.  And then I will return to posting happy mommy-bloggy things.

Confessions

1. I cried during The Office last night.
2. The first thing I did this morning was get online to see what Kate's dress looks like.
3. The only reason I know that today is Charity's birthday is because of Facebook.  (Happy birthday, Charity!)

I will not confess to you when I last cleaned my bathrooms.

Bird problem

Mary:  Mommy, I have a bird problem.

Me:  A bird problem?

Mary:  Yes.  Every time I get close to a bird, it flies away.  That is my bird problem.

Two on Tuesday

I have two sweet stories for you, related to me by each of David's and Mary's teachers today.

First, Mary.  Yesterday she chose to practice the pickle cutting lesson.  (Which is very similar to the banana cutting lesson found here.)  Once she's finished, Mary doesn't like to eat the pickle.  But she knows that most of her classmates love pickles.  So yesterday she fluttered around the classroom leaving little slices of pickles at the different work places.  At one point Anna, her teacher, turned around to see little pickles strategically, lovingly placed around the room for Mary's friends to find and enjoy.

Second, David.  Last Thursday, four of the chicks in David's classroom hatched entirely out of their eggs.  At one point, as one of the chicks was trying to emerge, the whole class started chanting, "Go, Chickie!  Go, Chickie!  Go, Chickie!"  When he finally made it out, David spontaneously burst into singing "Happy Birthday!" and all of the children joined in.

I love these little stories. They offer a glimpse of what is so great about each of my children and capture their special personalities.

Love my kids.

Easter win?

Okay, so maybe I didn't completely fail at Easter this year.  It certainly wasn't all that I would hope.
(I mean, Easter is when we remember the most important event in the history of the universe!  If that's not worth celebrating, then what is?)   Thanks to this page in the Friend magazine, we talked about Jesus all week long.  Then on Easter Day we enjoyed a lovely church service.  (I think we Mormons are starting to repent of our Easter lameness.)  I dressed the kids in new clothes and even managed to take pictures of them (complete with David's conifer accessory).  We were blessed with a true spring day, warm and sunny--perfect for hunting Easter eggs.

(Some of the eggs held up better than others.)

Mary used the visual aids she made in Sunbeams (purple Jesus, purple tomb, purple rock) to tell the Easter story.  Then we got out the butcher paper and crayons and drew out the whole plan of happiness.  It seemed time to teach our kids the big picture, so they can see how important the Savior is, how God's plan centers on His Son.  It is a beautiful plan.  I pray that I can teach my children how loving and kind and merciful God is.  

I hope you had a joyful Sunday.

P.S.  I feel the need to provide links to previous Easter happenings.  Here and here and here and here and here.

P.P.S.  I also must provide a link to this.

Pretty please?

I begged my kids for a decent picture.  A nice, normal, boring, generic picture of them standing together in the their new Sunday clothes with fake smiles plastered across their faces.  And again, it was too much to ask.  But I still have cute kids, right?  Even if they're not capable of both being simultaneously obedient to the request to look at me and smile with their eyes open?

Oh, wait.  I did get what I asked for...

There you have it.  A nice, boring picture of my kids in their Easter clothes.

Now I can move on with life.

Spring?

It's a miracle!

We did dye eggs

Ta-duh!

We colored eggs!

I suppose it is the least we could do, coloring eggs.  How I wanted to make Easter special this year--and every year.  I love to celebrate Easter--to celebrate rebirth and newness and spring and our Savior Jesus Christ.   I had plans for a big traditional meal and an Easter egg hunt with friends.  I was going to pull out all the nifty Easter visual aids I've been accumulating on teaching our children about Holy Week, the Crucifixion, and Resurrection.

But all I have in my pantry for tomorrow is some cereal and pancake mix.  (Breakfast for dinner, anyone?)  I never managed to invite friends over for an Easter egg hunt, and I don't even have any plastic eggs in the house.  My true meaning of Easter materials are who knows where.  And my children don't have Easter baskets.  That's right: My children do not have Easter baskets.  It's a long story that has to do with what happens when you move a lot, but the short of it is that we are basket-less this year.

But we did dye eggs.  And it made me happy.  And my kids happy.

Happy Easter!

Beautiful

Mary attended a princess party this afternoon.  She very carefully chose her outfit for the occasion, including a flower for her dress, wand, gloves, and ribbons in her hair.  Mary is known for her attention to detail.

Even Mary herself admitted that she is beautiful--usually she will only admit to being silly.  The most beautiful part was seeing Mary feel so beautiful.  What a beautiful daughter I have.

Officers

Greg flew to Utah this weekend to commission his brother Daniel.  They are now both officers in the U.S. Air Force.  Daniel will be attending medical school in Houston this fall.  

Looking at this picture sent to me from Greg's dad (who is a retired Air Force officer) reminded me of the happy news that I mentioned earlier that Greg has been chosen to be promoted to the rank of major.  And that reminded me of our first years of marriage when I didn't even know what a major was.  For years, our conversations would be peppered with my questions like "Now, is a major higher or lower than a captain?" and "What comes first, being a Lieutenant Colonel or a regular Colonel?"

So, for those of you who do not spend your spare time memorizing military terms, I offer you this list for your reference.  The ranks are in ascending order.

The first three ranks in the Air Force (and Army and the Marines) are the company grade officers:

2nd Lieutenant
1st Lieutenant
Captain

Then you become a field grade officer:

Major
Lieutenant Colonel
Colonel

Next are the general officers (which I had to look up because it's out of my realm of experience):

Brigadier General (one star)
Major General (two stars)
Lieutenant General (three stars)
General (four stars)

For some perspective, you spend about 2 years as a 2nd lieutenant, two years as a 1st lieutenant, and about six years as a captain.  Because you spend so long as a captain, there is a distinction between junior captains and senior captains.  Most people make it to Lt. Colonel by retirement, but to be promoted to "full bird" Colonel (or beyond) you have to be sprinkled with fairy dust.

I don't know what the deal with "company grade," "field grade," and "general officers" is.  I assume it comes from the army and has to do with where on (or off) the battlefield you serve.  In my own personal experience, it determines what kind of house you get to live in.

When Greg and I were first married and moved to Dover, I believed all members of the Air Force were officers.  I did not understand the concept of enlistment.  That just shows how clueless about basic military matters I was.  But now I've been around long enough that I even know all that enlisted ranks. (But I will save that for another day.)

Now you can celebrate Easter knowing that a Colonel intimidates the jelly beans out of a 2nd Lieutenant.

Retro Nauvoo

My dad emailed me these pictures from our family trip to Nauvoo circa 1988.

My dad sent this one as proof to my children that their mother could once do a cartwheel.  (Hey, I could still do one...if I wanted to...which I don't...)

My brothers Andy and David.  I seriously had the cutest little brothers ever.

Tulips...spring...will it ever happen again?

Those are some nice high waters I have on.

But I think my mom's glasses are better.

Daniel wasn't born yet, but in the above picture I think I look just like him (minus the long hair and pink jacket...and high waters).

Ah, memories....thanks, Dad.

Grandma Evie's April visit

As I've mentioned before, if you come to visit us in April, it will snow.  Maybe even twice.  (We're considering a future ban on grandmas in April because they seem to bring with them bad weather.)  But we'll still have a good time.

Here are a few of the things we did while my mom was here. . . . .

Painting.  As every grandparent who has crossed our threshold knows, first on the agenda is always painting with Mary.

Madison Children's Museum.  It's taken me a while to decide how I feel about this particular children's museum.  I'm starting to burn out on the whole children's museum thing.  Which is why I think I decided that I love this museum--it's quite different from other children's museums.  Less plastic.  More interesting. (The whole second floor is like a giant art installation.)  And designed to encourage age-appropriate play.  Compared to some other children's museums, there is not as much to do, mostly because the space is small, but you can't beat the fabulous location on Capitol Square.  Best of all, the parents seem to hover less.  (Maybe it's a Madison thing?)  My mom and I had a great time taking the kids to play there.

At the end of our visit we ventured to the roof.  And it was Farm Day!  David and Mary were able to pet a baby goat, a baby pig, a duck, a chicken, and plant their own soy beans.  They even got stickers that said "I Met a Farmer Today."  Pretty fun.



The Capitol.  After our visit to the Children's Museum, we walked across the street to the State Capitol.  It was the first day of the Dane County Farmers' Market, but it was cold and there weren't many vendors, so we headed straight for the shelter of the capitol building.

Things have changed since the last time we stepped inside.

I guess I didn't mind the annoying security check so much, but I was really irritated that I wasn't allowed to bring in my crockpot.

After the metal detector, we headed straight for the rotunda.

What are they all looking at?

The dome, of course.

It really is a very nice capitol building.  Even if you can't bring your snakes inside anymore.

Thank you, Mary, for this lovely picture.

And, thanks again, Mary.  At least my mom can look normal in a picture.

Once we were back outside, Mary ran away.  She was being a little anti-social this past week.  Also, I believe she wanted to join some demonstrators who had just passed by.

After trying to claw her way into the capitol back in February and then trying to run off to join the protesters last weekend, I have concluded that Mary is ready to take a stand here in Wisconsin.  She is very stubborn:  She fits in perfectly with this state's politics.

David is just a happy guy (except when he's not).  Look at these cute pictures.

Thanks to my mom who lovingly carried the plants in the freezing cold so I could operate my camera.  I think it was worth it.


Wii and haircut.  My mom was a good sport and, for the first time in her life, played video games.  She danced with us, and she was quite the determined racer on MarioKart.  It was when we were all so into MarioKart that Mary decided to style my mom's hair with a water bottle and a brush.  And it was when we were all still so into MarioKart that Mary fetched some scissors--and no body noticed.  When my mom and I finally realized she was actually cutting my mom's hair, I freaked out.  Poor Mary--she was so embarrassed.  She seemed to believe she was really doing her grandma a favor.  She sure chopped off some chunks!  When I was cleaning it up, I couldn't believe how much she'd cut before anyone noticed!  Miracle of miracles, you could hardly notice on my mom's hair.  Mary took it off the bottom, and my mom's layers hid it perfectly.  What a blessing!  Can you imagine if my mom went home with a big bald spot in the back of her head or something??  I suppose the moral of the story has something to do with the evils of video games.  And scissors.


Sunday morning Playmobil battle.  I love it when someone else can entertain my kids.

New Glarus.  I am loving this little town more and more.  On Monday Mary was out of school for her spring break, so us girls drove to Little Switzerland.

Mary and I took my mom to buy  homemade lotions at the Bramble Patch and then sweet goodies at the bakery.  I tried the nut horn, one of the things for which the bakery is famous.  It's a rolled flaky pastry with a walnut filling, and it was tasty!  Out of curiosity I also tried an anise springerli, which is a traditional German cookie which tastes like black licorice.  The taste was unusual, but I loved how delicate each cookie was.

Mary and my mom opted for chocolate.  You can never go wrong with chocolate.  Mary ate a chocolate donut.

One of the best parts of visiting New Glarus is the drive through the countryside.  My mom and I agreed that it was the Midwest at its best.


Lunch date.  David was feeling a little sad that he had to go to school every day while Mary and I got to hang out with Grandma.  So I considered taking him out of school on Wednesday to spend the day at one of the museums in Milwaukee.  But David simply couldn't stand to leave the incubated eggs for even one day.  They were supposed to start hatching, and he didn't want to miss out on any of the action.  But he really wanted to do something special with Grandma Evie.  So we decided instead of Milwaukee, we'd take him out to lunch.  He felt very special.  We had a fun little lunch at Culver's, including custard, of course, during David's lunch and recess.  And he was back in time for the next chapter of Junie B. and P.E.  I love how much he loves school.  (What are we going to do this summer??)


It was so nice to have my mom here.  She was great about playing with the kids to their hearts' content and super patient with their mood swings.  She babysat in the evenings and let me drag her shopping in the daytime.  She was easy-going about the nasty weather and the tedium of our normal routines.  We're sad she's gone.  David and Mary are already making plans for this summer.  See you in August, Grandma!



P.S.  Grandmas are always welcome to visit!  Even in April, and even if you bring snow!