Mitchell and the Mummy's Curse

Mitchell and the Mummy’s Curse
by
Grandma Baadsgaard
Happy birthday Mitchell.
I hope you have great 7^th birthday.
Always remember that I love you very much.

 When Mitchell turned the corner to his street as he walked home from school, he saw his family’s cat Ella sitting next to their front door. But Ella didn’t run toward Mitchell and rub against his legs as usual. In fact, Ella didn’t move at all. She was still as stone.

Mitchell was puzzled. Ella was never still unless she was sleeping. Mitchell approached his front door cautiously. When he was standing right next to his cat, he yelled, “Boo!”
But Ella didn’t move. Mitchell reached down to pet her but when he touched her, she really had turned to stone. Looking carefully, he noticed that Ella had the head of a cat and the body of a woman.
Mom!” Mitchell yelled as he charged through the front door. “Ella has turned into the goddess Bastet. I read all about her in the book about Egypt I got at the library. Quick, come see.” But by the time Mitchell’s mother made it to the front door and looked out, Ella was gone. “I swear I saw her and she looked just like the goddess Bastet,” Mitchell said. “What do you think has happened. “Egyptians used to put a statue of the goddess Bastet next to their front door to protect them. Do you think Ella knows something we don’t?”
“Now Mitchell,” his mother said. “Don’t let your imagination run wild. Maybe you should just do a little detective work like the archaeologists do.”
“Good idea Mom,” Mitchell said.
So Mitchell put on his treasure hunting pants, shirt and hat then took out his magnifying glass and pulled out his favorite shovel. Then he headed outside to his back yard.
“Just don’t get the mummy’s curse,” his mother said with a smile and a wink. Don’t let a mosquito bite you on your cheek.”
Mitchell shook his head. He knew King Tut was not that much older than he was when he became Pharaoh. Mitchell knew a lot about ancient cultures because he often went to the library and brought home stacks of books about ancient civilizations. So Mitchell knew King Tut's tomb was overlooked for thousands of years. He also knew that when a British archaeologist named Howard Carter entered King Tut's tomb, it was almost like entering a time machine. Carter and his team found lots of treasures including a solid gold mask of King Tut's face.
Mitchell knew that many objects found in tombs were ordinary things like tools, pots, chests, baskets, and amulets which the Egyptians used every day. Others were specially made for the occasion like coffins, masks, models or scrolls with spells designed to help the dead person to survive in the afterworld. Mitchell even knew that King Tut was protected by three coffins. The outer sarcophagus had a relief of king Osiris carved into it, the one in the middle was made of wood and decorated with gold and semi-precious stones and the inner coffin was made of solid gold. His burial mask was beautifully crafted, painted and expensively gilded.

Mitchell also knew that nearly all ancient Egyptian homes had a cat. But cats were not pets. The ancient Egyptians believed that cats had magical powers. They believed cats protected their homes and children from danger. You were in big trouble if you hurt a cat in ancient Egypt. Your punishment could be death! Mitchell also knew that Bastet the Goddess was depicted as having the body of a woman and the head of a domestic cat. She was the daughter of the sun god Ra, wife of Ptah, and mother of Mihos. The Egyptians celebrated Bastet's feast day with enthusiasm for she was the Egyptian Goddess of pleasure, music, dancing and joy. The people of ancient Egypt turned to Bastet for protection and for blessing.
Mitchell remembered reading and repeating aloud this ancient Egyptian prayer with his mother, “Beloved Bastet, mistress of happiness and bounty, twin of the Sun God, slay the evil that afflicts our minds as you slew the serpent Apep. With your graceful stealth anticipate the moves of all who perpetrate cruelties and stay their hands against the children of light. Grant us the joy of song and dance, and ever watch over us in the lonely places in which we must walk".
Sometimes Mitchell imagined he had ventured into Tutankhamen’s tomb brimming with priceless figurines, ritual jewelry, small boats and a shrine of the pharaoh’s embalmed organs. But Mitchell didn’t know what to think of the mummy’s curse. When the man who discovered King Tut’s artifacts stepped into the tomb, his financial backer was at his side. Four months later, his financial backer died of blood poisoning from an infected mosquito bite on his cheek. Newspapers at the time speculated that he was a victim of the “mummy’s curse” for after lifting the death mask, King Tut also had a lesion on the same cheek.
Right then, Mitchell heard a mosquito buzzing near his cheek and he freaked out.
“AHHHHHHHH!!!!!” he screamed running into the house.
“What’s the matter?” his mother asked.
“It’s the mummy curse,” Mitchell said. That mosquito almost bit me mom.
“Well I can take care of that,” his mother said with a sly smile. “Give me a copy of that ancient Egyptian prayer.”
“I totally gave that book back to the library last week,” Mitchell said. “It’s too late. I’m doomed.”
“Kneel,” his mother said as she turned to Mitchell looking strangely like the Egyptian goddess Bastet.
Mitchell knelt down just before his mother began, “Light of the universe, grant us courage in the face of mosquito bites,” Mitchell’s mother said with a wink and a smile. “And watch over us in the lonely places we must walk.”
Then she gave Mitchell a great big hug that lasted for a long time. Before long Mitchell felt warm and relaxed inside.
“Are you going to go back outside now,” Mitchell’s mother asked.
“No,” Mitchell answered. But I was thinking, do you think you could find me a little mosquito repellant?”
Right then Ella walked through the back door with a stone cold look in her eyes. As their cat walked stealthily toward them, Mitchell’s eyes grew bigger and bigger. Then Ella crawled into Mitchell’s lap . . . and purred.
“Looks like no more mummy’s curse as long as I have Ella the protector around,” Mitchell said with a wink and a smile.
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It is Cold Out There!

One of my greatest disappointments is that I've lived in Utah all my life and I've never gotten used to being cold. My parents hail from Canada where, by their sworn testimony, they had to dig tunnels through the snow to the outhouse in the middle of wild, dark Canadian blizzards with their bare hands by the age of three. By all odds, I should have inherited a little Eskimo blood, but no such luck.
In the middle of one of the biggest storms of the century, there I sat shivering on a chair near my front room window wrapped in two afghans, drinking warm milk, when I noticed a strange sight on the deserted street in front of my home. Cars were abandoned in ditches right and left, but one lone car drove courageously forward in the darkness - two lone headlights on this treacherous bend of road.Suddenly this lone ranger car zipped into my driveway and out jumped my mom and dad in their shirt-sleeves, grinning from ear to ear, "We Canadians never let a little snow stop us."
The thing I hate worst about being outside in cold weather is being cold. The thing I hate next is watching animals without galoshes or earmuffs or anything standing there in the cold. I know, I know, I heard and you've heard that animals grow an extra thick layer of fur or hair or something to keep them warm during the winter. But how do we actually know that they're not cold. Have you ever asked a horse standing out in a snowy field, "Hey! You cold, fella?" Ever had one answer you?
So we don't actually know, after all, do we? I mean, horses and cows also live in places like California, too, and they get along just fine without ever experiencing a cold chill.
The other worry that always nags at me during this time of year is that somehow mankind will start running out of ways to heat our houses. I can see it now, the Eskimos and Canadians will start taking over. There will be a mass migration south for all winter wimps like myself. Whole northern cities will lie desolate just waiting for the strong silent Canadian Mountie Patrol to take up command posts.
I've noticed the farther north one travels, the less people pay any attention to the cold weather. It seems like people who have the most snow are the ones who are best at knowing what to do with it and in it.
Herein lies my problem. I firmly believe winter wimps should be allowed to go home from work and school, sit on their heat vents and drink hot chocolate at the first sign of a cold spell. We could stay warm at home, thinking wise thoughts and figuring out the great mysteries of life. If winter wimps were able to stay home without guilt during the cold winter months, maybe we wouldn't have so many boring office Christmas parties where you end up smiling so much your mouth hurts, and exchanging price stipulated gifts with total strangers.
The Canadians and Eskimos could have all the parties and get-togethers they want, but the rest of us could stay home and stay warm.Pin It

The Magic, Mystery, and Wonder of Christmas

If, after all the hustle and bustle of holiday shopping, baking, sitting through long, stuffy programs, and attending an endless series of parties, you feel like you want to stop the holiday wagon and jump . . . do not give up. If you're paying attention, something will happen to make it all worthwhile.

One December evening after I finally finished my nightly wiping up of slop, heave-ho, and potato cement from under the dinner table, I slipped into the living room alone. All... the children were scattered around the house: some yelling, some hibernating, and others imitating sumo wrestlers. I pushed the hair away from my face with my dishpan hands and took a slow, deep breath before I sat down and began quietly playing Christmas hymns on the piano. The music must have slipped through the heat vents, for one by one the children spontaneously wandered into the living room. Except for a single brass light above the piano, the room was dark. The hard wooden piano bench soon grew warm as my 2-year-old snuggled up on my right side while her 10-year-old sister squeezed in on my left. Then the baby crawled across the carpet, elbowed her way through my legs, and started playing with my big toe as it bobbed up and down on the sustaining pedal. Seven-and 8-year-old sumo wrestlers untangled themselves and tumbled into the room long enough to belt out a few tunes while standing guard behind me.

You’ve never really heard “Joy to the World” until you’ve heard a 7-year-old, with total abandon and a little off key, command from the depths of his soul, “Joy to the world! The Lord is come! Let earth receive her king! Let every heart repair him room! And saints and angels swing!” Later, when our voices were tired and squeaky, we did “Silent Night,” complete with “Round John Virgin.” As we rounded the corner to “Sleep in heavenly peace; Sleep in heavenly peace,” it hit: that skin-tingling, hold-your-breath moment when the magic, mystery, and wonder of Christmas was mine.

At that precise moment, it didn’t matter that our budget was having a hard time stretching for a family of twelve. It didn’t matter that within seconds my “heavenly choir” would return to sumo wrestling on the living room floor. For I had learned that moments like these are fleeting. Like winter’s frost, with a breath, childhood melts away. So I sighed, detached the baby from my toe, and kissed all those Junior Tabernacle Choir members on the forehead before they could pull away, yelling, “Yuck, kissing. I hate kissing.” Christmas comes but once a year, with or without the mistletoe—you have to grab those kisses while you can.Pin It

Baptism LDS

BAPTISM DAY
My granddaughter Sophia Cope was baptized Saturday morning.
Snow fell and icy wind howled around corners leaving large drifts blocking our way to the church.
Then as we turned into the parking lot, I took a deep breath.
All around me, the world was dressed in white. An old man was shoveling the walk for us.


Then I saw Sophia, dressed in white - eyes shining - run toward me with outstretched arms.

After hugs and pictures we gathered in the chapel.

I watched as loving family members filed into the large bench filled room and patiently waited for the service to begin.

Sophia asked me to give a talk about the Holy Ghost - a gift to me - for I'd had a week to remember how the spirit comforts, directs, warms and enlightens.

As my son John placed his fingers and the piano keys and began to play, all those sitting in the chapel became reverent.
After songs, prayers and a talk, we gathered next to the baptismal font. Small children knelt close so they could see.
Sophia and her father, both stepped reverently into the warm waiting water.

"Having been commissioned by Jesus Christ I baptize you in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Ghost."
Down into the water in a loving father's arms, then rising clean, pure and whole.

Later, a circle of priesthood holders placed their hands gently on her small head as the gift of the Holy Ghost was given.

I stand in awe at the majesty and simplicity of the gospel of Jesus Christ and the faith of an eight-year-old child.













Then back into the biting cold wind and snow covered world for our ride home.

Without remembrance of our heavenly home, we too are in a season of white and waiting.
Someday, with the faith and obedience of a child, we too will return to our loving heavenly home.
  

Jesus Christ's Love For Each Of Us

When all my children were small, I could never find baby Jesus in the nativity set during the holiday season. I usually located the tiny wooden babe in a manger tucked away under my daughter’s pillow or hidden under my son’s bed. I finally understood that each of my children wanted Jesus for themselves. So I purchased a nativity set for each child.

When I was a young mother my children often called out to me in the blackness of their bedroom for comfort and reassurance when they felt lonely and scared. As adults my children call me on the phone when life is hard and they feel sad or afraid. My deepest desire is that I find the words Jesus would say if he were with them.

For I know that each of us needs our own Jesus. Christ gives hope to a troubled world yet He also gives hope to each of us personally. No matter what has happened to us or what we have done, He offers redeeming love, healing and peace.

I went to a choral and orchestra concert at the concert hall in SLC a few days ago. When one choir sang, "Christ the babe was born for you," I felt the meaning of those words sink deep into my soul. For I also need my own Jesus.

I was so profoundly moved by Christ's love for me that I wept openly in that crowded public hall. That was the moment, my moment, when I felt my Savior's love just for me.

And that is my greatest wish for you this season - that one quiet moment when you least expect it, you will feel down deep to the core of your soul - the love of your Savior . . . . just for you.Pin It

Aaronic Priesthood LDS

December 4, 2013

Dear Mathew,

Happy Birthday Matthew. You’re turning twelve today. This is an important birthday because you will receive the Aaronic priesthood. The priesthood is the power of God, which is given to man to act in His name. Always remember that your authority comes through your ordination but your power comes through personal obedience and worthiness. The priesthood is a gift from God that blesses all His children. Your Heavenly Father now trusts you enough to give you the responsibility to help others. Up until now your parents, extended family and church leaders have been taking care of you and helping you grow and learn. Now it is your turn. For example, this Sunday you will pass the sacrament for the first time. Isn’t it wonderful that God allows you to be part of this most sacred event?

What a great blessing it is to hold the priesthood. I hope you take time and go to a quiet private place and pray to your Heavenly Father and ask him how you can magnify your priesthood. Praying and asking questions has been a great way for God to send messages to us. In fact, did you know that when the Prophet Joseph Smith was translating The Book of Mormon he found a part that mentioned baptism? On May 15, 1829, he and his scribe Oliver Cowdery went into the woods to ask God about baptism. As they prayed, a messenger from heaven descended in a cloud of light. This messenger was John the Baptist, the prophet who baptized Jesus Christ. John the Baptist, now a resurrected being, laid his hands on Joseph and Oliver and conferred upon each of them the Aaronic Priesthood, which had been taken from the earth during the Apostasy. With this authority, they were able to baptize one another. John the Baptist was chosen by Heavenly Father to prepare the way for the Savior and be the one to baptize him. John did this through the authority of the Priesthood of Aaron.

After baptism, a sacred experience and opportunity comes to the members of the Church each week as we partake of the sacrament. This is how we renew our covenants with our Father in Heaven and take upon us the name of his Son and promise to keep his commandments. Those holding the Aaronic Priesthood have the sacred privilege and honor of preparing, blessing, and passing these holy emblems of Jesus Christ’s body and blood. God wants us to repent, come to Him with a broken heart and a contrite spirit and partake of the sacrament. When we renew our baptismal covenants in this way, the Lord renews the cleansing effect of our baptism, we are made clean and can have His Spirit to be with us. That is why it is so important to take the sacrament each week.

As you know, the offices of the Aaronic Priesthood are bishop, priest, teacher, and deacon. With the authorization of the presiding priesthood leader, deacons pass the sacrament. They also help the bishop watch over Church members by giving service and assist with temporal matters such as gathering fast offerings for the poor. Teachers perform all the duties of deacons and also receive other opportunities to serve. They prepare the sacramental bread and water and serve as home teachers. Priests may perform all the duties of deacons and teachers. With the authorization of the presiding priesthood leader, they may also bless the sacrament, baptize, and ordain others to the offices of priest, teacher, and deacon.

I have noticed that you have a big heart Mathew and that you love deeply. You are a true and loyal friend. Remember that the best friend you will ever have is Jesus Christ. You have amazing talents and abilities and I know that you will use them wisely. As you serve in your priesthood responsibilities I hope you remember that serving your own family is also important. The most important exercise of the priesthood takes place in the family. Your parents and brothers really need you to love them and serve them as only you can.

You stand at the beginning a life-time of service. As you serve in the Aaronic Priesthood, it will prepare you to receive the Melchizedek Priesthood, receive the blessings of the temple, serve a full-time mission, be a loving husband and father, and continue in lifelong service to the Lord. I love you so much Mathew. I have so enjoyed watching you grow up and become such a wonderful young man. I will love you forever and be your biggest fan.   

Grandma Baadsgaard

 

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My new grandsons Griffen and Daniel

This Thanksgiving season I am most grateful for my newest grandsons Griffen and Daniel.

There is no greater miracle than the birth of a new child.

 

 

 

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Nobody can do for little children

what grandparents do.
Grandparents sort of sprinkle stardust

over the lives of little children
~Alex Haley

Stomach Flu Thanksgiving Remembered

    

Most of my Thanksgiving Day memories are steaming with oven-roasted turkey or fresh yeast rolls. One year there were no turkeys, no relatives, no black olives, and no fruit punch. My husband and I had plans to go to Grandma's for the usual feast, but a busy nightlong vigil made for a quick change of plans.
     On the night before Thanksgiving Day, each of our children became ill with the stomach flu. My husband and I ran from bed to bed. We had the washing machine gong all night. Just when it appeared we had seen the worst of it and the children were starting to go back to sleep, it hit my husband and me. By morning the whole family looked like death warmed over.
     That Thanksgiving the children were too weak to play, wiggle or even fight. There were no visitors. Nobody wanted to catch what we had. There was no feast. No one could keep anything down even if anyone could get up and fix it.
     It was a quiet day. There was no TV blaring football in the corner of the room. The rocking chair creaked slowly next to the piano in the living room while my husband took turns rocking the children to sleep. As I sat on our worn sofa stroking a child's small head in my lap and cradling another in the bend of my arm, I did a lot of thinking - thinking about what I was grateful for.
     As I rubbed my child's sweaty forehead and looked into his eyes, it occurred to me that everything that really mattered was who I loved. The whole richness of my life was contained in the embryonic relationships that were growing, developing and changing within the walls of my own home.
     I realized that most of the problems our family faced came from being over committed. Our relationships suffered when we couldn't bring ourselves to say no to other people, to properly un-order our lives so there was enough time to take walks together, play board games on the kitchen table, tell jokes while we scrubbed the pots and pans, or watch the stars appear in the night sky. It really isn't quality time but lots of unscheduled quantity time that matters. We spend the most time with what we truly love.
     We didn't dress or eat or even talk much that day. My thoughts were slow and unhurried. I looked at my husband and my children as if I were seeing them for the first time. I noticed the unusual upward turn of my husbands' brow, the circular mixture of blue, green and brown in my daughter's eyes, the soft satin feel of my baby's cheeks.
     My family was all that seemed real that day. The rest of the world seemed out of focus. Everything that really mattered was rocking quietly next to the piano or snuggled deep in my arms. That evening, we all sat around the kitchen table and took turns telling each other what we were grateful for.
     Now my family has grown to include the spouses of my children and lots of grandchildren - yet the feeling is the same. My family is my world. They mean everything to me. 

Happy 8th Birthday Sophia

When You Have Lots of Brothers

by Grandma Baadsgaard

Happy 8^th Birthday Sophie. I sure do love you sweetheart.

 There are too many boys in this place

I just found a knee in my face

If they don’t stop wrestling soon

I’ll lock myself in my room

 

There are too many boys in this place

They think everything is one big race

If they don’t stop running around soon

I think I’ll start howling at the moon

 

There are too many boys in this place

All my things disappear without a trace

If they don’t stop losing my stuff soon

I think I’ll turn into a loony loon

 

There are too many boys in this place

I’m quickly becoming a mental case

If they don’t stop punching me soon

I’ll turn into a girly goon

 

Sometimes when I watch them there

Running around in their bares

I wonder, “Is this my lot?”

Maybe being the only sister is not so hot.

 

For brothers are rowdy most the time.

 They like rocks, dirt and lots of slime

  When they’re bored, they give each other a poke

Soon the whole bathroom floor is soaked

 

There are days I must confess

When I just can’t stand any more of this mess

So I call Aunt Alisa and say,

“Can we have some girl time today?”

 

 Then we play with dolls and fix our hair

And she never runs around in her bare.

We sit on the couch and snuggle up

Until I feel like a soft little pup.

 

Then after a while, I miss them and so

It’s time to go back for another go

For brothers are bouncy balls of energy

But there’s no place I’d rather be

 

Than in a house full of rowdy boys

And lots of rooms full of messy toys

For my brothers are my very best friends

Who will stand by me to the bitter end.

 

 

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The Power of Love

Bradley’s Secret Power

by
Grandma Baadsgaard
Happy 11^th birthday Bradley.
I love you with all my heart.

        “Grandma, did your teacher ever punish the whole class for something just a few kids did?” Bradley asked.

“Yes,” Grandma answered. “I guess some things never change. I used to hate that more than anything because no matter how hard I tried to be good, I’d still get in trouble. Now that I’m older I realize teachers do that because they’re scared. When people are scared they don’t make wise choices.”

“Scared?” Bradley asked.

“Yes. They’re scared that the rest of their students are going to start misbehaving too. They’re scared of losing control. Some people don’t know that the only real lasting power comes from love.”

Bradley smiled. As he and his grandmother sat next to each other on the front steps of her home, the marigolds, zinnias and petunias filled the air with the scent of a lazy autumn day.

“I like that,” Bradley said.  

            “Did you know that I have secret power?” Grandma asked.

            Bradley turned and looked at his grandma with a curious stare.

            “You?” Bradley asked.

            “I might look old on the outside, but inside I’m young and beautiful because I know where to find love that lasts forever,” Grandma said.

            “Where?” Bradley asked.

            “When I was your age I believed everything other people told me.”

            “What is wrong with that?” Bradley asked again.

            “Sometimes when we’re young, you don’t know that what other people are telling us is a lie. If someone said I was stupid, I believed them. If someone said they hated me, I thought I was not good enough. If a friend told me I was ugly, I thought they were right. If someone was mean to me, I thought something was wrong with me.”

“Sometimes I do that too,” Bradley said.

“Then one day I went to a quiet place in my yard and said a prayer,” Grandma continued.

            “Is that how you found your secret powers Grandma?”

“It was a summer day much like today. I still remember the smell of the flowers and the soft breeze on my face.”

Bradley looked around him at the trees and felt the wind on his face.

“I asked God if He loved me,” Grandma said. “That’s when I felt liquid sunshine flow all through my body. I’d never felt so warm and peaceful before. That’s when I knew I was good enough and that I was beautiful. God loved me just because I was me. God loves you just because you are you Bradley.”

“I want to feel that,” Bradley said.

“When you’re filled up with God’s love,” Grandma said, “nothing that anyone says or does can take away that peaceful feeling inside you. Then you don’t have to feel scared all the time. You relax and trust that God will love you forever.”

“I like that,” Bradley answered.

“When I was your age, I was scared that I’d never be good enough and that something bad was going to happen,” Grandma said. “But after that prayer I knew God was always with me and that everything would work out. Now every time I feel scared again, I pray.”

“I want to feel like that,” Bradley said.

“No one can take the love of God away from us Bradley.  Now, that is power – real power.

“I never thought about love as power,” Bradley said. “I love you Grandma. That makes us both super heroes to each other. ”

“You are my super hero, that is for sure,” Grandma said. I love you Bradley. I’ll love you forever.”

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Daniel is born!

My newest grandson Daniel Baadsgaard was born this week.
He weighed in at 7 pounds and 2 ounces and was 19 inches long.
I feel so much respect for the strong women who choose to bring children into the world.
Thank you Joseph and Martha for allowing me to witness this miracle.

Holding a newborn baby is about as close to heaven as we get.

The mysteries and miracles of nature at our cabin

When you get to be my age, acquiring things for yourself isn't important any more. You want the things you buy to bless the lives of your posterity. That is why we bought our cabin.

A few years ago, a long held dream came true for us. My husband and I found a cabin in the mountains surrounded by trees, lots of trees and all the mysteries and miracles that you can only find in the mountains.

Most of our dates before we married were in the woods. Being in nature speaks to us and nourishes our souls. We wanted to pass this legacy on to our children. We wanted all our posterity to have a place to go . . . a place where the wind in the pines would speak to them . . . a place where the warm sunlight on their shoulders would warm them  . . . a place where they could be still and know that God loves them; their private sacred grove.

The other day I was up at the cabin changing the sheets and towels. After I took a walk up to the pond I saw my daughter Arianne walking out of the woods with her five young children around her. The baby was strapped to her body and two preschoolers were each holding one of her hands. The older brother and sister were skipping around her. They had bags full of mushrooms, bark, leaves and bugs to study  . . . and big smiles on their faces.

And in my heart I thanked God for this place, for His love, for my children and grandchildren and the elegant gift of life. 

Griffin is Born Today

Griffin, my newest grandson, was born today. He weighed in at 9 pounds 10 ounces and is 21 inches long. He is healthy and well. When my daughter called me with the news in the middle of the night I could hear Griffin's newborn baby sounds all the way from Pennsylvania. I felt so deeply grateful that he had arrived safely and all was well with his mother. I couldn't go back to sleep because I kept thinking about the miracle of him.

Today I also went to the viewing of a beautiful little girl who died just days before she would have been born. Seeing the grieving mother, father, brothers and sister deepened my profound awe at this fragile gift of life.

Our lives, no matter how brief, have great meaning. Part of that meaning is great joy at birth and profound grief at death. We can't have one without the other. So today we celebrate the value of each soul and the quiet dignity of all life. Only through pain do our hearts open to the wondrous gift of life.

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Happy Birthday Daniel!

WHEN DANIEL TURNED ONE
by
Grandma Baadsgaard
Happy Birthday Daniel.
I love your big blue eyes and chubby cheeks.
I couldn't help putting a little Halloween into your first birthday poem.

 When Daniel turned one
He kibbled off his thumb
Because he thought it was a piece of cheese

“Dear Daniel,” said his mom
With a bit of alarm

“Now I’ll have to sew it back on.”

So she got out her thread
While he jumped on the bed
But all she could find was bright purple
But Daniel wasn’t glum
Cause now his thumb tasted like plum
When she finally sewed it back on.

But soon off it popped
Though a bit of a shock,
But Daniel didn’t mind you see.
He fancied a new flavor to please

“Dear Daniel,” said his dad
Though he wasn’t mad
“Now I’ll have to nail it back on.”
So he got out his hammer
and started to stammer,
“Son, I think you’ll like this new cure.
I’ll make sure that thumb is secure.”

But before he knew it, Daniel blew it
Right onto the birthday cake.
“Oh for goodness sake,”
Said his sisters Emily, Libby and Sandy
Now isn’t this just a dandy.
Cake with thumb frosting, oh please.
We'll just add our fingers and sneeze.

Then Andrew added his pinkie
And said, "This is stinky.
Fingers and thumbs aren't for eating you goofs
It's time to stop this spoof
 
So he pulled out the fingers and thumb
And said, “Now I’m not so dumb
But don’t you think super glue would do
So we can stop this silly rue?”
 

 So they glued on fingers and Daniel's thumb

 

Then ate a mighty birthday cake sum

Of one-year-old birthday wishes and dreams

Where nothing is quite what it seems.

Happy 3rd Birthday Rylan!

                                      

                                                             Rylan the Pirate

by

Grandma Baadsgaard

Happy 3^rd  Birthday Rylan. I love you so very, very much.

 

There’s a red brick house in a Pennsylvania town

Where Rylan the three-year-old pirate runs around.

He might be sailing on the kitchen chair ship

Or growling and snarling his big scary lips.

 

But if he can manage it, he’ll head to the shore

Cause that is where there is treasure galore

He takes out his shovel and digs down deep

To find lost jewels and gold coins to keep.

 

 Then into a ship with a scary pirate flag

For sailing and parlaying with rich old bags.

For finding lots of loot is always a snap

If you happen to find an old treasure map.

 But first you need a patch over your right eye

Then you heave a sigh and wave good-bye.

For a pirate’s life is a heave-ho-and-groan

And you spend a great deal of time alone.

 

Then night comes and it grows dark outside

So you find your mommy, your blanket and hide.

For when you get lonely you just must confess

Having a snug place is great more or less

 

But in the morning with the new sunlight

You find you’re brave and feel just right.

For when you’re a pirate, you travel far and wide

But you always come back when it’s dark outside.

 

For treasure by any measure is love you see

And there’s no amount of gold that could ever be

Better than a home where there’s lots of love

And a mom and dad with lots of bear hugs.

 

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