When You Are Brothers . . . and Best Friends

When You Are Brothers and Best Friends

by

Granny Baadsgaard

Happy 4^th birthday Rylan.

I love you sweetheart.

You told me you wanted a story with frogs - so here it is.

Once upon a time there was a lonely green frog named Rylan. When Rylan woke up in the morning he looked at the empty side of his lily pad and sighed. He thought about what it would be like if he had a brother. He wished and wished; but no brother came.

“If I had a brother,” Rylan said to his mother one day. “We would hop from one lily pad to another all day and splash in the water. We would have so much fun.”

“Daddy and I are working on it,” his mother answered.

Sometimes Rylan imagined he had a brother. One day Rylan looked into the pond and saw another frog looking back at him.

“Oh, there you are,” Rylan said. “Hop out of the pond and we’ll play hide and seek in the cattails.”

But Rylan’s brother in the pond didn’t come out. He stayed in the water. Rylan noticed that his brother copied everything he did. If Rylan raised his right arm, his brother raised his right arm. If Rylan hopped up and down three times, his brother hopped up and down three times. 

“I have a new brother,” Rylan told his mother one day. He lives in the pond and he always copies me.

“Oh that is just your reflection,” his mother said.

Rylan didn’t know what reflection meant but he decided to make his brother come out of the pond so he could show his mother.

The next day Rylan went to the pond and reached inside the water to pull his brother out. It didn’t work. All he touched was water. His brother disappeared in the splashes he made.

“Where are you?” Rylan called. “Please come out and play with me.”

When the splashes stopped and the water returned to a calm smooth pond, Rylan saw his brother again staring at him like he always did.

“Well, you are a good listener,” Rylan said. “But I wish you’d come out of there and play with me sometimes.”

When Rylan was three years old he heard his father calling his name. Then he saw his mother and father hopping toward him with big smiles on their faces.

“We have something exciting to tell you,” his father said. “Your mother is going to have a new baby. Before long you are going to have a new sister or brother.”

“Please let the baby be a brother so we can be best friends,” Rylan said in his prayers every night.

On the day his brother was born, Rylan was so excited he couldn’t stop hopping up and down and jumping from lily pad to lily pad.

“This is the best day of my life,” said yelled to the sky.

“How about we name him Griffen?” his mother said. “Would you like that?”

“Griffen is a great name,” Rylan answered. “Now when can he play?”

“Griffen just wants to eat and sleep. He is too little for hopping. Be patient Rylan.”

Rylan tried so hard to be patient but it was very hard. Soon his brother grew big enough to hop. Every day Rylan taught his brother something new. He showed him how to croak and how to hop from lily pad to lily pad. He taught him how to catch dragon flies with his tongue.”

“Griffen and I are best friends,” Rylan said to his mother.

But some days were hard. Griffen knocked over all of Rylan carefully built bridges between the lily pads. Sometimes he croaked so loud at night it kept Rylan awake at night.

“Brothers are like that,” his father said when he heard Rylan complain. “Sometimes they do things that make us feel tired or mad. But when you’re brothers we stay best friends any way.”

One day Rylan took Griffen to see his still brother in the pond. Rylan saw two still brothers in the water. One looked just like Rylan and one looked just like Griffen. The one who looked like Rylan copied everything Rylan did. The one who looked like Griffen copied everything Griffen did.

“This brother is very still and quiet,” Rylan said to Griffen. “But all he ever does is copy us and he won’t ever come out and play. “You are much better. You’re my best friend. Sometimes you make me feel tired or mad, but when we’re brothers, we stay best friends any way.”

Then Griffen splashed pond water on Rylan. Rylan gasped and pulled Griffen into the pond with him. Then they both croaked so loud they scared all the dragon flies away.

Be Sure To See "Meet the Mormons!"

My husband and I saw the movie "Meet the Mormons" tonight.
It was beautiful, touching, funny and real.
 I hope you have the opportunity to see this film. 

My grandson Bradley is featured on KSL TV News story

My grandson Bradley Baadsgaard is featured on a KSL TV News story that aired last night. He played an important role in saving one of his friends.

Here is a link to the story.

https://www.ksl.com/index.php?sid=31896264&nid=148&title=middle-schoolers-save-friends-life-during-asthma-attack&s_cid=queue-1

Eden's Blessing Day

My beautiful granddaughter Eden Mary Worthen on her blessing day.
These pictures were taken by my daughter Arianne in my back yard.
Welcome to the world Eden! We love you!

POEM FOR A FOUR-YEAR OLD

LIAM ASKED FOR CANDY

By

Granny B

Happy fourth birthday Liam

I love you very much.

Liam asked for candy.

“Just one,” said his Granny.

“But I want some more.

What are Grannies for?”

So Granny said, “All right . . .  two.

But that will have to do.”

Liam: “How about three?

For don’t you see,

You can’t be my favorite Granny

Unless you give me candy.

Granny said, “How about two,

That will have to do.”

Liam: “How about four?

Then Granny I’ll adore.”

Granny: “How about two?

That will have to do.”

Liam: “How about five?

That will make me jive.”

Granny: “How about two?

That will have to do.”

Liam: “How about six?

That’s three plus three to mix.”

Granny: “How about two?

That will have to do.”

Liam: “How about seven?

Then I’ll be in heaven.”

Granny: “How about two?

That will have to do.”

Liam: “How about eight?

Wouldn’t that be great?”

Granny: “How about two?

That will have to do.”

Liam: “How about nine?

I promise I won’t wine.”

Granny: “How about two?

That will have to do.”

 Liam: “How about ten?

My best Granny you’ll be then.”

Granny: “How about two?

That will have to do.”

So Liam growled at Granny

And plopped down on his fanny.

Then turned around to sit

Not happy one single bit.

But then he started thinking . . .

Two is better than none.

And two is better than one.

Liam: “I’m so sorry Granny

Two pieces will be dandy.”

“For Grannies come in two

 Later I’ll see what my other one will do.”

Janene Baadsgaard Speaking in Payson on Sept. 11, 2014

I'll be speaking in Payson at a Stake Relief Society Meeting on Thursday Sept. 11 at 7:00. 
The topic is "Run Your Own Race. . . Discipleship is not a Competition". 
The address is 600 East 50 South.

My beautiful new granddaughter Eden

John's Homecoming pictures

Climbing Mountains

I CLIMB MOUNTAINS

By

Granny B

Happy tenth birthday Sandy.

I love you very much.

            My name is Sandy.

I climb mountains.

            When you climb mountains you need to wear a good shade hat to keep your face protected from the sun and comfortable hiking shoes. You also need to bring along water and food. But the best thing to bring is persistence and a positive attitude. Persistence means not stopping when you feel like it. A positive attitude means you don’t complain even when you’re doing something hard.

            The first time I climbed a mountain, I thought it would be too hard for me. I found out that I am strong.

            When you climb a mountain you always reach a place where you feel like stopping or giving up. That is the time for a short rest, not giving up.

            Sometimes you get hot and tired. That is the time for a drink and a snack.

            Mountains are like life. It is hard to keep going sometimes; but if you do, you get to see your world from the top.

Up on top the wind cools you down and see your life below from a new perspective. The fields look like a patch-work quilt. The cars look like ants and the roads like ribbons. You see patterns that you can’t see when you’re down below.

            I feel closer to God on top; like if I wave my arms, He can see me and hear me.

            I feel brave on top because I had to fight through being grouchy and tired.

            I feel light on top; like I could fly if I just had wings.

            I feel beautiful on top because I know I’m strong

            I feel heroic on top because I didn’t give up.

            I feel fearless on top because I made it even though I felt like giving up.

            I feel reverent on top because I see better how I fit into God’s plan for me.

            I am Sandy.  

I come from a family who climbs mountains.

            When I am grown and have children of my own, I will teach them to climb mountains. 

Poem for a Four-Year-Old

KATIE La Mazie

by Granny B

Happy 4^th birthday my sweet little Kate.

When you are four

you’re never a bore.

You dance in a twirl

and take bows galore

You won’t eat your cheese

Or turnips or peas.

But you’ll eat lots of candy;

some more if it’s handy.

When it’s time for a snooze

You don’t want to loose

So you pout and you muse

It’s playtime you choose

                                    Then before you know it

Your eyes droop a bit

And you’re off to drift

With no place to sit

So you find a soft place

And a blanket with lace

A purple unicorn pillow

With a song in the middle

Then rub your eyes

And droop to the side

And you’re out like a light

With moonbeams in sight

For Katie La Mazie

Is bright as a daisy

Though when she gets lazy

She’s a little bit crazy

But when she is sleeping

Her parents are peeking

And kissing her cheeks

For their dreams are complete

WHERE DID SUMMER GO?

                                  WHERE SUMMER WENT

When summer break ends, parents tend to get overly sentimental and utter things like, “Where did the summer go?” Mind you, these are the same parents who claimed they’d go raving mad if they had to endure another camping trip with their barfing children. These are the same parents who thought they’d die of embarrassment when the neighbors called to inform them that their young children were running through the sprinkler without swimming suits . . . again.

Well, just in case you’re wondering, I’ll tell you where summer went.

Summer floated down the irrigation ditch along with my young son’s tennis shoes and childhood.

Summer flamed, then flickered out like old street lamps with flashes of exploding fireworks and ebbing orange embers in a dying fire.

Summer soared away like the injured sparrow my children brought home to mend – later watching with still breath as their old friend flew too high for returning.

Summer danced over hammer-smashed rocks, grasshopper collections, and weaving hollyhocks, like mountain rivers to the valley floors.

Summer hopped from family reunion to family reunion like backyard pet rabbits stopping long enough to nibble on the garden fare best suited to their liking.

Summer grew up, cut off from home roots, like toppled corn stalks in the field and heavy melons fallen from the vine.

Summer dozed off in an ocean of blackness like children in sleeping bags wishing on falling stars in the backyard and telling scary stories in the dark.

Summer swirled upward like backyard barbecue smoke laden with the steamy smell of thick, dripping steaks filling the air.

Summer aged from green to brown like dying tulips that save their buried hears for next year’s blooming.

Summer raced past us like hot August afternoon rainstorms filling flowers bed, gardens, and ditches with life-giving water, and then moving on.

Summer paraded past like colorful floats, precision marching bands, and candy-throwing clowns. Stretching our necks, we peer down Main Street, unsure that the celebration has ended.

Summer was cut short like faded blue jeans with threadbare knee-holes.

Summer melted away like soft butter left too long on the kitchen table when it is one hundred degrees outside in the shade.

Summer rustled past us in the morning air like freshly washed sheets on the line. Now at sunset, someone has taken in the linen, carefully folding it away for the next change of season.

Summer grew wild like tender asparagus along the ditch bank, ready to be plucked and savored at just the right instant. Now grown old, the ageing plant has gone to seed and survival.

Summer unfolded like the yellow rose in the white vase by the kitchen window. Early sunlight from the eastern sky uncurled the tightly closed bud, revealing the flower within. Now, the soft pedals have fallen.

Summer is going out. Children are growing up. Garden vines lie heavy. Harvest is near.

And that is where summer went.

Baadsgaard Man Camp 2014 Rocks

SOUL IN THE MAKING

We often speak of an artist's finest work as their masterpiece when in reality their greatest creation might be a life they've touched. I know from personal experience that an artists's finest handiwork might be the result of an ordinary conversation on an ordinary day. I took Introduction to Drawing from a graduate student in the early seventies at Brigham Young University. I do not remember his name. He was not well-known, rich or tenured, yet because of two conversations we shared, the trajectory of my life changed forever. His ability to see into my soul enabled me to contemplate new possibilities and take flight.

I was wearing multiple layers of worn thrift-store clothing, working three jobs and taking a full load of classes when I stepped into my first drawing class. I’d always longed to be an artist but believed my mother’s opinion about my lack of talent. To my dismay all the other students in class were excellent artists. When asked to display our work, I was embarrassed by how my creations compared to the others. Still, an eager student, I relished the learning process and quiet awakening of every drawing assignment.

A few weeks into the semester, my teacher asked me to stay after class.

“Would you consider becoming a model for the art department?” he asked me.

“Why would you ask me?” I replied.

“Because I’ve noticed you have a perfectly proportioned body.”

I told him I’d have to think about it. After class I walked home alone deep in thought. I’d never heard a positive comment about my body before. After opening the front door to my apartment, I headed straight for the bathroom and locked the door behind me. Then I looked in the full-length mirror. Slowly, one piece at a time, I removed layer after layer of thrift store clothing. Someone appeared in the glass that I’d never seen before. I dropped to my knees and sobbed as past comments from those who might have loved me filled my mind.

“You’re fat and ugly. No boy will ever want to marry you.”

For the first time I wondered if those words were a lie, if I might be something more. Though I did not have the courage to be a model that semester, I would never be the same. On the last day of class, my teacher had each student bring their portfolio and present our drawings in the hallway outside our classroom. One by one I placed each piece of work on the cold floor and waited. My teacher carefully studied each piece, then looked up at me and smiled.

“You are the only person in this class who earned an A.”

I dropped my jaw.

“But I’m the only person in this class who doesn't know how to draw.”

“You are the only student in this class who is a true artist,” he replied.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“You are the only one who did more than I asked and tried new techniques that might not work out. You were the only one who searched for truth deep inside yourself and wanted to share. I don’t know what art form you will pursue after my class, but I do know that you have the soul of an artist.”

I walked down the steps of the Harris Fine Arts Center that summer evening with a new image of my future. Something deep inside knew this man spoke the truth.

Sometime later, when I tried to locate this teacher to thank him for what he had done for me and present him with the gift of my first published book, I was told that he had passed away. I was too late to thank him that day. I hope I am not too late to thank him now, and to express my deepest gratitude to all who lay aside personal ambition to do God’s work. Are we not all artists? Is not the highest of all art the ennobling of the human soul?
Now when I’m painting pictures with words or looking into the lives of my ten children or twenty-five grandchildren, I think about my art teacher. Perhaps it is fitting that this gentle giant of a man will remain anonymous. For the greatest creator, the finest artist in the universe tells us that we are His best work and glory – His masterpiece.

Pulling Faces

For some reason when someone pulls out the camera, my husband's silly side comes out.
When my daughter April snapped these pictures for posterity,
 I had no idea what my better half was doing.

Blessing Day For Rachel Anne Baadsgaard

My wonderful granddaughter Rachel Anne Baadsgaard was given a name and a blessing on Sunday.
 Don't you wish you could kiss those cheeks?