Windsor Castle

We went to Windsor Castle a couple of weeks ago. It was a fun trip, and I'm glad my niece, Cathy, suggested it! The castle is one of the residences of Her Majesty the Queen, and apparently she spends most weekends there. It is the largest and oldest continually inhabited castle in the world.

James in one of the gateways within the castle walls

The lovely moat garden

Moat garden view #2

James outside St. George's chapel

There was so much to see at the castle - amazing art, ranging from Leonardo da Vinci pencil drawings to van Dyck portraits to silver and china and arms and armor; a bed that Napoleon and the Empress Eugenie slept in during their visit to the castle; an 85-year-old dollhouse, complete with working electricity and servants' quarters; and beautiful St. George's chapel, which also had a marble sculpture of Princess Charlotte, only child to King George IV. She died at age 21 after giving birth to a stillborn son. The sculpture of her was breathtaking. It depicted her corpse under a shroud, surrounded by mourners, all shrouded. Above these were Charlotte's soul, rising heavenwards, flanked by winged angels, one of whom was holding the baby boy. All the figures were carved from white marble. Gorgeous. I tried in vain to find a picture of the sculpture on the internet. You'll just have to see it in person someday!

The Inscription inside the Statue of Motherhood

The Colossal Mom*

Not like the cover model of Vogue or Elle,

With skinny limbs draped with designer clothes,

Here, in the ankle-high filth shall stand

A tired woman with a diaper bag, the murky depths

Of which no one wants to plumb, and her name

Mother. Just Mother. From her dishpan hand

Flow everlasting snacks; her wild eyes command

The cramped dwelling that children and husband inhabit.

"Keep, orderly homes, your fabled peace!" cries she

With chapped lips. "Give me your tired, your cranky,

Your frantic toddlers longing to scale walls,

The pitiful savages I call my children.

Send these, the crazy, reason-impaired to me,

I open my arms beside the pile of dirty laundry!"

*All rights reserved. May only be copied with the author's (my) permission.

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There haven't been any comments* on my post about James's birthday party. Did everyone miss it?

*I need almost constant validation.

Searching for Service

Saturday I took Alex in his pushchair to Helping Hands, a UK-wide day of community service projects by Mormons. I was one of a couple dozen people cleaning up Brent Park in north London. I exited the Brent Cross tube station, Google map in hand, thinking it would be easy and quick to find my way to the park. Thirty minutes later, I found myself in this comically narrow footpath connecting one residential area to another. I could barely get the buggy through. But before long, I found an entrance to the park and lent my helping hands to the work. A couple of hours later, some iron railings were scraped and given a fresh coat of green paint, by yours truly. Who says I'm not leaving my mark on London?

Happy Birthday, Micah!

My husband is hot.

I Saw Maggie Smith in Marylebone Today!

Happy Father's Day

This is my great-great-grandfather, John Neely Bryan, Jr., pictured with his wife, Sarah Jane Thompson Bryan. He was a Texan wagoner, born in Dallas in 1846; he died in Wichita Falls in 1926. I thank him for marrying Grandma Sarah, who, despite having died before I was born, is very special to me.

Here is my great-great-grandfather, John Hyrum Anderson, whom I thank for having written his life history, which provided several weeks' worth reading and discussion material for family home evenings. He was born in Logan, Utah in 1864 of Swedish immigrants who had come to America as Mormon converts.

My great-grandfather, Al Roueché, eloped with my great-grandmother, Bernice Stokes when they were teenagers. They celebrated their 70th wedding anniversary in 2006. I thank him for teaching my grandmother to be a woman of faith. I thank him for bringing me a doll from Brazil when I was a little girl. I thank him for visiting me in New York when I was in college. I thank him for recently sending us cards celebrating my sons' birthdays. Al and Bernice are still living in Kennewick, Washington.

My grandfather, John Neely Bryan III, was a man of few words. He did, however, once tell me I was pretty, and he taught me, among other things, that the sense of touch is more important than sight when clean dishes is the objective. He learned the importance of tactile exploration as a USDA meat inspector, a post which he held for 25 years. He died while I was on my mission, and the next night, I dreamed of him laughing.

My grandfather, Loran C. Anderson, is a swell guy. I lived under his roof from age five through age twelve. He was the giver of priesthood blessings, the imparter of facts - he was a botany professor - and the purveyor of silly jokes and puns. I thank him for the financial help he has so willingly and generously given through the years, and I thank him for the moral and emotional guidance he has offered me, sometimes unknowingly. He has been my rock and my beacon, and always my PaPa.

My father-in-law, Tony Christensen, pictured here with my mother-in-law, Lynda Davis Christensen, is a tireless provider. He works very hard to give his family (and in many cases, extended family, friends, and acquaintances) the necessities of life. I thank him for my Mickey Mouse watch, for his kind counsel, for his part in raising my husband, and for his many kindnesses towards my sons.

My Papacito, Blair Clawson, has been an example to me of Christian charity. I thank him for teaching me how to drive at midnight in the Governor Square Mall parking lot. I thank him for his patience with my teenage pride/arrogance/vanity/general egocentrism. I thank him for wandering around the garden with James. Most of all, I thank him for making my mother happy.

Here is my father, dancing with me at my brother's wedding. I thank him for taking care of me when a cinder from a Shriner's train hit my face during a birthday party. I thank him for sitting me down before my fifth birthday to teach me about how seriously I should take going to Kindergarten. I thank him for giving me the Chronicles of Narnia series for Christmas 1984. I thank him for showing us his emotion when our summer visits were over and he put us back on the plane to our mother's. I thank him for his consistent honesty and openness, for moving me into my first dorm room (not to mention paying for that first semester at college), and for being a fun grandad to my sons. I thank him for being my Daddy.

I thank my husband, Micah, for being such a wonderful father to our boys. I thank him for the constant, uncomplaining care I received from him through both my pregnancies. I thank him for all the diapers he has changed, books he has read to them at bedtime, and pillow fights he's waged with James. I thank him for the trips to the zoo, bowls of noodles proferred, hugs given, songs taught, and walks to school. I thank him for the drawings, the church halls paced with a noisy baby, and the trips to Instacare or the A&E. I love the father of my children.

{Happy Father's Day}