OH, and Happy Anniversary to the Gerald and Cristie union! What has it been , 31 years or so (I'm not quite sure)? You two have been such an amazing example to me. Thanks for getting together and creating such a terrific family!

Happy Birthday Joe! I hope it's a great day for you. It's amazing to think that I knew you when I was 17....( oh the memories). Enjoy this year, it's a good one!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY JOE! I remember being 17...what a great year that was. mom xox

Dear Children. Last night I went to Farmington to visit my dad and brought home his book, "The Israel Barlow Story." I thought you would be interested to see how you are related...

Israel Barlow married to Elizabeth Haven

Pamela Elizabeth (third child, married to David Wilken Thompson)

Mary Theresa (fifth child who married Anson Bowen Call)

Cleo Afton (fourth child who married Nathan George Clark)

Nathan George (thirteenth child who married Bonnie DeAnn Peterson)

Cristie (first child who married Gerald Blaine Carter)

YOU!

YOUR CHILDREN.

For years I have been invited to reunion gatherings but had little idea as to how I was connected. Then at the last general conference Israel Barlow was used in a story by one of the general authorities and my curiosity led me to asking my dad some questions last night.

As Israel stated to his wife Elizabeth, "our children are our hope and glory in the Lord." I am certain that he is very pleased to be related to you. Almost all phases of the Church growth, the trials and drivings and tribulations were shared by him and his family. The fruition on which is still bearing sweet fruit.

Happy Sunday! My love to you all, mom

....and thanks to Valerie for also coming over tonight. The mood has brightened a bit.

I thought it was time for a new look. Maybe it will inspire a new entry or two.

It's pretty sad around here tonight. Lizzy is still grieving for her precious little Violet. Ali and her girls visited tonight with a sweet card and brownies. And Katie, thanks for your calls last night. It means a lot to have such support.

Joe spent last night puking his guts out with the latest edition of the stomach flu to be making the rounds. I'm wondering who will next be stricken....

Dear Family: Last night for enrichment we had a woman come and recite some poetry and tell of the life of

Edna St. Vincent Millay. There was magic in the room as lyrics of beauty filled the air. Here is a piece I found

on the net today.


   Ah, could I lay me down in this long grass
   And close my eyes, and let the quiet wind
   Blow over me,-I am so tired, so tired
   Of passing pleasant places! All my life,
   Following Care along the dusty road,
   Have I looked back at loveliness and sighed;
   Yet at my hand an unrelenting hand
   Tugged ever, and I passed. All my life long
   Over my shoulder have I looked at peace;
   And now I fain would lie in this long grass
   And close my eyes.

Now, as a change of pace ...CONGRATULATIONS! to Danny. I enjoyed checking out your new place of employment and it looks like quite the opportunity. We are so happy for you.

My love to you dear ones...be safe and floss. mom xox

Dear ones,
Kelly just got me all hooked up to the Blogger again. I'm so sorry for all the ones that I have missed out on. Hope that all is well with every one and that the Halloween goblins didn't capture anyone. My Email address is lwc3527@lausd.k12.ca.us. So now you can send me some news. I need to get clothes and lunches packed ready for tomorrow. I'm worried and anxious to hear how the election has turned out. Love to all, Grandma. PS. Hope Valarie is feeling alot better.

Melissa, I admit it....I thought of you when I saw Mr. Bennett's name on the ballot.

Don't forget to cast your vote today!!!

Just a reminder-

Memory time is coming-be brainstorming on a memory to record for the new year. Love you all.

Great list. Especially for Danny, who just found out he’s getting nothing.

Okay, here's the Christmas list this year. Sorry Katie, you will be giving to Ed again (just kidding).

I double checked to make sure there are no repeats from last year. Let me know if I've made any mistakes...

Sam gives to Valerie

Melissa gives to Ali

Ali gives to Ed

Doug gives to Katie

Katie gives to Joe

Danny gives to Sam

Ed gives to Laurel

Valerie gives to Melissa

Laurel gives to Doug

David gives to Danny

Joe gives to Elizabeth

Elizabeth gives to David

HAPPY BIRTHDAY ED!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY ED!

Unreal. A truly historic moment.

Go Pope!

Here I am again. I would probably not be blogging had I not found myself trapped in Boston. The Marriott in which I was staying was around thirty minutes from the airport in no traffic. With the Red Sox game that evening, I decided to leave at three to give me plenty of time to make my 5:30 flight. Go Red Sox. I found myself in a new black suburban with two other travelers on the way to the airport. One was from Florida, and the other was from the UK. Our driver was probably in her mid thirties, from Boston, and dang proud of it. Everyone seemed to really like talking, except for the Brit and me. I loosened up a bit with time and had a few laughs. We would all find out later why my British companion was so quiet.

The freeway was a parking lot, and I got a good long, slow look at the city as the time passed. Mr. Florida liked to talk about hurricanes, beer and lobsters. I asked questions, and the little British guy looked out the window. Time was moving, but our car was not. We all heard a siren and saw a fire engine trying to get through traffic. We were on a bridge, but everyone still tried to make room for the fire engine to pass on the right. Mr. Florida reached out to pull the mirror in to make room for the truck, and Mr. UK expressed his concern for Mr. Florida’s arm. Apparently, a serious accident was responsible for the delay.

As I slowly began to accept the fact that I would not make my flight, the Brit began to accept that he was not going to make it to the privy. He suddenly had the driver’s attention.
“We need to pull over now.” The driver looked back in her mirror trying to gauge the seriousness of the situation.
“You mean here in the middle of the overpass?”
“Yes, it’s either going to come out in here or out there.”
Everybody started laughing, except of course, the Briton. He hopped out and quickly ran around the door and relieved himself. Unfortunately, such a spectacle does not go unnoticed. In no time, the Brit had three lanes of undivided attention. The symphony of horns began, and our party was doubled over with glee, driver included.

As you know, I missed my flight. The Sky Cap would not take my bag, and I watched the debates and the Red Sox game from the airport Hilton.

It was oddly depressing to watch Boston beat the Angels on TV when they were just a few miles a way. Nearly everyone in Boston was celebrating their team, and I was sitting alone in the muted roar of jet exhaust. I knew I should have at least tried to get there. After the debates, I drifted to sleep, knowing I would be getting up at 3:30 Utah time.

Would you believe I almost missed my flight Saturday? I gave myself two hours to get ready and get to the airport. After all, I was already staying at the airport. By the time the shuttle dropped me off at Delta’s terminal, I had around thirty-five minutes to departure. All the lines were very long, and they won’t take your bags if you’re inside thirty minutes of departure. I did something I have not done in years. I cut in line. I explained my situation to the guy in front, and he let me in. When I got to the ticketing agent, he tried to send me to the end of the line because I had cut. I plead with the second ticketing agent, and he allowed me to check my bag because there was no way I would make my flight otherwise. I was grateful, but I felt like a slime bucket for a good five hours.

I have completely lost my faith in airport security. Some of you know I have slipped through security with knives undetected, but this demonstration of incompetence is unreal. The ticketing agent gave me two boarding passes. Since this is normal, I thought nothing of it. I also don’t make a habit of reading all the information on a boarding pass. I generally need to know my gate and my seat. I don’t think I’ll ever take my name for granted again, for my boarding pass was carefully tucked behind Steve Andrews’s.

As far as TSA, Delta and Boston were concerned, I was the respectable Steve Andrews, en route to San Diego. As Steve, I made my way through security with my official Sam Carter ID. They checked me off like they do everyone else, and I was set to go. To my everlasting gratitude, I had chosen the wrong terminal, and I had to exit and go through security again. I almost made it through the second time, but I got picked for the baggage search. TSA asked for my boarding pass and ID, and they’d caught their criminal.

You have seen the movies; the dimly lit, smoke-filled rooms. The donuts on the table you’re not allowed to eat ‘till you talk. The two-way mirror that you somehow forget is two-way when you’re sitting there. This all came to mind as six TSA officials discussed this strange man with a secret identity. There were so many ways I could quickly shape my future, or perhaps even end it. One word, bomb, and I would have been tackled and killed. A mad dash for either exit or terminal would have ended only in gunfire. I could not indulge these fantasies too much. I had a flight to catch.

Needless to say, I made my flight this time. I like Boston. I like it a lot, but I have to admit that getting out of there was probably tougher than getting out of hell, or perhaps Liberty Park on the fourth of July.

There you have it. Gear up for another dry spell.

As many of you watched the debates, I watched my boss bib wine at the Outback Steakhouse in Nashville. We spent the evening discussing dog training, kid training and our respective failures in these areas. After dinner, I drove us back to our seedy little rooms at the local Comfort Inn. I thought of it as the fun house; the floors were uneven, carpet askew and the halls smelled like marijuana. I mentioned the odor to my boss the next morning. She hadn’t noticed.

Meetings on the following day went about as well as one could expect when one’s boss is present. Getting there is a lot like our appointments. I drive, she coaches. She said little about my driving this time, and I was grateful. On our trip to Buffalo in February, she made several negative comments, yet refused my repeated offers to take the wheel. Since she’s just sitting there, I suggested that she navigate. No-could-do. She can’t see out the windows while wearing her reading glasses, and she can’t read a map with them off. After our meeting in Nashville, I was to drop her off at the airport. Her flight back to Salt Lake left several hours before my flight to Boston. Needless to say, I navigated (without help) to the airport in great haste, and tore out of there to get some breathing room, sans boss.

After driving through some lovely wooded areas outside of Nashville, I filled the car’s tank with gas, and returned to the airport around the time my boss’s flight was lifting off the ground. It was going to be a long evening. I was headed to Atlanta, where I would then catch my flight to Boston. It seems that I never have a direct flight anywhere. The flight to Atlanta was uneventful. There’s not much that can happen in thirty-five minutes besides taking off and landing.

For an airport terminal, Atlanta’s E is about as good as they come. Generally, the important international flights arrive and depart from terminal E. In a way, this was the highlight of the trip. I found myself sitting somewhat close to the woman’s restroom. Within ten minutes, I noticed the sound of a broken suitcase wheel, loudly complaining as its owner pulled it along. Atlanta’s terminal E does not have much carpet, so the “clack clack clack” of the broken wheel seemed to announce its owner’s arrival. She was a well-dressed middle aged woman wearing a navy blazer and dress slacks. She was also visibly irritated by her disagreeable companion. She walked past me, and clack clacked her way right into the bathroom. I could hear her turn the corner, and I realized that her nasty little luggage was betraying nearly everything she was doing in there, even though she was well hidden from sight. Indeed, I thought I could tell when she turned left and right. I could hold it back no longer, and I began laughing uncontrollably. There was no TV in sight, nor book in hand. I must have been a sight in my own right. Distracted by my own laughter, I somehow lost the suitcase. It could no longer be heard trailing its unhappy owner in the ladies room. Just as I began training my ear towards the bathroom, the woman emerged, suitcase stuffed under her arm. She didn’t look any happier, and she surely wasn’t. The suitcase had complained without refrain or remorse, and had thus earned its free ride through the airport. As she exited, our eyes briefly met, and I looked away, ashamed. I had been a peeping Tom, or perhaps a listening Sammy. If this name were to catch on, I would be forever disgraced. Consider what I dug up out of Webster’s:

Peeping Tom, first recorded around 1796, has become a term for a voyeur, not at all a pleasant fate for this legendary fellow. As W.H. Auden has said, “Peeping Toms/are never praised, like novelists or bird watchers,/for their keenness of observation.”

I dislike overused clichés. Instead of using the all-too-familiar “squeaky wheel,” I’m going to use the “clacking wheel” in its place.
Sam: “Serves him right. You know what they say about the clacking wheel.”
Biographer: “Clacking wheel? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”
Sam: “Well then. I have a story for you…gets carried through the airport by its owner...keenness of whom has long been overrated

I think I’ve had enough fun for one night.

Sam

Cristie, Lizzie, Joe, and I watched the debates with varying levels of amusement, generally rising from youngest to oldest. (Lizzie's participation consisted mostly of a vacuous stare). Both the candidates tried to "shut the door on each others' faces", but I thought failed to deliver any knock out punches. While I thought Kerry was the clear winner in last week's debate, I give the edge to Cheney in last night's contest. I thought his shorter answers and "passes" mostly worked, especially the one where he passed on the opportunity to comment on the gay/lesbian issue.

Edward's inexperience was evident. His arguments also displayed a kind of empty passion somehow. Something he does with the corner of his mouth and his tongue also got on my nerves. I know I'm being petty and not focused on the issues with that observation, but hey, it got in the way.

I agree with Ed, Bush is in trouble. The momentum shifted with the debate last week and to get it back, he's going to have to come out swinging Friday night. He obviously was not prepared for the first debate. And Kerry surprised and impressed me with his articulateness, his handling of the flip flop criticisms, and his grasp of the issues.

Now, Melissa, I'm willing to consider Mr. Van Damn (heh, heh). I checked his website. Generic pablum. Where does he stand on the 2nd Amendment initiative? Gun control? Iraq? North Korea/Iran? Moving the state prison? (lol)

A writer in Newsweek compared the styles of the candidates. He says Bush is a "go with your gut" snap decision maker and Kerry might lean toward analysis paralysis. His conclusion is that the best presidents combine intuition with a deep knowledge of the issue at hand to make the best decision. Can we elect them both?