Esquire Coffinberry's Great-Grand-Niece

Having a need of a shawl to complete a pioneer-reenactment clothing set, I bought two skeins of red yarn last month, and invented this. It is very simple. Use standard yarn (I used RedHeart brand) and a J-hook. 1. Chain (178-small) (186-medium) (194-large) (202-very large). 2. (Neck-edge) Turn, and single crochet in each chain back to beginning. (This makes a sturdy neck-edge for your shawl.) 3. (Body of shawl) Turn. *Chain 6, skip 3 stitches and make a single crochet in the 4th stitch.* Repeat between * until you get to the end of the line, ending by connecting a chain into the end of the line with a single crochet. 4. Turn. Chain 3. *Single crochet in top of the chain loop, chain 6.* Repeat until you come to the last loop in the row; attach to that loop with a single crochet. 5. Repeat Row 4 until on your last row you make only one chain 6 and fasten in with a single crochet in the top of the next loop. (Don't cut off the yarn yet. Keep going.) Scalloped Edging: This edging start...

The choir director pauses the practice. The time for our rehearsal is nearly past and gone--next week we will sing to close the adult session of stake conference. She wants us to ponder the words we sing. Oh, Savior, stay this night with me; behold, 'tis eventide... She paints a picture of words for us, the pleading of a soul who must face the world again soon, but for just this moment, feels the Spirit and wants that feeling to stay. Just a little longer. Please ? Lik e the Nephites , who touched His feet and His hands and listened all day to the sound of His voice; and with their tears begged him to stay. Abide with me. 'Tis eventide, and lone will be the night if I cannot commune with thee, Nor find in thee my light, The darkness of the world, I fear. . . I think about her words. The words bring an image to my mind. A child, in the dark, wishing for a nightlight that only a loving parent can bring. Yes, I know that craving. *** The room is dark. There are small windows, hig...

Do you think that Duct-tape Man and Recycle Girl brought home enough candy? (Egads!)

Happy Hallowe'en!

Daughter's fifth-grade class is earning money for classroom activities, and as part of tonight's Harvest Festival is having a bake sale. Two goodies, packaged in a plastic bag, for Fifty Cents. She is bringing White-Chocolate-Topped Brownies. When I was a teen, my school did the same thing... we used our money to earn a trip over the mountains and through the woods to go to the Fair in Knoxville in the fall, and a roller-skating party in the spring. The bake sale has a long tradition in my family. Here, circa approximately 1961, is what my grandmother baked for: If baked goods aren't your cuppa tea, could I interest you in a coupon book in support of the Longmont High School Music Boosters? They're only $20.

Many folks, I would guess, are at least passing familiar with what it might mean to be a practicing Jewish mother (of a hundred-some years ago, maybe), if only because of the beautiful images of Sabbath preparation and ritual led by Golde in Fiddler on the Roof. What is not so known, I would guess, are the rhythms of life familiar to a Mormon woman, the harmonizing patterns small and great organizing and shaping life. Rhythms that come daily, like family prayer; weekly, like teaching in Primary; monthly, like fasting for the poor or worshipping in the temple; or twice annually, like joining brothers and sisters around the world in hearing the words of the prophets at general conference. Circles of life opening and closing with rituals marking the passage of time as children grow up and go on missions and start their own families. I find myself in a strange place in life, at the moment; one that I find hard to articulate. My rhythms of life continue, with defining central meaning to me...

In a move not unlike that contemplated by the founding fathers in the unamended Constitution, the elementary school slotted the second-place vote-getter as Vice President. So, Daughter is thrilled to be veep to her very best friend, who is the student body president. Oh, and I passed the Colorado Bar. And Kelly & Company--THANKS for dropping by (and for the root beer). Mr. Coffinberry met me at work to take me out for Sushi to celebrate, then we got the kids and took them out for ice cream. But I am so sorry we missed you! Let's have you and yours over soon to celebrate.

I found this picture on facebook, and poached it for my blog. I guess somebody is deep in thought, out there at college. He asked for a sweatshirt the other day... I said, can't you get one out there, like with your college logo or something? Oh, no mom, he told me, that would take money, and money is scarce. Go figure. So I got him a $10 fleece pull-over from Wal-mart, to keep him warm on the 1 1/2 mile hike to campus. Meanwhile, got an email from the missionary son. He got the copy of the Colorado Bluebook I sent last week (he got our only copy, the rest of us have to use the internet to figure out our vote). His first question: Why do we have so many constitutional amendments on the ballot? A good question, indeed. Maybe Professor Collins would like to use that for a final exam question for this year's iteration of Local Government . And speaking of voting, the student body president vote isn't until tomorrow. Speaking of tomorrow... bar exam results could be released as...

It's after dinner, and Mr. Coffinberry and I decide to go for a little walk, so that our step-counters (courtesy the Walking Challenge ) will read something a little more substantial than the ~2000 steps our sedentary jobs provoke. Son Three is at Driver's Ed class (how did that happen?) so only Daughter-one-and-only is home. I shout down the stairs: "You wanna come on a walk with us?" "No," she cheerfully replies, "I've gotta work on my campaign." "What campaign?" I wonder aloud over the rail. "For President." Remembering with chagrin my 2nd grade encounter with classroom campaign debates over McGovern and Nixon (as a memory oddment floats by: Gina Dearth and Steve Hammer spoke for McGovern; I was for Nixon--after 36 years, why should those names pop to mind?), I try to imagine how this campaign must look to 5th grade eyes. Not wanting to indicate any current bias (here in 2008 I am deeply undecided, which is just as well,...

We have another Eagle in the Nest. Last night, Son Two underwent his Board of Review for the Eagle Rank advancement. He had lots of support, and wonderful letters of recommendation; and now he is an Eagle Scout. Here is a picture from the second phase of his service project last spring.

The odd thing was, as it was happening very late Sunday night, we were on the front porch enjoying the storm, marveling at the amazing quantity of water coursing down the street into the storm drain, and smugly feeling grateful for our cozy, dry home on its little man-made hill. After our guests left and the rain stopped, we made our way to bed. All was quiet, then we heard Son Two whisper at our door: "Mom, Dad? Code Red." Well, that's not a normal "I have a question" or a teenage "I need to talk" or even "I need a drink of water" (that hasn't happened in years, or at least since anyone was tall enough to reach the sink--and Son Two is 6'2"). So we quickly grabbed robes and went to investigate. Oops. Uh-oh. Apparently a window-well on the west wall of the basement had a casement with a crack in its caulking. The rain came down so fast that it filled up that window well and rose up to the window and in through that crack. Son Two...

This interesting little link was recently brought to my attention. Here's what it said about me: Likelihood of you being FEMALE is 90% Likelihood of you being MALE is 10% What does it say about you?

In my dream last night, we had two overnight houseguests. They visited a week or two apart, and stayed in the spare room. Both were pleasant company, providing fascinating dinner conversation. They were unfailingly polite, and uncomplaining about the ongoing experiment conducted by daughter in toilet-training the cats. The first had soup and bread with us for dinner, the second was treated to Sunday supper (lest you think one ate better than the other, this means pancakes with syrup or plum jam, with bacon on the side). Both joined in family scripture and prayer before bed. I was impressed with both men, though my dreaming mind wondered if the second had known he was sleeping in the same bed the first had slept in before (I did change the sheets, of course). Both men were Senators, so I sincerely doubt this dream would ever come to pass--certainly not as calmly as it did in my dream (oh the housecleaning I would have to do... in the dream, there were scraps of wrapping paper left over ...

We set the raspberries we'd been collecting for the past three weeks out of the freezer to warm up a bit, and placed the clean jars and bands into a boiling water bath, then Daughter and I walked over to Ace Hardware to pick up some new lids (that's the one thing you cannot re-use with home canning). I had noticed we had enough berries to try making jelly (which is nice, because it is 'relatively' seed free), so I also got some cheesecloth. The low-sugar pectin had been purchased on the last grocery trip. On our return, we rested a little bit from the heat, and then started squeezing the berries in the cheesecloth bag. With a little work and effort, we managed to squeeze out the necessary 4 1/2 cups of raspberry juice, and tossed the seedy pulp in the composter. To the juice we added 3 cups of sugar and a package of pectin. It was an excellent opportunity to show daughter what a rolling boil looks like. The stove had a bit of a tantrum about all the boiling pots on it ...

Well, the bar exam did what the bar exam does... haze, trouble, and stump. It was both as awful, and at the same time, not as awful, as I had been told it would be. Everyone was polite, diligent, silent. We had no earthquakes (but my friend Sara did), we had no crazy people regurgitating or running for the doors. It is over but for the waiting. Meanwhile, back at the ranch, the seasons roll on, and it is time for another son to become an adult, and for picking raspberries and making jam. Thes e are pictures from my garden.

This is my desk. This is my study calendar. I am So Sick of Studying. Is it next Tuesday yet?

Sitting here, studying, 4:00 pm, when someone starts banging on my study-room door. "Who is it and whaddaya want!" I growl. The door bursts open... Eek! I am kidnapped. This is where they took me: And this is what I saw: I've been to Coors' Field many times before, but this was the first time (as best as I can recall) that I saw the Rockies win in person! Go Rockies! Thanks to Sharon (who won the four-pack of tickets from KOA's Mike Rosen) , Dave, and Jeanne for the kidnapping. I had a great time.

Perhaps my bias is evident in the fact that my cell-phone bill shows I used only four minutes last month (but son two racked up over 1500 text messages!), but the above named title of this blog entry has been bugging me for a couple of days now (the author of the aforementioned blog and I once got into a bit of an argument over the importance of emotion management in business; we most certainly respect one another, but do not see eye-to-eye on priorities of life). I find it hard to imagine why everyone would need , let alone want , an iPhone. I can see why anyone might want one. But I can't see why everyone needs one or should want one. It doesn't feed anyone. It doesn't shelter anyone. It doesn't clean the environment, or reduce poverty. It doesn't grow any flowers or create beauty or perform any labor. It doesn't rock any babies to sleep at night, or hold anyone's hand when they're dying. Yesterday during my walk, I was recalling my teenage years. W...

Saw this at a friend's blog, had to try it. 56 As a 1930s wife, I am Average Take the test! There's also a test for husbands.

Sometimes, local wildlife just has a hard time adapting to modern amenities. Like basement escape windows. Which allow humans inside the basement to escape, but not animals who inadvertently find their way in. For them, it's more like no-escape windows. Daughter found this: And Son Three found this:

Mr. Coffinberry took apart the dishwasher door this morning, and removed the rinse-aid dispenser. Sure enough, it still had considerable dish soap in it (it has a much larger capacity than one would think!). But all is well now that he's cleaned it out, dried it off, and put it back together again. If you are reading this because your rinse-aid dispenser got filled with liquid dish soap, take my advice. Just take it apart (or have someone who knows how come over and do it for you), so you can be sure that all the soap is out. There's just no way to get it all out by rinsing and syringing.

Last night, when we finished playing on the new Wii and had had scriptures and prayer, I asked our two teen boys to do a load of dishes before bed. After a very small whine (just enough to let me know that they are too big to be bossed, but not too big to obey), they both scurried up the stairs and got busy. A little while later, I came upstairs and Son Three stood up from where he had been bending over the dishwasher door fiddling with a small screw-in plug: "I noticed that the Jet-Dry dispenser was empty, so I filled it up." "Thanks," I said. Then I noticed the bottle in his hand. "Did you fill it up with that ?" I asked, pointing to the small bottle of clear Palmolive concentrate. "Yeah, why?" Oh dear. Or, as Piglet would say: Oh d' d' dear dear dear. It's like those bar exam review questions testing on the function of intent in a common law intentional tort or specific intent crime. Absent intent, no tort and no crime. What do yo...

Stress seems to pack on the pounds, and other than parenting, I've discovered nothing so stressful as studying for the bar exam. So late last month, I took to walking in the early hours of the morning. Not so early that it's dark, mind you. Just so early that it's still cool. (July Colorado sunshine can be brutal!) I've discovered that my favorite routes for walking include alleyways. Now, my own back yard doesn't have an alley, given that our particular plat was laid out in the late 1970's after alleys had passed from fashion. All our utilities are buried underground (thus the utility companies have an easement in gross over our back yard, and our yard is the servient estate... the easement having been duly recorded at the courthouse and appearing in our record of title... oops, not a bar exam question. Moving along...) and the trash is picked up in front of the house, instead of behind it. Neighborhoods from here north generally don't have alleys. But star...

Gee, I wonder why? Since I last wrote, I graduated and Son Two graduated and Son Three was off at Ben Delatour twice. Bar Review continues apace. It amazes me that there is so very much to know, and that someone actually expects you to know it. All. Aargh. It's a regular tortoise race, I think. Slow and steady, slow and steady. Three weeks to go. So, anyway, having been inspired by my sister-in-law and mom with their spectacular blogs, I shall get back to writing on mine, maybe, sometimes. And I shall begin with a photograph of Son Two. Oh, and if you want to see a picture of Son One, he is the only one not looking at the camera here .

I came into the house bearing two take-and-bake pizzas, a gallon of O.J., a dozen-and-a-half eggs, and the video "Rope." As I plopped the things on the table, and my husband walked over to help me put the stuff away, I noticed the mail resting there. And lo! behold! It was Volume 79, Issue 1 of the University of Colorado Law Review! So very, very cool. Congratulations to all the Editors and Members of Volume 79. Well done!

Check this out: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NzP-_DBGUBw . My son is on the right.

Believe it or not, it has nearly been three years since this blog started. And I am nearly done with law school. Where did the time go? I find myself thinking about how to re-integrate my life, post-J.D. I have landed (thanks to mentors and friends) a job that, I am told, doesn't involve take-it-home-with-you after hours work. I am looking forward to being involved in my kids' school, and in church, again. But I will also miss being in school: the people, the challenge, the sheer thrill of pushing as hard as I can against my own limitations. There are some mixed emotions here.

Those who read this blog (on those occasions when I manage to find time to write) know that I am a practicing member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, or in other words, a Mormon. Tonight, a very good man passed away. His name was Gordon Hinckley. He was a prophet of God, and my life has been very blessed by his teachings and example. He taught of the Savior, Jesus Christ--of his Love, Grace, Atonement, and the Hope that Christ makes possible. And that, my friends, is the most important message anyone can share. Sorrow is tempered by the knowledge that he is reunited with his beloved wife, Marjorie, and has been welcomed home by loving arms saying "well done, thou good and faithful servant."