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The Spudman and Sister Selfies

7/30/2017

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​Marjorie and I are Sister “Spudmen”……side by side….. and we have the selfies to prove it.
 
Saturday my sister, Marjorie Watkins, and I participated (competed is too strong a word) in the 31st Annual Spudman Triathlon in Burley, ID.   It was a glorious sister experience.    We swam a mile side-by-side, we rode our bikes 25 miles side-by-side, and we slogged (slog is our new favorite word for a jog so slow it is measured in inches per hour rather than miles per hour) 392,832 inches (6.2 miles) side-by-side.     SUPER!
 
In an attempt to document our adventure, we took sister selfies along the way.   Taking selfies is an art form that we have not yet mastered.   Who’d have thought it would be so difficult to take a credible photo of oneself?    Tanah makes it look so easy…..   Practice improves performance, however, and, by the end of the event, our selfie technique had improved considerably.
 
Doing triathlons is also an art form that we have not yet mastered either but practice improves performance…right?!?  Marjorie and I participated in Wave 8 this year and we invite you to join us in Wave 8 (or in your appropriate competitive wave if you wish) next year.
 
A word of explanation:     The Spudman is organized into “waves”.   In past years, there were 7 waves, each starting 10 minutes apart, and participants had to start in a specific wave, competing against people in their same age and gender category.   This year, for the first time, Spudman officials opened a “friend and family” slot (Wave 8), a non-competitive category that allows people of various age and genders to participate side-by-side.
 
Side by side, Marjorie and I had a super sister experience doing a triathlon together.   In March we had a super sister experience doing a 65 mile bike ride in Mesquite together.   In September we will have a super experience (I hope!) doing the “Salt to Saint” (bike relay from Salt Lake City to Saint George) together.
 
“I have a challenge for you,” Marjorie said to me as we prepared to start the triathlon Saturday.
 
“Yes?” I responded.
 
“I challenge you to find something we can do together that does not involve pain.”
 
Good idea.
 
Suggestions anyone?
 
Love,
Teresa

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Carbo loading at the Spudman dinner the night before
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Darling Amy Rasmussen... Her friendship with Chris and Sallie catalyzed an invitation for Marjorie and I to spend our pre-Spudman night in her home. This sign greeted us on her doorstep.
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Dropping off the bikes at the first transition zone. We could not figure out how to get our faces and our bikes in the self screen simultaneously so we had to take two shots...
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Our bikes await us in the first transition zone.
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Ready for the swim
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WOW!
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Ready for the bikes
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Officially done. Notice the finish banner in the background.
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Our post-race attire.....the official 2017 Spudman race t-shirt.
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Our "racing chips" (water proof anklets). It is much easier to take selfies of one's feet than one's head.
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See How My Garden Grows

7/16/2017

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So…..It has been three months since I published a garden report.   I have taken photos on or around the 15th of every month but I have not published them.   Today is the day.   See how my garden grows.   

May 15, 2017

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Sweet peas

​​June 15, 2017

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Sweet peas
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Lettuce and carrots
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Spinach
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Beets
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Kale
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Onions
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Berries
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Apricots
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Peaches
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Apple
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Grapes
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Pears
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Hopeful rooster
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Miles' hog....built like a sumo wrestler
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Cooper's hog and Grace's first hog
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Lettuce and carrots
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Cucumbers
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Beets
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Kale
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Onions
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Berries
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Berries
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Apricots
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Fig tree
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Peach
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Apple
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Egg plamt
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Green beans
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Zucchini
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A month later the rooster is still hopefully circling the chicken coop
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We added a steer to the place

July 15, 2017

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Grapes
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The steer is still eating
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Three pigs....Just right, Very Big, and Too Small
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Still waiting....still hopeful...
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Miles' pig at 247 lbs and Grace's pig at 147 lbs
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Cooper's hog is nosing for breakfast
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It's a dog's life.
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King's Peak 2017

7/9/2017

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“I hate this.  Why did you make me come? I HATE THIS!!!” Miles said to me as he donned his back pack in the parking lot at the Henry’s Fork trailhead.
 
Hum…..  Not the best way to start a backpacking trip…..
 
At the Elk Horn Crossing, about two-thirds the way to base camp, he again confronted me.    Tears of frustration welling in his eyes, he repeated “Why did you make me come?   I hate this.  I HATE THIS.  I just want to go home.”
 
Going home was not an option.   Having an adventure was.
 
And have an adventure we did.
 
Early Monday morning, under the incredibly organized guidance of Mark Housley (Lance’s brother-in-law) twelve of us set out on backpacking adventure in the high country of the Uintah Mountains.   Plans called for some of us to summit King’s Peak, for some of us to fish Henry’s, Blanchard, and Cliff Lake, and for all of us to have fun.  Though I had hoped to hike with all of my children, Miles—my hike hater—was the only one there.   Reassured that he would NOT have to hike King’s Peak and lured with promises of fabulous fishing, somehow I convinced him not to refuse to come.   He never really agreed to come on the trip but he never absolutely refused to either and so there he was.   And he was NOT happy.
 
Not then.
 
Two miles later (8 miles into the hike) he was.   Happy.    Somewhere, somehow things changed.   He realized that he could do it and he did.   And there was no looking back.
 
At base camp that evening he asked “Do you think I could make it up King’s Peak?”
 
Knock me down with a feather!   Trying to hide my astonishment that he was even considering the hike, much less thinking about choosing hiking over fishing, I said, “I know you can make it.   No question.   No question at all.   I know you can do it.   It will not be easy.   In fact it will be quite hard but I know you can do it.”

And he did.   So did I.    Hamilton, Marissa, Sean, Maddie, Regan, and Cooper were also there.   King’s Peak.  Highest point in Utah.  13,528 feet.   Equivalent to 271 flights of stairs.    Tough.   Really tough. 
 
King’s Peak is the oddest mountain I have ever seen.   It is a huge (13, 528 feet huge) pile of boulders.    After Anderson Pass (the saddle that connects King’s Peak to its neighbor) there is no trail.  The last 1.5 miles, climbing more than 1000 vertical feet, one has to scramble up and over, up and over, and up and over again boulder after boulder after boulder.   Brutal.  And beautiful.  Really beautiful.
 
Reaching the top of King’s Peak was an accomplishment.   Returning to camp was an adventure. 
 
At Anderson Pass we abandoned the safe trail and headed to the sketchy chute.    To get to King’s Peak we’d left Henry’s Fork Basin via Gunsight Pass, dropped into the Upper Painter Basin, and then ascended to Anderson Pass.   To go home we simply slid down a snow-covered talus slope into Henry’s Fork Basin.   It was not completely straight down but almost.  It was not completely smart or safe either but almost.  It was completely fun though….when it was not completely scary.
 
Everyone was completely happy NOT to hike to the top of a mountain the next day.   The group, fisher people and non-fisher people alike, hiked to Blanchard Lake instead.   Henry’s Fork Basin does not have trails but it does have bushes and bogs, rocks and rivers, snow packs and streams.    Traveling cross country we avoided the snow packs, circled the bogs and bushes, and used the rocks to cross the rivers.    Fishing was fabulous, especially at Cliff Lake which, because of its remote location—a  glacial cirque at the base of a big mountain at the end of a high country valley—rarely receives a fishing rod.   Miles, Maddie, and Mark consistently pulled 12-18 inch Tiger Trout from the lake. 
 
Too soon it was over.  Fish tails became fish tales and hiking moment are now hiking memories.     Here are a few of the trip memories that I treasure.
 
  • Regan, who had decided not to hike to King’s Peak, approaching me timidly the morning of our planned ascent.  “Aunt Teresa, may I hike with you today?”    OF COURSE!
  • Maddie leaping from rock to rock as she found her fishing spot at Cliff Lake where she pulled in two 18’ fish in her first two casts.
  • Hamilton and I asking Mark for a “pow wow” and then watching as he picked up his pistol on his way to chat with us. 
  • Cooper making a spear and stalking marmots with it.
  • Watching Sean pick wildflowers and then carry them behind his back to give to Marissa.
  • Falling flat on my face, my chin a mere millimeter from a rock, on the trail behind Marissa and feeling her genuine concern as she helped me up.
  • Chatting on the trail with Elynn about our children and other women’s daughters. [We both serve in the Young Women’s organization.]
  • Savannah responding to Elynn’s question “Are you and your boyfriend serious?” with the answer “We are engaged.”
  • Eden trusting me to doctor her feet.
  • Watching Hamilton, The Legend and basking in the reflected light of his glory.   From the first hour of the first day to the last hour of the last day, Hamilton astounded everyone with his strength, his savy, and his genuine goodness.    He was the first to arrive at Elk Horn Crossing and again at base camp, waiting at both places for over an hour for the rest of us to arrive.  It was Hamilton who caught Maddie when she flipped from feet first to head first on her slide down the snow field and Hamilton whose tackle prevented Cooper’s uninhibited downhill snow slide from ending painfully (and perhaps tragically) in a pile of boulders.  Hamilton guided a group of wet and tired fisher people through the wilderness back to a camp they probably never would have found by themselves.    And when Savannah’s knee injury made us question whether or not she could carry her backpack out, it was Hamilton who hiked 10 miles to the trailhead, left his pack there, and then hiked 10 miles back to base camp so that he could hike back out carrying Savannah’s pack if necessary.  At 7:15 a.m. Hamilton appeared on the ridge, already back from his 20 mile round trip jaunt.   Legend.
 
My cup runneth over.    Seriously.   Being in the mountains fills but never satiates me.  The breathtaking beauty almost hurts; I seek to soak it in and that soaking causes me to expand, to stretch, and to ache in a pleasingly painful way.   Add to that the joy of sharing the experience with loved ones and my cup truly runneth over.   I am especially grateful for the metamorphosis of my son.   Somewhere between Elk Horn Crossing and Henry’s Fork Basin my Mr. Miles realized that he could hike.    On the top of King’s Peak his realization earned confidence.   And that confidence will change both of our lives.  Forever.
 
“When can we hike Ben Lomond Peak?” he asked me on our way down from King’s Peak.  
 
Soon, my son.  Very soon.
 
Love,
Teresa

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Henry's Fork Trailhead
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Resting at Elk Crossing
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Hamilton tosses rocks as he waits for everyone else to catch up and rest up.
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Unlike Miles, Eden is happy to be here.
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Henry's Fork Basin. STUNNING!
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Marshmallows make Miles happy
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Regan, Kate, and Elynn
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Didi and Maddie
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Anderson Pass
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The snow field leading to Anderson Pass
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The boulder field leading away from Anderson Pass
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King's Peak Summit
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Taking a...
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...rest....
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...at the.....
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...top.
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Shooting down the chute
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Fishing in a green field
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Catch and release
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Fishing in a white field
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Grin and bare it
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Father and daughter time
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Cooper with rain coat
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Maddie with rain coat and DiDi without
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Fishing at Cliff Lake
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Casting at Cliff Lake
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Catching at Cliff Lake
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I Am Soup

7/2/2017

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​It began about four weeks ago when I awoke at 2:00 a.m. Sunday with distinct flu-like symptoms.   My body hurt, I felt feverish and was chilling, and, nausea, my least favorite aliment, threatened constantly to turn my stomach inside out.   Bluck.   I asked for a blessing.    In the blessing I was promised that I would be given wisdom to knowing what to do and that my health would return.  [Having two Melchizedek priesthood holders in my home is a blessing in and of itself.)
 
I was supposed to teach a lesson to the young women of our congregation but could not find the health necessary to do it.   For the first time in over a decade, I missed church.    I could not teach the lesson but fortuitously Grace could.   Capable and competent,   she came to the rescue.
 
I was also supposed to take a group of parents and students on a week-long field trip, camping and hiking in southern UT the next day, a responsibility that would not as easily be passed off to Grace…..or anyone else for that matter.
 
My health deteriorated.   By late afternoon my entire body, especially my lower back, ached.  Moving anything—even the hair follicles on my head—hurt, nothing seemed to want to stay in my stomach, and I felt miserable.    The chances that I would enjoy Monday’s field trip seemed rather remote.
 
I sent Lance to the pharmacy to get over-the-counter medicine for another what-I-assumed-to-be unrelated ailment.  He faithfully responded and returned with a box whose label I diligently read.  In bold print it said “Ask a doctor before use if you have lower abdominal, back or shoulder pain, fever, chills, nausea or vomiting.”  Bingo.
 
An Internet search, a series of phone calls, and a fair dose of divine tender mercies led us to a University of Utah urgent care facility in Farmington that was open until 11:00 on a Sunday night.    There I was diagnosed with a fungal and bacterial infection, prescribed medicine for both the infections and the nausea (Zofran continues to be one of my best friends!), and sent home with instructions to drink lots.
 
Modern medicine is miraculous and God is real.   Monday morning found me on my feet and on my way to southern UT.   Monday and Tuesday were a bit tough but I was back on my game by Wednesday and the entire field trip, even Monday and Tuesday, was a great experience.
 
Sunday’s bacterial and fungal infections were conquered but, it seems, there were other microbes in the wings.   Sensing that my shields were down, they attacked in full force.     I had not been home from the field trip for long when I developed a cough that caused my voice to deepen, that prevented all attempts at exercise (I find that breathing is an essential component of most exercise endeavors and the cough prevented all efforts to breathe deeply), and that kept me up at night.   Periodic coughing fits attacked me, making breathing hard and talking impossible.   I slept with a cough drop in my mouth and carried water everywhere I went.    After a week, motivated by a desire to breathe, I saw a doctor and was diagnosed with bronchitis, probably of viral origin.     I was a microbial soup: bacterial, fungal, and now viral.   Great.
 
But the story does not end here.
 
While on the field trip my gums became very sore.   I attributed it to toxins produced by the fungus and bacteria that were attacking me.     About a week into the bronchial infection, my gums again became very tender.   This time I blamed the viral infection.    The tenderness increased and became localized.    It was very obvious that my molars, upper and lower, on the left side of my mouth, hurt.
 
This happened on the Thursday of Youth Conference.   According to my schedule, I was to spend Thursday, Friday, and Saturday at Youth Conference and leave for Mesa Verde early Monday morning.    There was no time scheduled for tooth aches.
 
Toothaches do not respect schedules.
Thursday I called Dr. Bjork (dentist) and asked about the tenderness.  He offered to look at my teeth but suggested the pain was probably caused by microbial released toxins, a verdict I welcomed.   Friday my tooth pain drove me to take him up on his offer to look at my teeth.
 
X-rays revealed an upper molar (#5) in need of a root canal and a lower molar (#31) whose root canal needed a retreat.  The areas around both teeth were infected.  It was late Friday afternoon and I was to leave on a weeklong trip on Monday.    We decided to aggressively treat the infections with antibiotics (2 pills four times a day) and schedule the root canal when I returned, in 9 days’ time.  In theory, the antibiotics would take care of the infection which would eliminate the pain.
 
The theory did not work.   At 2:00 (a common time to awaken to  ill health it seems) Saturday morning pain caused me to dig through Lance’s medicine and use one of his heavy duty pain killers.    The pain dulled slightly but did not diminish.  On my knees, I plead with my Father in Heaven for relief. 
 
The night before, at Youth Conference, Justin related a personal experience about his interactions with God.   He told how, in his earlier days, he would occasionally bargain with the Lord while hunting, offering to give up a bad habit or start a good one, if God would help him in the hunt.   “I drew out a once-in-a-lifetime elk tag recently,” Justin continued “and there just were not any elk in the area.   I thought about what I could offer the Lord, what I could put on the table in asking for His help, and I could not think of anything.   I am not perfect, not at all, but at this point in my life I am fully committed and I could not think of anything more I could offer God.   As I was pondering, I received a distinct, divine message.   ‘You don’t have to offer anything.’ I was told, ‘I will help you because I love you.’”
 
As I prayed, Justin’s story came to mind.   “Please, Heavenly Father,” I prayed, “I do not have anything I can offer you.  Please, please help me just because You love me.”
 
Despite another dose of narcotic, the pain intensified as did my concern.   There was no way I could wait nine days for relief and I really, REALLY did not want to disappoint my family or family with whom we were traveling, by forcing a delay to our planned Mesa Verde adventure.   What to do?
 
I thought of Paul Mackley.  He and his wife are my friends.   Our friendship began two decades ago when we established the Traditional Family Values Scholarship and continued in the 4-H barns where our children showed hogs.   We see each other only annually at the fair but our interactions are always warm.     And, thanks to our hog interactions, I had his cell phone number.
 
Paul and Karen are wonderful people.  They are also very busy.   He is a dentist, stake president, active advocate of the family and the Constitution and owner of five dental offices and she works full time keeping him and their family going.  Dare I contact him?  
 
At 5:15 a.m. I sent a text, explaining my situation.   It was Saturday. I hoped to leave town on Monday.  My face was swollen and my pain was intense.    Was there anyone in any of his offices who could help me out? 
 
At 10:00 a.m. he called.   “I have to conduct a funeral,” he said, “but if you can wait until 2:00 p.m. I can do it.”     And he did.     Oh bless his heart!  (And his hands!)  He opened his office, he recruited his daughter, who had not acted as a dental assistant for years, to help, and he took care of my teeth.   Karen came by to offer support as well.    It was a true family service project.
 
And the service worked.    I left as scheduled for Mesa Verde, microbes vanquished and health restored.
 
For a month I have been soup--a microbial soup.  It seems God loves soup; He certainly loves me.  I know He loves the Mackleys as well.   And, on Saturday, He loved me through the Mackleys.   Thank you to both.   Sincerely.
 
Teresa

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    Teresa Hislop
    thislop@msn.com

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