A couple of weeks ago, attending Truman Madsen's funeral service, I was struck by the thought that one of the things I would miss most about him was his careful, loving, intelligent way of saying things, a way that made you think about them differently or see them a little more clearly. He was just so brilliant.

And that made me think about, and miss afresh, Elder Neal A. Maxwell. He too crafted all his words, spoken and written, with care and love and intelligence, And often the way he said things made me think about them in a whole new way, unlocking layers of insight and meaning. He too was so very brilliant.

So when I got home, I dug out my new copy of The Neal A. Maxwell Quote Book. This illustrated edition gathers more than 1500 amazing quotations in a gorgeous display book with inspirational paintings. It is a book-lover's treat, a big, beautiful volume with new verbal and visual discoveries on every page. I love having it as a reference work, but I like even better to just sit down with it and spend a few "devotional minutes" thinking about one or two of the quotations. As a lover of words, I find myself easily caught up in Elder Maxwell's eloquent use of them.

I can't resist sharing a couple of my favorites from the book:

"Cain was not Abel's keeper, but he was his brother. Brother and keeper relationships are very different. The former emphasizes concern, the latter control." (This one affects my feelings about my responsibility and role as a mother.)

"If we are serious about our discipleship, Jesus will eventually request each of us to do those very things which are most difficult for us to do." (I think of this one when times seem hard and I need to remember that "easy" is not necessarily "better.")

"Jesus' brief stumbling while carrying the cross is a reminder as to how close to the very edge of our strength God stretches us at times."

"The gravel of grumpiness . . . keeps us off balance and annoyingly turns ankles. Even though we do not fully fall or stumble, we progress more slowly, painfully, and fitfully."

"Parents who crave the approval of their children at the expense of principle will find that they worship a jealous and capricious god."

"What we already know about God teaches us to trust him for what we do not know fully."

Aaagh! I could go on and on. It's just such wonderful stuff!

I miss you, Elder Maxwell. Thank goodness you left such a wealth of writing behind so that we could continue forever to be blessed by your careful, loving, intelligent way of putting things!

You may have read over on LightRefreshmentsServed.com that I recently caved to family pressure and joined a gym. Last week I actually went three times and got in at least 30 minutes of cardio each time, especially the last day when "Hitch" was on the TV and I lost track of how tired I was getting. I started getting pretty excited about making this major life change.

Here's the "but . . . "

I have weighed myself every Monday morning for more than a year now and kept a little log, just to keep tabs on my body and what it was doing with the junk I was putting into it. Today, after the most vigorous exercise week I've had in some time, I stepped hopefully onto the scale to find that I weighed MORE THAN I HAVE WEIGHED IN A YEAR! And a full three pounds more than I weighed last week at this time.

This was discouraging to me at first. In fact, it's still a little discouraging. But then in a kind of random way I was reminded of a friend of mine, a GREAT guy who finally got baptized into the LDS church after a long, long time thinking about it. And promptly had a run of really bad luck. People told him Satan was working on him extra hard because he'd made such an important decision. He decided he wasn't interested in having Satan on his back all the time, so he stopped coming to church and hasn't been back since.

It's not the same thing, of course, but I can't help but compare my situation to his. I haven't gotten any hoped-for results yet, but all the best scientific and research and anecdotal indications are that I have made a good choice that is ultimately going to benefit me. Am I going to abandon an important, even life-changing decision over a little discouraging news from the scale?

No. Not yet.

However, if you have any ideas why I might have put ON weight after exercising, please pass them along. I know muscle weighs more than fat, so don't send me that one, because there's no way I put on 3 pounds' worth of muscle last week. And I don't believe I changed my eating habits; if anything, it seems like I ate less. Anything else come to mind?

In no particular order:

1. Seat belts on airplanes. Someone goes through, I swear, and shortens them all up before we get on board. I always feel an urgency to hide how far out I have to extend the thing to get it around me. 

2. Finding a moldy potato in the middle of a 10-pound bag.

3. Weeds. Particularly the pernicious ones that get right in among the roots of other plants.

4. Having to decide what to fix for dinner every single night. I don't mind the cooking. I just hate the deciding.

5. Fatigue.

6. Getting sucked in to a TV show for an hour and at the end of the hour thinking, "Man, that was a waste of time."

7. Burning the roof of my mouth because I'm too hungry to wait for my pizza to cool. And then having that little flap of damaged skin hanging there right behind my front teeth for several days afterward.

8. Waking up from a nightmare feeling more exhausted from the trauma of the dream than I was feeling  when I fell into bed exhausted from the trauma of the day.

9. Worries that never quite shake themselves loose from my subconscious, even when I know there's nothing I can do about them.

10. Feeling hungry when I know darn well I've consumed enough calories to fill me up and my continued "need" to eat is purely emotional.

What's on YOUR list?

Okay, I'll admit it. "Book of the Week" got to be too much of a commitment for me. It weighed on my soul. What if I didn't get around to posting about a book some week? The pressure was killing me.

But I still want to talk about books I like. So this "feature" has a new name. And I'm starting it out with a book I really like from a new author I hope we'll be seeing a lot more from.

The Hourglass Door, by Lisa Mangum, is a beautifully written YA novel. I keep wavering between fantasy and romance when I try to categorize it. It's what Twilight could have been if you took out the objectionable elements and gave it a serious infusion of literary sensibility. It's intelligent. It's romantic. It's escapist. The writing flows almost effortlessly, the characters are great, the plot is intricate and gripping.

Abby has a kind-of-perfect life: great grades, cute boyfriend, lots of involvement in school. But the predictability of it is starting to get to her. Enter Dante, a foreign-exchange student from Italy who comes to Abby's high school shrouded in mystery. As Abby gets to know him, the mysteries multiply, and she finds herself in a complicated story that has its roots in sixteenth-century Florence.

I loved it. My seventeen-year-old daughter loved it. This is exactly the kind of book I want when I need a kick-back-and-unwind sort of weekend. Good, clean, smart storytelling. Have fun!

So a couple of weeks ago, I was over at the ward with my husband, who was being set apart for new calling, and as I was leaving I heard the bishopric saying to each other, "Let's ask HER. Maybe she'd have a good idea." So they called me over, conspiratorial grins on their faces, and said, "We're thinking of getting the mothers a TOMATO plant this year for Mother's Day. What do you think of that?"

It may have been wrong of me to presume to speak for all the women in my ward, but I told them I thought it was a not-so-good plan. For one thing, now you have automatically expected every woman in the ward (many of whom live in the large apartment complex in our neighborhood) to replant her Mother's Day gift. At least with a flower you can enjoy the beauty in your home for a couple of weeks before you chuck it. A tomato plant imposes either automatic work (put it in your garden now) or automatic guilt (let it wither and die, or save time and just euthanize it on the spot).

"Well, what would YOU buy, then?" the men asked.

Such an easy question. The best Mother's Day premium I had ever gotten, I told them, was when I visited a ward in Seattle and the bishopric just stood at the back of the chapel after sacrament meeting and dealt out large Cadbury bars to the women. No awkward standing in the pew waiting for the young men and young women to figure out you hadn't gotten your plant yet. No juggling the potful of dirt through the remainder of the meetings. No lingering guilt over what to do with the thing once you got it home.

The bishop took the hint, procured several large boxes of Caramello bars, and passed them out in Relief Society, which he taught and which all the women got to attend together because the men took over their positions for the last hour of church. He even made it clear that he was doling them out in plenty of time so the women wouldn't have to share with their kids. He shook each woman's hand individually and thanked her as he handed her the chocolate. It was genius. (The only thing I might have suggested he do differently is maybe have a nice basket or bowl or something instead of just ripping open the boxes at the front of the room and scooping out the bars.) He left us the last 10 minutes of Relief Society to chat and nibble.

Then I went home and crawled into bed for a nap so the kids could bring me lunch in bed, since 9:00 church had precluded the possibility of breakfast in bed on any level. I'd already bought myself a present, so that was all taken care of.

All in all, it was a really good day. Hope yours was, too.

I think I may be losing my mind.

And it's not from big problems. It's from the accumulated effect of a lot of little things going drip, drip, drip on my psyche.

For example, we recently drove down to Springville, Utah, about 40 miles from our house, to see our son and daughter-in-law and their baby in their new apartment, to which they have just moved from Virginia (significantly farther than 40 miles from our house). It's not much of a drive at all. But we did it in my car, which almost never has anyone in the passenger's seat, and discovered that the visor on the passenger's side is broken and will not stay up.

Big deal. Except that I am a tall woman, and if I'm sitting up straight and the visor is all the way down, I can see only about six inches of road slipping past in front of me. This is surprisingly annoying. I have a few choices, and believe me, I employed them all in the hour and a half we spent in the car that evening. I can just sit there and bear it. The challenge with that is that there is a mirror on the back of that visor, and if I just sit there I am consigned to stare at myself in that mirror, which is a hideous experience for me. I find myself noticing all the flaws in my teeth, the hairs on my chin, the unevenness of my complexion. I do not hold up well under this kind of scrutiny.

Alternatively, I can hold the visor up, which I did with one finger for a good portion of the trip. Very wearing. I'm sure this is not good for my carpel tunnels or whatever part of your hand it is that doesn't like to be in one position for very long.

I try to look out the side window, but it impedes conversation and makes me dizzy. I can try to doze off, but for some reason that just isn't working. I am stir crazy by the time we get home.

The next day, a couple of my colleagues from the next floor up show up in my office. They come in and sit down, we exchange a few pleasantries, and finally I say, "So what can I do for you?"

"We don't know," they say. "You called the meeting."

I did. That's very true. And I didn't remember having called the meeting EVEN WHEN MY COLLEAGUES SHOWED UP FOR IT. You'd think their arrival in my office would have triggered something, wouldn't you?

I am so far behind at work that when I get home at night all I want to do is curl up in fetal position and watch old Gilmore Girl episodes that I got from Netflix. And eat chocolate chips. Every pot in my house is dirty. The dishes are okay because they go in the dishwasher, but I always wash the pots by hand because they make the glasses too dirty when I run them in the dishwasher. Dinner is going to have to be something made in the microwave tomorrow because I can't seem to bring myself to wash the cookware.

I made 15 phone calls to try to find a substitute for my Gospel Doctrine class on Sunday because I'm going to be at Time Out in Edmonton. I have known for six months that I would be in Time Out in Edmonton this week. Why did I not get a substitute earlier? Refer to previous paragraph. Fetal position, reruns, chocolate chips.

What could be wrong with me? I'm totally blaming menopause.

Five Reasons I Didn't Want to Get Out of Bed Today:

1. Root canals. I had one yesterday. It hurts.

2. Alzheimer's, Parkinson's, and cancer. People I love are suffering.

3. Cell phone porn. I just read that 11% of junior high school students have sent friends lewd pictures OF THEMSELVES via cell phone. This makes me alternately angry and profoundly depressed.

4. Taxes. I'm still smarting from last week's hit.

5. Deadlines. I'm so far behind I am incapable of doing anything but dodging the inevitable. Hence my posting on this blog when I ought to be editing my little heart out.

Five Reasons I Got Out of Bed Today:

1. Grandchildren. I'm seeing my newest one again tonight.

2. Spring. It is so gorgeous outside today; how could I resist it?

3. Friends. When I hate the thought of coming in to work, I stop and picture the people I'll love seeing there. It makes it seem more bearable somehow.

4. A good novel. Book group meets tomorrow, and although I'm playing catch-up as usual, I'm quite enjoying the book so far.

5. Deadlines. I can't bear the thought of getting any further behind. So I'm off to edit my little heart out now.

All told, I guess the reasons TO get up still outweigh the reasons not to. What do you think?

I have a new way of taking notes at general conference. Instead of trying to capture the essence of what the speakers are saying, I listen for phrases and impressions that have particular meaning to me, and I jot those down. It might be one or two in a talk, or a whole string, or none at all. It might be something that is said or, just as likely, something that comes into my mind as a result of what I heard. I find that it's not necessary to capture what happened; I have the May Ensign for that. What I need is to capture what the Spirit was trying to tell me as it was happening.

As I look back through my notes from this last conference, several things strike me. I've written about some of them more specifically on my group blog, if you're curious. But the one I want to talk about here came not from a conference address but from a song the Tabernacle Choir sang.

Consider the Lilies has always been one of my favorites, but this time the final phrase of that piece just leapt out as if it were on fire:

"He will heal those who trust Him, and make their hearts as gold."

I jotted it down, knowing I wanted to spend more time thinking about what it meant and why it might be a message for me. The tender promise of healing for those who trust the Lord is a precious one, especially as I've actually been exploring in some depth this year what it really means to trust Him. But I'm even more intrigued by what is implied by "make their hearts as gold." Wouldn't you love to have a "heart of gold"? Have you ever seen such a thing as a gift from God, a spiritual gift? Do I acknowledge, humbly and readily, that I need the Atonement to make this transformation in my own heart?

I want to be healed--of so many things. I want to trust Him. And I long for my heart to be as gold. That was the message for me this time around. What was it for you?

When people find out I work for Deseret Book, one of the first things I'm often asked is, "Do you get to work with Sheri Dew?" "Sheri Dew" is generally spoken in awestruck tones, as if she were a superstar. Which, in many ways, she is.

I think we love Sheri Dew so much because, in a world that tends to classify "Mormon women" in certain, very narrow ways, she marches in and smashes all the stereotypes. She is fierce in her defense of the power of women, unafraid to take a strong moral stand, unwavering in her support of Church leaders, and uncompromising in her testimony. And she is articulate. Her skill as a communicator makes her stand out in almost any public setting.

Years ago, I drew the happy assignment of editing one of Sheri's books, and I have been "her editor" ever since. Her most recent publication, Saying It Like It Is, is a bit of a departure from her other titles, though it carries the same persuasive, straightforward sort of tone. You really need to see the book to appreciate it fully, because it is a wonderful blend of beautiful visual images with bite-sized quotations reflecting Sheri's philosophy and understanding. Many of the photos are from her own personal collection, pictures she took herself of loved ones, of meaningful spots in the world, or of "spectacular women" she has encountered in her global travels. (You can click on the link below to see her talking more about this on a local morning news program.)

This is a book to be savored. You can leaf through it quickly, enjoying each new thought, or just read and think about one or two things a day. It's a great jump-start to morning meditation or a nice way to end the day when you maybe don't have the energy to read a long chapter of something but just need a benediction on the day's efforts.

I love this little gem of a book, and I'll bet you will too.

They are jackhammering outside my window this week.

The construction of downtown Salt Lake proceeds apace, and at this time they are tearing out the old concrete footings of a former parking garage so that they can pour NEW footings or a new ramp or something for the upcoming new parking garage that I hope to get some use out of before I retire from this place. I have been relatively resigned to life in the construction zone, though I have to remind myself repeatedly that there are workmen right across the breezeway now, and although they are not technically in my building they can still see me through the window and I ought to think twice about yanking up my skirt to adjust my slip before important meetings. I'm just sayin.

But this newest assault to the eardrums may be the straw that breaks this camel's back. I feel sad for the books I'm working on currently, because my concentration is about as shattered as those concrete footings. Worse, the banging is intermittent, so just when you think maybe they've packed up the equipment and moved on to something else, it starts up again.

Time to consider telecommuting again, I think.