Grandma's Legacy

I have never wanted to write a blog post less in my life. I'd give all the cookies in the cookie jar to not feel like I needed to get this out, but, sadly, I cannot.

My dad's side of the family is pretty intense. We're loud, but not rowdy, or rambunctious, we are just loud. We talk loud. We laugh loud. We have differing political views. We're all incredibly good looking. We love good food, and company. We come across a little too strong some times, but we're super loving. We debate, but never hate. We're together all the time. We make jokes about everything. We tell all the stories to everyone. Not in a gossipy way. Just because we're pretty damn funny. It's just what we do. Some people don't have the luxury of having close relationships on a personal level with ALL their aunts, uncles and cousins. I do. I could walk in the front door of any of their houses and start drinking the milk out of their fridge and it wouldn't seem out of the ordinary. I love my family. If you think I have good friends, you wouldn't BELIEVE how great my family is. Quirky. Easy to please. Smart people. Loving. Savage. That's us.

So I hate having to write this blog post, because I am not sure I can ever do my family justice. Not on the whole. Not individually.

I have to try though, at least in my own way. I have a lot to say, and it's going to be kind of word vomited, so just push on.

Tonight I lost my Grandma. Vicki Martin Savage. She was just a couple months short of 73. I'm going to be honest; that's not really old. On Thurdsay night about midnight, I got a call from my dad saying that my Grandma was in Washington (she lives in Utah) and might not make it through the night as her heart condition finally took it's toll.  My super awesome supportive wife packed our bags the next day (though she was recovering from surgery) and steadied me as we drove down to Utah to be with Family. My dad and Grandpa were going to drive her back to Utah if they could.

She took the time to call everyone and I got to tell her about getting straight A's for the first time in my life, and she told me a funny story. She was upbeat. I thought for sure she'd be ok. 11 years ago she was told she had less than a year to live from a dissected  aorta. She's been keeping on ever since. Occasionally things would happen, but she never seemed like she was ill. That's my Grandma. Optimism. Jokes. Playing Rook, or Phase 10, or Skip Bo with us, and playing to win. Always with love. Always laughing, but she did not like to lose.

So Saturday afternoon, I went to go be with my brothers and mom waiting for my dad to return and let us know we could go visit Grandma. When he was less than an hour away, he called and said we'd be able to come by that night as long as she wasn't too tired. They'd been playing word games and telling jokes. They got to the exit just before their home, and with two short breaths, she was gone.

For personal reasons, I won't get into how people reacted, but suffice it to say, many tears were shed, and, in true Savage form, many jokes were told.

So I want to talk really about two important things.

First, what defines my Grandma. She was always nice to everyone. Not in a "I don't say the bad things I think" kind of way. Simply in a "Let's be friends!" kind of way. She embraced the role of Grandma with all the power of her soul. She laughed easily. She told stories. She baked and cooked, and would sneak money and candy to her Grandkids when Grandpa said no. She thought she was stealthy, but, for all her good traits, she wasn't sneaky. She hugged everyone. She loved herself, and her family. She called us on our Birthdays, and would apologize for her singing (which was lovely for anyone, but especially an elderly woman.) She believed in everyone. She knew that if we tried things, we'd find we could do most things. She emphasized kindness. She just loved and loved and loved and loved and loved. She'd talk to strangers all the time about anything that made her laugh. That loving is a legacy that extends to my whole family. We're not perfect.  But I've yet to meet someone who doesn't spend some time around us and feel smothered by love. And teased, but we tease out of love, too. That's the way she was, and that has extended through three further generations.

Second, she had great faith, and I'm glad she did. It is through her line that my family for many generations has been taught the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. By her living her life well, and doing the little things, and teaching us by example that Church attendance, serving others and trying to be like Jesus is important and rewarding, she has left a posterity of children and grandchildren, and in the future many many great grand children who will love and serve their God. I know that there is a literal reuniting of our spirit with our some day perfect bodies of Flesh. Through the Atonement of Jesus Christ, my Grandma, and all of us, will live again.

"If in this life only we have hope in Christ, we are of all men most miserable. But now is Christ risen from the dead, and become the firstfruits of them that slept. For since by man came death, by man came also the resurrection of the dead. For as in Adam all die, even so in Christ shall all be made alive." -1 Corinthians 15:19-22

"I am the Resurrection and the Life; he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live. And he that liveth and believeth in me shall never die. Believest thou this?" - Jesus Christ (John 11:25-26)

I hope that for those of you who have stumbled across my blog by chance, you recognize that there is SO much good in this world. One person has left a huge legacy of good, and each of us can do that. If you don't want kids or a family, it's probably because you're worried that you can't do what this woman did. You can.

And for those of you who know me, my hope is someday to have people read this and go, "You know, Scott sounds a lot like his Grandma." I can do no greater good than loving, serving, and having faith like this great woman, who, someday, I'll see again.

Love you Grandma!. :)

Eye Contact

So there weren't many of them, but I actually have a couple friends that I made before I was in high school. I was kind of an awkward and picked on kid for much my Elementary years. I was LITERALLY the kid who got picked last (if at all) in basketball. I got pushed around. I was pretty dorky looking. I was smart, but had next to no ability to really communicate how I felt and would find myself talking about things that other people didn't care about. So kind of like today, only with the reassurance that at worst, I'll always have my one vote for man of the year, from my adorable wife. She's great.

This post isn't about her though. She and I didn't meet until I was a senior in High School. Nope. This goes back before my wife was even born (Ok, maybe not, but at least before my Big Little Brother was born). This goes back to 4th grade. I met this girl in 3rd grade, and had a huge crush on her. I thought she was the absolute sunshine of the world. Pretty. Smart. Occasionally really nice to me, but definitely too cool for me. I knew it. Her friends knew it. She knew it. But I still liked her.

We'd been in the same third grade class with the best teacher EVER, Miss Ochinario. In 4th grade we had a couple crusty old women for our teachers, Mrs. Howerton and Mrs. Ross (who, to this day scares me.) We had big open class rooms with walls that were probably made out of the highest quality cardboard. There were doors leading to the glorious outside where I would play football or basketball every recess, but no doors in the back of our classes. During this year, at least most of it, I sat in the very back of my class, and this darling of my 4th grade heart sat in the very back of HER class. Each day, I looked forward to the moments when the following incident would occur.

My teacher would turn around and start writing on the board, or telling stories about something I didn't care about. Casually I'd lean really far back in my chair. As I did. I would glance over my shoulder to see if this pretty girl was looking at me. When she wouldn't. I could find myself staring for a decent amount of time. She was really cute after all, and my 4th grade had no greater aspirations than to make eye contact with this girl.

Later I would twist pretending to pop my back or neck or something. To stretch. As I would glance back, it would happen.

This pretty girl would look at me. Right in the eyes. Right through my big bug-eye glasses. She'd be smiling. So I'd do the only natural thing.

I'd turn right back around as fast as I could. Mustering courage, I'd do it again. And again. And again. And the process would repeat. We'd both pretend we weren't looking back. But we both knew.

It's that kind of fourth grade affection that was my cherished memory to share today.

Is it Thursday yet?

So, I'm a bit behind schedule on some of these posts, and I still haven't gotten to "Too Hot!" part II, so my apologies, but this post has been sitting in my mind for a long time.

I think everyone, particularly those of us who don't completely trust our own judgement, needs one of those friends that you can always bounce things off of, and who you know is going to give you the response you need. You know like the friend who laughs at you for your faults instead of encouraging you to be better, or egging you on to be worse. You know, like the friend who listens to every story and gives feedback like she was right there. Like she knows all the people you're talking about, when, you know, she doesn't. Like the friend who occasionally pays for you even though you asked them to hang out with you. Like the friend who isn't afraid to yell at you when you race them on the road, and it's THEIR car that kills. Like the friend who listens to your dreams without laughing. That friend. That friend whose mom loves you dearly, and secretly hopes you'll marry one of her two daughters near your age. That friend who will tell you the right thing, even when they know you won't listen. That's the friend we all need.

I have one. And I call her my twin sister. We both have lazy eyes, and most weeks, we would celebrate our togetherness with half-priced milkshakes at cold stone.

I don't remember how the tradition started, but I know High School wouldn't have been the same without it. Cold Stone Creamery (where I worked for three months, and LOVED) has a deal where every Thursday, you get milkshakes for half the cost between certain hours. It got to the point that the girl behind the counter knew what we were there for each week and would get out a couple blenders as soon as we walked in.

I kissed more girls in High School than I care to talk about to most people. At the time, I thought this was really cool. Now I think that it was cool for the time, but I realize I hurt a lot feelings that way. But, the one constant was that each time I got tangled again, my twin sister would be right there listening to my stories. For a couple years we did this. I knew about her first kiss, and the crappy guy he turned out to be. I knew about her second kiss and the crappy guy HE turned out to be. I knew about her third kiss, and the fact that he was the one. Each time was another milkshake. Sometimes we got adventurous and got fruit smoothies. We'd always tip and try to convince the Cold Stone workers to sing the Banana Song. (If your local cold stone doesn't sing for tips, boycott them until they do. You don't know what you're missing.) But those days were always the best.

Now she's married, and going to school, and working, just like I am, and her spouse, and my spouse. We live in different states. It wouldn't be right to go out just the two of us, and we haven't really seen eachother much since I left on my mission and came home. But those days were some of the best. We all need a sound board. We all need someone to street race in our crappy cars (my MPV and her truck, or her car Mrs. Baretta). We all need someone to laugh and say, "OH my gosh, don't even tell me." when we start dumb stories. We all need someone who gets offended but not in an angry way when we're teasing them. And we all need someone who shows us that our weird physical quirks (lazy eyes?) aren't unique to just us. My twin sister was that, and, even though I never get to talk to her, I'll bet she still is.