In Memory

President Gordon B. Hinckley passed away last night at the age of 97. I love this man. He was sharp as a tack and always had a good laugh to share with others. His life was that of compassion, love and unfailing service to humanity- not just to the church. His life was not his own- he worked tirelessly until his last day here on earth for others. The Lord sustained him through all his life- he was strong and worked unceasingly, traveling all over the world to bless others even in his old age. He never showed signs of giving up or being tired, but carried on always with a loving smile and uplifting words for all of those around him. He was as good an example of charity, good works, love for fellow man and righteousness as can ever be, beside our Lord Jesus Christ, who he held most high and guided us to. He was dearly loved and respected. We are all happy he is again with his sweet wife, Sister Marjorie Hinckley, but he will be sorely missed here below.

Happy trails, President Hinckley. We love you.




On President Hinckley

I imagine he’s running to Marjorie now,
Yes, running, not waving his cane.
I see him embracing his father and mother
While they keep repeating his name.

I see him now meeting his forebears.
Brother Brigham and Joseph are there.
Sweet reunion of prophets, united by service
That only such noble men share.

I see him embraced by the Savior
While Father says, “Good and well done.
So faithful in stalwart endurance, I welcome
My noble [and] excellent son.”

I then hear the ripples of laughter
As he says the reception’s just fine,
But he hopes that he’ll get an assignment or two
Since there’s no need to waste any time.

I can hear his clear voice in the stillness
At the close of this sweet Sabbath day,
Have faith and move forward – there’s work to be done.
President Hinckley would want it that way.

Anna M. Molgard
January 27, 2008

The Next American Metropolis

This is a reaction I had to a section of book written by Peter Calthorpe.

This article covers so much material that condensing my opinions into something concise will be very difficult, as the article touched on many things that I could easily fall into an in-depth discussion about. The creation of walkable communities, balancing the automobile with public transportation, open and public spaces, a connection with nature, mitigating urban sprawl, housing issues, etc., are all issues he [Peter Calthorpe] touched on, and all are issues I have deep concerns about.

One of my favorite issues of these is dealing with the car. The author had an excellent point when he said, “It is time to break the cycle of government investment in an “interstate system: of highways which fundamentally breeds sprawl...Our efforts to improve air quality, preserve...habitat [and] open space...and reduce congestion are constantly contradicted...by these highway investments.” This is so logical! When I read things like this, or talk to others that voice similar opinions in such an articulate manner, I feel my frustration rising. How do planners not see the direct correlation between encouraging the automobile and all our other societal woes? When all of the rest of us know that adding a lane to a roadway will only increase traffic congestion, how is it that they can face us with promises that it will help alleviate the problem?

We need to stop investing in cars. We need to stop building our cities around private transportation. Let’s stop pouring money into wasteful and broken systems. They are no longer even quick fixes, as there are just too many of us to be accommodated by any feasible amount of roadways. It is time to open our minds to other possibilities.

Although, admittedly, I do not know a lot about the new highway the state is planning since it changed from the “Legacy Highway” to its new, more environmentally aware sibling, however, I feel I still have a right to be angered by it. My generation does not want a new highway, yet we are the ones who will have to deal with it, much more than the one currently building it. If my generation does not want it, why is it being built? That gives the lifespan of that project about fifty or sixty years max, but yet we are pouring millions of dollars into it.

What would my generation rather see? Mass transit, walkable communities and safe city travel on our bikes. We want efficient light rail lines to take us where we need to go, bike lanes or paths so we can exercise and enjoy the outside air while commuting, and cities planned around mini-centers so we don’t have to take our cars to the grocery store to load up on supplies for the rest of the week. We want to be able to enjoy our life and not spend countless hours in traffic commuting to our jobs. We want reduced stress and a chance to spend time with family, friends or in recreational pursuits! Why is no one getting this? Isn’t this the same thing the “generation in power” wants as well? If it is, I wish they would show it. I feel as though they are creating huge messes that my generation will have to contend with for the rest of our lives.

My Loud, Crazy Family. My Quiet, Reserved Family.

I was asked to write a little something about my family for a class and I thought I’d just include it here. It’s really for my own benefit.

We have represented, in my family, the Pequot Native American tribe, French-Canadian, and Italian, as well as possibly Cuban (still trying to research that). My father is full French-Canadian- he is a direct descendant from the original settlers to Quebec and moved to the USA when he was in high school.

As far as traditions go, with my father’s side of the family, Christmas, Easter and Thanksgiving have always been large family gatherings. My father has nine siblings who are all very boisterous and have great senses of humor. We usually have huge feasts on these occasions, with the women doing all the cooking (usually my Aunt Andrée) and the guys eating whatever they can here and there before it is all done. There are lots of traditional foods- meat pie, sugar pie and apple tarts with slices of cheddar cheese, to name a few. There is also homemade maple syrup from my uncle’s farm in Quebec. It’s amazing!

After eating the main meal, everyone lingers around for hours to talk about anything that will cause a laugh. As the night wears on, the conversation usually becomes spoken in only French, which leaves the kids pretty much out of the conversation, but we still enjoy being together. There’s always a few Quebecois jigs that happen before the evening is through- in goes a French folk CD and out come ridiculous hats and dance moves.

My mother’s side is more quiet. She is from a small family of four who grew up in Maine. Her two sisters, who she is close to, still live there (my immediate family all lives in Florida, where I was born and raised). We used to Maine quite often. Every time we came they had a huge cookout that consisted of mounds of fresh lobster, crab, fried clams, steamed clams, chowder- pretty much anything that was seafood related. There was a lot of joking around, but with much less silliness. The New Englanders are rather a harsher set of people- although still beautiful and warm-hearted in their own way.

My Hometown and its Community Identity

The neighborhood I grew up in was a rural-ish area of Ormond Beach, Florida (right outside of Daytona Beach). My neighborhood was sort of a narrow strip of land that was separated from other areas by a river on one side and a major highway on the other. This major highway, however, doesn’t see much traffic unless there is a special event. Even so, we never crossed that road, and so were often confined to our narrow strip of land and the river, if we had access to a canoe or our parents took us out on the boat. That being said, we obviously didn’t have high mobility.
There were woods in our neighborhood that we spent most of our time in. There was also a corner convenience store we just called “The Jiffy Store”- I don’t think that was the real name. We walked there on occasion as kids to get gum and things like that. We mostly walked anywhere in our bare feet. Things like that were allowed back then. That store was on our side of the main highway, so it was the closest we ever went to the highway. We didn’t really wander much from our little area of the neighborhood. If it took more than five minutes to walk there, that was usually too far. We spent a lot of time with the kids on our street, in each other’s houses, on the street in our neighborhood, or in the woods. Not too much time was spent in the river as there were lots of alligators, but we didn’t particularly let that stop us, either.
I felt a connection with the area where we got our groceries- it was and still is called “The Trails Shopping Center.” I loved the grocery store- I knew some of the people who worked there. That plaza had everything- restaurants we visited to get lunch, the community rec center with a fantastic playground, and an adjoining subdivision where a few people in my family lived, as well as a few friends from school. This area was about four or five miles from my house, but in my memories, it might as well have been next door- I felt just as comfortable there as I did in my own neighborhood.
I also lived really close to the beach, and we would spend a lot of family time there. There were always certain special events throughout the year that my town would organize. These were events that our family participated in every year, and many of these were held on the beach or near to it. I wouldn’t say I was as comfortable there as I was in the other two areas I have described, but I felt safe for the most part, and it is a huge part of the sense of place I have for Ormond Beach.
I always felt safe in my own neighborhood. We all knew each other, we knew the quirky people across the street, the guy who worked on cars all day in his garage, the families with kids, the neighbors, etc. We walked regularly into these people’s properties and even houses without invitation (well, a polite knock at the door, of course) and talked with them. We were a little wary of strangers who came into our neighborhood (didn’t happen often) and often came up with crazy stories about how they were kidnappers or thieves, or something ridiculous like that. I guess we didn’t like strangers (ha ha).
Traveling anywhere outside of these areas was something I didn’t really like all that much. I didn’t feel comfortable in many other places, especially when we went downtown for anything. There was a lot more crime in those days than there is now, so I think I knew that intuitively. Places were run down (a lot of downtown areas across the country were, at that time), and there were just a lot of people wandering about, not doing much of anything.
As far as icons go for my hometown- well, we are the home of the Daytona 500, one of the largest of all NASCAR races. We also had a lot of Greyhound racing (dog tracks) and Jai-Alai (long since gone). Those were the big things I can remember about my hometown, what it was known for. However, I think it has a much bigger effect on the city now than it did when I was younger. For example, now they have created wonderful entry ways to the city, whereas, when I was younger, it was just a sign saying that you were inside the city limits. Pretty exciting.
The sense of place I had for my hometown was generally good, but it definitely depended on where I was. My neighborhood, the grocery plaza, the beach, my school, etc., were all wonderful places for me. Like I said, however, the downtown/business areas were becoming pretty derelict at the time, and I do not have fond memories of those areas. They have begun cleaning these areas up over the past ten years. It’s been great to see that occurring.

Writing for School

Well, I was asked to record my best writing experience. Since I am lazy about writing, and I figure I can post whatever the heck I want up here, I am just going to put that up. I am planning on printing these out as journal entries (see, I'm lazy) so it will be good to have it written down for that reason.

In junior high I took a creative writing course. My teacher, Mrs. Casserly, required the submission of weekly pieces as well as journal entries. It is in this class that I learned about constructive criticism and how to care about what I put down on paper.

I remember being a little shy about my stories at the beginning of the course. I had always written, but other than my immediate family, my writing had never been viewed by others (with the exception of required school reports and things of that nature). Because my teacher encouraged us to develop the ideas we had, I began to gain confidence in my writing.

Near the end of the term, we were to hand in our "grand finale". It would be the longest written work we had done to date and would expose our abilities as young writers. As I worked on this project, I remember becoming very involved with the plot and its characters, almost as if the story were true. I turned it in and anxiously waited to hear what Mrs. Casserly thought.

We received our graded papers on the last day of class. Each student was handed back their work with a few positive comments accompanying the return. The pile of papers in my teacher's hand grew smaller and smaller until, at last, she was left holding a newspaper.

As my teacher asked for the class's attention, I wondered what had become of my paper. Mrs. Casserly raised the newspaper in her hand to reveal its title: The Highschool Writer. She announced that she had submitted one student's piece to this national publication. The newspaper's mission was to publish outstanding writing pieces from high school students across the country. She walked over to my side and laid the newspaper on my desk. There, on the front page, was my story.

It is not often that I think of this memory. It happened long ago and I'm sure the piece would seem childish to me now. However, I feel this moment in my writing history was pivotal. It changed the way I felt about my stories; it gave value to my pieces. I did not hide my stories from others from that point on, but was excited to share them with whoever wanted to read them; people were clamoring to do so. (ha ha)