Love at Home

One of my mother's
favorite hymns -

There is beauty all around
There is joy in ev'ry sound.

Peace and plenty here abide
Smiling sweet on ev'ry side.

Time doth softly, sweetly glide
When there's love at home.

In the cottage there is joy
Hate and envy ne'er annoy.

Roses bloom beneath our feet
All the earth's a garden sweet,

Making life a bliss complete
When there's love at home.

Kindly heaven smiles above
All the world is filled with love

Sweeter sings the brooklet by;
Brighter beams the azure sky.

Oh, there's One who smiles on high
When there's love at home.


The Hope Spring Brings . . .

The day
the Lord
created hope

was probably
the same day
he created

- Bern Williams -



Dear Miss March,
You are a fickle month.
Toying with my hopes
of warm days and
blooming flowers
only to dash them
with a fresh,
but temporary,
blanket of
white snow.

I will pull off
my boots and
dust off my
garden books
as I wait,
for you
to make up
your mind.

Nancy B.

March Gladness!

Jason has had 16 years of practice
when it comes to sharing a birthday.
You couldn't ask for a cuter sister
to share the day with!

Our boys basketball team
is complete!

Jason & Kelli found out
the sex of their baby
on March 10th.

Kelli practicing with Baby Asher


(yes, you read that right)
and they're BOYS!

I just happen to know
a great coach &
assistant coach!

Look out Final Four -
our team will be
arriving at the Dance
in 2030.


Announcing the Safe Arrival of . . .

Asher Moroni Borchardt
9 lb. 7 oz.
21 inches long
Dark hair

Very long finger and toe nails
Arrived after 2 hours of
induced labor
and three pushes.
Mother & baby are doing great.


A St. Paddy's postscript . . .

It hit me this morning like a 300 lb. leprechaun (wishing it was gold)! Maybe the Danes (refer to post below) thought Elder W. was selling this -

Which is unfortunate because all Mormons
know that -

And that the reported (and alleged) side effects on the brain are few :)

Hmmm, maybe the Irish would have been more receptive to a man in a green suit.
We'll never know :(


It's Not Easy Wearing Green

While serving his mission in the Danish homeland, Mr. W. purchased a new suit. Being extremely red/green color blind, he was unaware of the fact that his new suit was GRASS GREEN, not an appropriate shade of missionary brown. I am still not clear why his companion did not point out the mistake - very uncharitable behavior in my book - but the fact of the matter is . . . he did not. So Elder W. dutifully put on his grass green suit and knocked on the doors of unsuspecting Danes. Needless to say, Elder W. served two faithful years walking/biking the rolling green hills of Denmark without one baptism.

Upon his return, he enrolled in BYU, began teaching Danish at the brand spanking new MTC and eventually found his true love (me) at a Young Adult activity at Mutual Dell. Fast forward a few charming and love-filled months to our marriage and the combining of all of our earthly possessions including the Grass Green suit (which now sported a matching Grass Green and
yellow striped tie)! I must hand it to Mr. W. - he is very consistent in his color-blindness.

Two things quickly became apparent: First - I'm not sure, but I think that grass green suit could have possibly hindered the success of Elder W. as he knocked on those Danish doors. Would YOU open a door to a 6 foot 2 inch man in a grass green suit? Second - The grass green suit HAD to go. It proudly became our first DI donation as a married couple (I threw in the tie for good measure).

Never would I have anticipated that twenty years later our two boys would bemoan the day I donated the suit but I rest better at night knowing that Mr. W. goes out the door every day color coordinated in respectable shades of navy and gray.

Oh course, tomorrow IS St. Patrick's Day . . . a little green never hurt anyone :)

Legal disclaimer: First, no leprechauns were offended in the making of this entry and, second, I just couldn't resist another look at The Munchin Mayor. Sorry Liz.

Oh, and

Enjoy the green and a moment of silence for those who can't.


American Gothic - Pleasant Grove Gothic

American Gothic

Original seen in Chicago

Pleasant G
rove Gothic
Original seen in Pleasant Grove


Log Cabins and Temples

I have always been amazed and humbled by the lives of pioneer women. You would think that the hard work that was required to meet basic needs would leave no time or energy for these women to create and beautify.

But somewhere deep inside a woman's heart is the need to make any house, even a crude shelter dug into the side of a hill or a blanket spread under a handcart, a home. I can not imagine that after doing all of the necessary tasks to clothe, feed, protect and provide for a family; sitting down with needle, thimble and fabric in hand and carefully pi
ecing a quilt. But then, I can imagine it because I have that innate need inside of me. That after the work is done (and sometimes even when it isn't), to create something tangible that is still there tomorrow after the meal is eaten, the clean clothes are worn and returned to the dirty clothes hamper and more crumbs appear on the kitchen floor.

So it is possible to understand why women with their families uprooted, their hands calloused by hard work and their hearts broken from burying children in shallow graves in the middle of the prairie, would want to take scraps and create something beautiful that would represent warmth and love. Quilts - a metaphor for taking the pieces that God has handed us, carefully fitting them together, adding love for warmth, the strong backing of the gospel, intricate quilting of faithful living and the binding of eternal sealings in the temples of our God.

Last night it was with a humble heart that I recognized the Log Cabin quilt block pattern in the stained glass windows of the Draper Utah Temple. The middle square represents the hearth or heart of the home with the other pieces framing it with strength and protection. Nothing fancy, just straight and true. A tribute to the pioneer women who settled these valleys because they loved the Lord and they followed the prophet.

LDS women, past and present, are not so different after all. We love our families and we love the Lord. It is why, in these beautiful temples dedicated to the Lord as His House, we make sacred covenants in order to be sealed eternally.

On this snowy March morning, wrapped in a quilt with my dishwasher humming in the background, I pay tribute to those pioneer women who worked so hard to create beauty out of hardship and testimony out of trials.


Age Is A State of Mind

Last week our neighbor, Daniel (age 4), came over to play while his mom went to a doctor's appointment. Right in the middle of Winnie the Pooh's Halloween movie he turned to me and asked, "How old are you?"

I truthfully replied, "Fifty-two."

"Are you older than my mom?" he said with a look of surprise and shock.

"Yes, I'm even older than your dad!" I answered back.

This seemed to satisfy, amuse and shock him, all at the same time. A few minutes passed.

"How old are you?" Daniel asked again.

"Fifty-two" I replied.

Deep thought and contemplation set in. "Hmmm, I would have thought you were three, MAYBE four." he announced and then we finished the movie.

I don't know if it's my youthful looks (????), my high energy (????) or my immaturity that pegged me for three, maybe four. Unfortunately for me, Daniel, I'm probably pushing FIVE, maybe SIX, in dog years for sure.

Daniel has mastered the age/weight compliment that requires that whenever you guess a woman's age or weight, ALWAYS go LOW in your estimate. It's a lot easier (and safer) to guess up than to apologize!

Oh, to be four again. Daniel, thanks for making my day! You're a charmer already.


Daffodils & Courage

Last November, as our first blizzard was rolling in, I planted another 150 daffodil bulbs to add to the ones my dad gave me the year before for my birthday. Yesterday, I conducted a grand inspection of my yard (did I mention I LOVE having grass even if it's matted from the neverending snow). As I found my brave daffodils peeking out of the newly de-snow covered ground (this is a 'Fancy Nancy' word), I realized there are lessons to be learned from these brave little buds.

Daffodils do not wait for the predictable days of summer in order to emerge. Rather, they are willing to face the bareness of February, the winds of March and the late snowstorms of April. Their backbones/stems are straight and strong. Their color reflects the hope of spring and the warmth of the returning summer. Even their shape seems to trumpet 'SPRING IS BACK'! Not to mention deer hate them (maybe I was on the daffodil committee too!). They represent courage and optismism following a long winter. They provide hope for warm summer days eating tomatoes out of our gardens. Daffodils make you want to go out and buy a pair of summer sandals and dust off your bud vase.

So, as I pondered daffodils and courage, I came to this conclusion. Courage is not determined by who wins the 'war' but rather it is revealed by who is willing to join the fight. Many courageous people have fought and 'lost' the battle but, in the eternal scheme of things, each one can say "I have fought a good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith: Henceforth there is laid up for me a crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous judge, shall give me at that day: and not to me only, but unto all them also that love his appearing." (2 Timothy 4:7 & 8)

It is not a coincidence that the daffodil has been chosen to represent hope for those battling breast cancer. And I think it is not a coincidence but rather a tender mercy that daffodils bloom at Easter time.

Yesterday, my daffodils taught me about courage and being willing to serve on the 'front line' of the assault on gloom and despair.

To Rose, Helen, Dayleen, Vickie, Shirley, Jeanne and others who have 'fought a good fight' in their battle against breast cancer - Thank you for showing us what courage looks like. My daffodils would be proud!


The Broadmoor

She asked.

He said 'Yes'.

Anyone for a chorus of 'Sunrise, Sunset?'
My baby girl is going to Morp.

Hmmm . . . just one thing left to decide - which mom gets to chauffeur our newly minted drivers/daters.