Abigail is mobile. Dangerously so. This message was driven home to us when she found Delores' scriptures. The tale is a good one to tell. Delores had turned to the computer for a moment to e-mail her thesis to herself. This is her method for backing up her work. In the time it took to submit the email, Abigail traversed enough of the room to get to the scriptures and spell their doom.

If mom likes them so much, then I think I will, too. She began to playfully tear out pages and fist them into her mouth. I suppose you might say she was "feasting on the word" (2 Ne. 31:20). Really, it is a heartache to see such a well-loved set of scriptures in such a state, but I cannot seem to suppress a smile.

It has been a remarkable perspective shift for us. We placed furniture in front of the bike, vacuumed, rearranged end tables, vacuumed again. She has taken interest in the power button on our little server. It glows, so why wouldn't she? She is so very curious, and we are very unchild-proof. I have a feeling that there is a great adventure only barely around the corner.

O give me back my prophet dear, And Patriarch, O give them back;

The Saints of latter days to cheer, And lead them on the gospel track.

But ah! They're gone from my embrace, From earthly scenes their spirits fled;

Those two, the best of Adam's race, Now lie entombed among the dead.

These words repeat themselves in my mind sind my dear prophet passed away on Sunday. Gordon B. Hinckley is a man unlike any alive, and had a tremendous influence on my life. He was my prophet most of my natural life. From him, I learned much about living a truly Christian life. I miss him tremendously. I am glad that, at last, he can be with his wonderful wife again and rest from the labors of this life. He was very good to her, and they seemed very much in love.

Farewell, my dear prophet. May we meet again in happier times in the home of our Lord. 

Abigail is over five months old now (Hurray!). She has discovered that she can roll to the nearest plant and wreak havoc, that she can vary the pitch of her voice, and that things like telephones and keyboards have buttons for pushing. It's really quite a delight.

We are also pressing ever deeper into the question, When do we feed her solids? I had no idea this was a controversial battle-ground well worth avoiding, but we're here anyway. We sat at the table, Abigail taking an interest in the food on our plates. I suggested we let her taste some. Delores was doubtful.

We tried giving Abigail a taste of a few foods that we were eating. The first was the avacado. I knew the instant she got the flavor in her mouth that I should have had the camera ready. Her face was wrenched up in nauseous shock with an expression that seemed to scream "That's not MILK!" It was only moments before I caught it all in a handy cloth.

Then, thought I, something milder should do the trick. We had warm mashed potatoes handy, and a put a little on the spoon and into her mouth. That's when the gagging started. "I said, that's not MILK!!!" The gagging throes were so intense I traded the cloth for a bowl in case she succeeded in vomiting her whole last meal.

Delores looked at me with an I told you so look which, in fact, she had. I suppose we shall be content with breastfeeding for a while longer.

Yesterday, we spent the evening together as a family. The game of the evening was a travelling story. The idea was that we would take turns adding a sentence or two to the story without looking back to remember what we had written. Both stories turned out quite funny. This one was my favorite:

Green: Keith. Red: Delores.

There was once a princess named Abigail.

She loved to sing, laugh, and flirt with the cute princes.

There was one prince that was extra nice, named Martin.

Martin lived in a big castle with lots of fast and pretty hourses.

An hourse is a horse that lives for only one hour, from foal to adult.

They came from a land that few had ever visited, and those who had spoke about it in whispers.

Abigail once said to Martin, "Would you take me to the Whispered Lands on a mighty hourse?"

Martin refused, for there were many dangers and some of the bravest knights had been killed or lost on adventures to this land.

Not to mention, it took at least two hours to get there.

So Abigail and Martin dated in their land and are still dating to this day; their parents really hope they'll get married soon! 

It is hard to express how much I love being my child's father. Today, we were listening to the speakers at church. Abigail was nestled in my lap, looking attentively forward, with her arm wrapped snugly around my tie. I felt like she wanted me around. I felt wanted and needed.

She is such a delightful child. When we are playing, she laughs musically. May I never forget how freely she smiles when she presses her hands on Delores's lips, or when she finds something amusing about the way something is, or when she has yet another small victory of growing up.

This has been a memorable winter, one that revitalized the wonder of Christmas, the pleasure of snow, and the thrill of life. That is what my little girl is to me. Pure, thrill of life.

There is little doubt but that my sweet little girl is my lovely wife's daughter. They look so sweet together. I saw the photograph of Delores and thought, for a moment, that I was looking at Abigail.

I asked Delores to help me focus on my priorities this weekend. I am working on my thesis, and needed plenty of quiet time to read articles and whatnot despite the holiday languor that seeped into my bones.

I came home from work, and Delores was away. I sat beside my laptop and saw this note scrawled on the top.

Then, to my wonderment, another note was inside the laptop. This note, printed on a full sheet of paper in large letters with a vigorous exclamation point to boot, said: Keith! Read Your Book!

I suppose I will take the subtle hint seriously. 

We left gifts at our neighbor's door for several days, each day corresponding to one of the Twelve Days of Christmas. Several days into it, Delores paid the family a visit.  She knocked on the door. Our neigbor opened the door and looked at the ground before realizing that Delores was standing there. I suppose they were expecting a doorbell ditcher...

Whodda thunk? 

Shhh! Don't tell anyone I'm hiding out here with my camoflage sweatpants or they might find me...

A while back, I mentioned Kevin's eagle project. Today was the grand ceremony. Keven and two other young men were welcomed to the Eagle's Nest in honor this evening.

The program was very neat. A gentleman brought a live bald eagle, named Liberty, and spoke with us about her and about eagle-ish things worthy of looking up to. He explained to us that Liberty was in captivity because of an injury on a power line years ago. Although in captivity, Liberty's pride was in no respect diminished. She commanded our attention by flapping her enormous wings, sending a powerful wave of air across the entire gym.

Eagles mate for life. When they migrate north to Canada, they always find their way to the exact same nest, and are fiercely loyal to their tiny family. Some aviators have sighted eagles as high as 20,000 feet, and they will at times break into a dive at speeds of over 100mph. They are far-sighted birds, and can recognize a rabbit from two miles away. I felt like this symbolized our desire to look where we are going and see with clarity the things that guide our decisions in life.

During the flag ceremony, I held Abigail in my left arm while my right hand was over my heart. I tried to snag Abigail's right hand with my fingers and press it to her heart. Her left hand was firmly ensconced in her mouth. After the ceremony was finished and we removed our hands, Abigail's right hand quickly went to her side. But her left? Oh no. That was to remain in her cheery, drooling mouth for some time yet.

The Veterans of Foreign Wars presented flags and certificates of honor to the boys. I was touched when these seven men who had served our country, and continue to give service to the community, gave what they felt was their highest honor to the boys. The Vice Commander shouted Present Arms. Each of the seven honorable old men saluted the boys. Order Arms. There was an odd sense of quietness in the air and a peaceful expression on the faces of the boys.

My father, who had visited Scotland with my mother earlier in the year, brought back patches commemorating the 100^th anniversary of the Boy Scouts in Scotland. The patches contained stylized reproductions of scetches made by Baden Powell of the very first Boy Scouts doing their activities. He gave one to Kevin and to each of the rest of us.

That is our last eagle, at least until my nephews come of age. Counting my father there are seven of us now, and a mother who has been a surrogate eagle five times. I've never regretted my eagle, and I am proud of Keven for earning his.