CHRISTMAS MUSINGS

There isn’t a mother alive who doesn’t think she’s Superwoman a month before Christmas. If there are 30 days left, mountains of things can be accomplished---she thinks.

It will be a snap to do the shopping, baking, sewing, gift wrapping, tree and house decorating, entertaining . . . my goodness, 30 days is plenty of time to get all of these things done. Somehow, a memory lapse has occurred, temporarily blocking out the fact that there will still be dishes, cooking, laundry, house cleaning and changing diapers---all the normal chores that take 24 hours a day plus an 8-hour a day job away from home.

She envisions how cute the kids would look in new home-sewn flannel pajamas for picture-taking on Christmas morning. And, she just bought the darlingest material to make matching outfits for the kids to wear to the family Christmas party at Grandma’s. She’s just got to try those new cookie recipes in Better Homes and Gardens and this is the year she has decided to try her hand at dipping her own chocolates.

Temporary insanity takes over just after Thanksgiving and mothers forget the age-old phenomenon which gives the days between Thanksgiving and Christmas only 20 hours each. Not until after Christmas do days go back to their normal 24 hours.

Mothers wonder why each child’s school Christmas program is on a different day. Why can’t they all be on the same day? She has forgotten that it was the same last year. (Well, maybe she’d better stick with the old standby cookie recipes.)

Darn it! Why did little Susie have to get the stomach flu right before Christmas? That shoots another day and a half. (Perhaps dipping her own chocolates wasn’t such a good idea this year.)

Her husband belatedly informs her he has promised his boss four of her homemade apple pies for his company party. (Oh well, the kids can wear the clothes they wore on the first day of school for the party at Grandma’s.)

Someone calls to remind her of the two loaves of homemade bread and a pan of cinnamon rolls she promised for the church bake sale and Christmas party. (Some of the cookies in the bakery case at the grocery store will have to do for unexpected guests---if she serves them with her special hot wassail.)

Finally, her very best friend calls and asks for help with a Sub-for-Santa project. How can she say no? (While she says “yes,” she tries to decide which pair of the kids’ pajamas has the fewest holes to wear on Christmas morning.)

Mothers are lucky to get the shopping done at all and she decides at 3:30 a.m. Christmas morning that the toys will look very festive under the tree---without being wrapped. (As it is, she rarely gets to bed before 5:00 a.m. Christmas morning and the kids wake up at 5:30.)

So, Dad . . . after all the presents have been opened, dinner has been eaten and all the company has gone home, if Mother collapses in bed, don’t be too hard on her. Pamper her by putting the kids to bed. While she sleeps, dreamless, in total exhaustion, you can smile, secure in the knowledge that she really is Superwoman.

[I wrote the above article for a writing class when I had young children. It pretty well described my life at the time. After Jack and I moved to the Lake Powell area, I submitted an article to the local newspaper in Page, Arizona and also to the newspaper in Kanab, Utah. They liked my style and asked for weekly articles. I wrote for both newspapers for a few years in the late l980’s and early 1990’s. I dug this one out of my material from my writing class, submitted it and it was published December 17, 1990, under “MUSINGS by Marilyn Ehlers.”

It occurred to me that most of you do not know about that particular time of my life and I thought you might find this article amusing. If you do, I can, from time to time, share some of the other articles I had published.]

December birthdays: Happy Birthday to Jack, December 11th; Bret, December 21st; Jackie, December 22nd; Nathan, December 25th; and Kadi, December 31st. Hope you all had/have a wonderful day. I love you all.

I AM THANKFUL FOR . . . . . . .

The holidays officially begin for me on November 1st and will continue until Valentine’s Day. I’m not a Halloween person so I wait until the foolishness of Halloween is over and then my brain goes into HOLIDAY MODE. I’m not physically able to do, nor will I have the opportunity to do all the things I used to do but my brain does not know that yet. So, in my mind, I plan to do everything. And, you know what? It’s okay to celebrate in your mind. Since November 1st, I have been thinking of all the wonderful, beautiful, memorable things I have had in my life and how thankful I am to be me. Overall, I am a very happy person. No, everything has not always been perfect. It is not perfect now and may not be perfect in the future. It just that I have learned neither to dwell on nor remember all the negatives that have reared their ugly heads from time to time. I have learned that a person can be just about as happy with his/her lot as he/she wants to be. Sure, I’m aware that there are wife beaters in the world. There are child molesters and monsters of other descriptions. They need to be dealt with in swift fashion. No one should ever have to put up with that sort of thing.

I was never beaten by my husband. He was pretty rough on some of our kids and for that I’m truly sorry. I wish I could have done more to protect them. But I did try to discourage him from taking his anger out on the kids and we all learned to do what we had to do to survive. I loved my kids and did all I could to protect them. I rarely ever sent them to their father to ask his permission to go somewhere or do something. I made those decisions and sometimes neglected to tell their father just exactly what the kids were doing. He was never easy to live with and sometimes he was unkind, but I chose to be happy with whatever circumstances I found myself. Yes, I have complained from time to time but I chose to think happy thoughts and not let the negatives take over my life.

Why am I telling you all of this? I am so thankful for the many good things in my life that I’m going to share some of them with you.

I am thankful for my faith in God. I’m thankful for a discerning mind that has been able to comprehend the Plan of Salvation and to know and appreciate the truthfulness of the Gospel. I am thankful that I know there is a hereafter where I will be able to associate with those with whom I’ve been privileged to mingle and love in this life.

I’m thankful for the children to whom I gave birth. Knowing what I know now, I would do it again and be thankful for the blessing. I’m thankful for the grandchildren they have given me and the great, grandchildren who have and will come into my life.

I’m thankful for the talents I have been given. I’m thankful for the opportunities I’ve had to share my talents. I only hope the talents I have been given have uplifted others and have, perhaps, given others hope and a realization that they can do good things.

I’m thankful for the opportunities I’ve had to do good things and help others. My personal preference is that I can do something for someone without them knowing it was me.

I’m thankful for the health I’ve enjoyed most of my life. I’m still reasonably healthy but I move more slowly than I used to. My brain still works most of the time and for that I’m REALLY thankful.

I’m thankful for a warm home that I love and to live in a town that I also love. I’m thankful for the people around me who care about me and are happy to see me. I’m thankful for little children who brighten my life when they run up to me at Primary and say, “Maolin, I love you.”

I’m thankful for my life’s experiences: Some great and some not so great. But the combination makes up who I am. I’m thankful for the wonderful things that have been invented to make our lives richer and more meaningful---and more comfortable.

I’m thankful for the wisdom of my children who help me make difficult and sometimes painful decisions. I’m thankful that Jack is where he can get the care he needs from people who do it lovingly and patiently.

I’m thankful for my love of reading and that I now have time to indulge that love. I’m thankful for the sun that shines in my bedroom windows in the mornings and for the moon that rises (also in the east) that I can enjoy at night when I go to bed. I’m thankful for cool nights all summer that make sleeping so pleasant just by opening windows and not the artificial coolness of an air conditioner --- although, I should clarify that by mentioning how much I appreciated air conditioning when we visited Arizona and other warm places.

I am thankful for thunderstorms and rainbows. I am thankful for the smell of new mown hay. I am thankful for the bleating of newborn lambs. I am thankful for “Indian Summer” days in the autumn and for the smell of lilacs wafting on the breeze in the spring. I am thankful for family get-togethers --- whenever they happen. I am thankful for newly fallen snow. I am thankful for the Wayne County Fair in August with all the accompanying hoopla and fun. You all should come to Loa and share the Fair with us. You would have a great time. I’m thankful for all of you and I love you all.

THE FOX IS IN THE CHICKEN COOP

The Islam Nations will finally have one of their own in the United States White House. Too bad. The people of this country need to be very watchful and careful in the days and months to come. Most people will not be watchful because they think they have elected a Savior. In my opinion, they have elected a traitor. So sad!

PRICES THEN AND NOW

After going to the grocery store again I am sadly aware of how little I bring home compared to amount of money I give them. A couple of “older” folks and I were reminiscing about the “good old days” and it occurred to me that you may get a chuckle at the prices I paid for groceries and other things when I was a young bride. There’s nothing to chuckle about the prices we pay now. Of course, we have to take into consideration the difference in wages paid then and now.

Actually, I think I’ll begin with the price of my wedding dress. I couldn’t afford a fancy, expensive dress and neither could my parents. I was living with my sister, Grace, her husband and their two kids, Rick and Eileen. We had a next-door neighbor who was an excellent seamstress. Grace and Afton were really good friends and we had done quite a few things together. Afton asked me if I’d like to buy the fabric for my wedding dress and have her sew it and that would be her wedding gift to me. My goodness! Yes, indeed! You betcha! That sounded wonderful to me. Grace and I went to a fabric store and they had taffeta on sale. Taffeta was what I had hoped to get. We chose a pattern that I loved. It was quite plain and simple. We bought the taffeta, the lace for the insert and collar and the pearl buttons for the sleeves. It came to the grand total of $12.00.

Immediately after our reception (we got married on Jack’s “boot leave”). Jack was in the Marine Corp and only had about ten days leave so we had to pack our things after our reception and get on the road to California. He was to be stationed at the El Toro Marine Corp Depot near Santa Ana, California. (I understand that now El Toro has been closed down.) We couldn’t find an apartment in Santa Ana so we just started driving south on the main highway. As we drove, we saw a “Furnished Apartment for Rent” sign in Newport Beach so we stopped and were able to rent the apartment and move right in. Everything we owned was in the car so why not? We had a nice furnished apartment with a kitchen, living room with a bed that pulled down out of the closet, a huge closet and for heaven sake, it had a bathroom. No outhouses for us. The kitchen was very nice with plenty of room and the living room was huge. We paid $50.00 a month for that apartment. And, there was a bonus attached. The beach was about 300 feet from our back door.

I should mention, here, that I had a job as a statistical typist with an insurance company before we got married. I was paid the enormous sum of $120.00 per month. If I had been a man I would probably have been paid at least $50.00 more a month. In those days women were second-class citizens and it was a widely held opinion (among the men of the world) that a woman was not worth as much as a man---even though they may have been doing exactly the same work. Go figure!

I don’t remember, exactly, how much Jack was getting as a PFC in the Marines, but $150.00 a month rings a bell. As his wife, I got $50.00 per month. Hey, $200.00 per month was enough, if you were careful. Jack had to drive to the base five days a week so we had to buy gas at 19 cents a gallon. I don’t remember too much about food prices in California so I will skip ahead to Georgia for that.

We had only been in California five weeks when Jack got his orders to go to Korea and they gave us eighteen days leave before he had to report to the base to leave with the troops who were going. Of course, they were to travel on a ship. I stayed in Salt Lake City with Jack’s parents, who very generously invited me to stay in their home for the duration of Jack’s time in Korea. I got my second job at that time at the LDS Church Welfare Department and I was an all around secretary for two men and sometimes three. I was paid $130.00 per month. But, hey, with my $50.00 stipend from the Military, I thought I was rich. I should mention that Mom and Dad Ehlers wouldn’t allow me to pay board and room. Before I got married I bought a sewing machine for $120.00. I paid $10.00 down and was to pay $10.00/month until it paid. Also, I had a ton of dental work done in the summer of 1951. I don’t remember the total on that---probably about $250.00 or $300.00 and I was paying that at $10.00/month. Inasmuch as I was paying no rent or buying food, I was able to pay off the sewing machine early as well as pay off my appreciative Dentist. At that point, we were totally out of debt.

Jack came home from Korea as a Sergeant with a pay raise, and was assigned to the Marine Base at Quantico, Virginia for OCS training. I stayed in a “Tourist Home” at $10.00 per week for five weeks until his training was complete and then we, thinking Jack would be staying at Quantico for a time, rented an apartment. It was furnished. It had a bedroom, living room, big kitchen and, of course, a bathroom. We paid $55.00/month for that one but we only got to stay in it for a week. Jack was reassigned to the Marine Base in Albany, Georgia and was advanced to the rank of Staff-Sergeant (with another pay raise) for the duration of his time in the Marine Corp. Again, we paid $50.00/month for a huge kitchen, a big living/bedroom, a really big closet and—ta-da! A bathroom!

We were in Albany for just a little less than one year. It was an interesting time and I was able to learn more about cooking, sewing and many other things. We made a monthly budget. We allotted $10.00 per week for groceries and that included laundry soap, shampoo, hand soap, dish soap, toilet paper, etc. Amazingly, $10.00 was ample. AND, we frequently fed the Elders. For a couple of months there were four Elders in the area and we fed all four a couple of times a week. Of course, we rarely had steak. Steak was almost $2.00 a pound and we figured it was too expensive.

Bread was 10 cents a loaf. Margarine was 10 cents a pound. Ground beef was 15 cents a pound. They had really fresh fish at the market where we shopped and we could get White Fish at 10 cents a pound. It was scrumptious. I used to make a bread dressing and stuff the fish, I’d place the extra dressing underneath the fish while it baked. Fish doesn’t take all that long to bake and it was quite an elegant dish. I suppose I served potatoes of some kind plus a vegetable and dessert. We almost always had dessert in those days. I usually did the fish on Wednesday and generally there were enough leftovers for dinner the next day. The Elders dropped in one Wednesday so that’s what we served them. They really liked it. I guess I mentioned that I usually cooked fish on Wednesday. After that, they were frequent Wednesday visitors. We loved their company and were happy to have them come. Of course, there were a few other members in Albany, so the Elders were often invited to two or three other member’s homes. Usually there was enough fish left over that we could have leftovers the next day.

Fresh fruit and fresh vegetables were five or ten cents a pound. Milk was 10 cents a quart. However, we usually drank reconstituted dry milk because it was cheaper. I always hated it but I drank it—if I drank milk. It was not as good as what I drank when I was growing up in Blanding. We didn’t drink skim milk. We either made cottage cheese from the skin milk or we fed it to the pigs. I was used to cream on my cereal and whole milk to drink. I refuse to drink skim milk now. It just looks like blue water to me.

Most of the canned products were 10 cents each. Sugar and flour were inexpensive. I made a lot of cookies and I learned to make pie crusts from scratch so we had pies but I was never successful at making cakes in Albany. I knew how to make cakes (from scratch) in Utah but not in Georgia. I’m sure it was the altitude difference. I didn’t know enough about cooking to know that. If there had been cake mixes, the directions would have been listed on the box and it would probably have been okay. I should mention here that with my mindset in those days, using a boxed cake mix would have been “cheating.” I made almost everything from scratch. I didn’t make bread, although I knew how to make bread.

I made puddings and other desserts. I tried new recipes. I read recipe books like novels.
With all the desserts I cooked, I still lost 15 pounds that year. When we arrived in Georgia I weighed 135. When we left I weighed 120. I was too thin. I felt better at 128 to 130.

And, I have to tell you about the watermelons! Spring begins early in the South. By late May we could buy freshly picked watermelons. The farmers would rent a corner lot in two or three spots in Albany (the same lots that had trees on them at Christmas). Those watermelons were absolutely enormous. At the beginning of the season they were $1.00 each. After about three weeks, they went down to 75 cents each. Three weeks later they were 50 cents each. Three weeks later they were 25 cents each. Huge, huge watermelons for 25 cents. Finally, they were 10 cents each. I guess the summer of 1953 I finally had all the watermelon I wanted for one summer. They were so juicy, sweet and delicious they were almost decadent. We kept one shelf in the refrigerator saved for watermelon. Those watermelons were a wonderfully cool treat during the hot, humid days of summer in Albany---with no air conditioning.

The Marine Base in Georgia was just being built when we went there. They didn’t have any base housing so we lived off base. There was also an Air Force Base in Albany. They did have base housing for their people. We were quite happy with the apartment we had except for the cockroaches. They were horrible. At that time I didn’t know there were people who came around to exterminate bugs. I didn’t know about exterminators for many years. Anyway, the Marines had bought a huge pecan orchard and were going to knock all the trees down. They told all of us we could have as many pecans as we wanted. I believe I have already told you about the pecans. But the Christmas time we were in Albany, we made batches and batches of chocolate fudge. We enjoyed a lot of it but we fixed nice boxes for our friends and that’s what we gave them for Christmas. We were a good team when it came to fudge. I didn’t have any “easy” or “fast” recipes for fudge then. I had Jack’s mother’s recipe. Apparently Jack had helped make fudge at home. I would measure all the ingredients, put them in the pot and tend it while it cooked. After while I’d get a cup with cold water and drop a drop of fudge into the water; I’d take it to Jack for testing. He’d get it between a thumb and a finger and roll it a little bit and tell me it wasn’t done, yet. In another couple of minutes I’d do it again. He’d check it and determine that it was still not ready. (It had to be cooked to the soft-ball stage.) By the third test, it was usually done. I’d have a roaster pan buttered and ready to pour the fudge into and then Jack would beat the fudge until his arms were tired. He’d let the fudge set for a short time and it would suddenly be ready to mold. In the meantime, I chopped pecans. Jack would get margarine all over his hands and begin to mold a portion of the batch. When he had it sufficiently softened he’d flatten it out a little and I’d pour pecans into the fudge. Then he’d mold the pecans into the fudge. We’d do that with each portion of the candy until we had nice fudge rolls about 2 inches in diameter and eight inches long. We’d put all the fudge rolls into a pan; cover it with waxed paper (we didn’t have plastic wrap or aluminum foil); put the lid on tight and by morning that fudge was heavenly. It’s been a long time since I’ve taken the time to make that kind of fudge. Generally I do the “quick and easy” variety. Quick and easy is good, some of it is very good, but it isn’t as wonderful and the kind I used to make.

We did a good bit of traveling while we were in Georgia. We would go sight-seeing to various places. We always attended the District Meetings for Church. It was great fun and we met a lot of lovely, friendly, kind and generous people. One family invited us to come to Valdosta, Georgia and go fishing with them. After we caught a bunch of fish we had a huge fish fry and invited friends of theirs. It was a fun party. Others would invite us to dinner occasionally. We traveled to various “Gold and Green Balls.” For those of you who don’t know what a “Gold and Green Ball is: It was a tradition, at that time, to have a big, formal Church dance in the spring of each year. In those days, everyone danced. It was customary for people of all ages to come to these lovely dances. They usually had a live orchestra that played real music. In the middle of the dance they’d have a nice program and there were refreshments. We always had to travel to go to these dances in Georgia so somebody would say, “Come stay the night with us.”

When we went to the District Conferences, there would be a meeting in the morning and another in the afternoon. We’d take a couple of hour break between meetings. Those Southern ladies would bring out the food for lunch. It was always Potluck and it was always magnificent. I’m telling you, those Southern women were first-class cooks. They would put out a beautiful and bounteous spread for all to enjoy. We’d fill our plates and sit on blankets on the grass under the trees and enjoy.

We didn’t worry about money for the gas. It varied between 19 and 29 cents a gallon. Never more than 29 cents. Most of the time it was less. Our car got pretty good mileage. We drove a 1947 Dodge four-door sedan.

We could go to an occasional movie at the Air Force Base and the cost was 10 cents each. Of course, movies in the City of Albany were 25 cents but on Military Bases they were always inexpensive entertainment.

I bought fabric and sewed dresses for me and shirts for Jack. Fabric was about 15 to 25 cents a yard. With thread, trim, buttons and whatever else was needed I don’t think my dresses ever cost more than $1.50. I made some really elegant “western” shirts for Jack. They had piping around the collar, cuff, pocket flaps and down the front by the buttons. I think they probably only cost about $1.25 each. To buy a fancy shirt like that now, I suspect you’d be paying upwards of $150.00 or more. There were 18 buttons on each shirt. I sewed every buttonhole by hand. They were gorgeous.

I hope you’ve enjoyed my little reminiscing trip into the past. I realize women can generally make as much as men these days (although occasionally someone brings inequities in the male/female pay scale out into the open), and what you make now is a whole lot more than we were making in the l950’s. It’s quite funny to see the comparison. Oh, I do have one more story. We finally did splurge and buy steak one time in Albany. As I said, it was almost $2.00 per pound. I don’t think we bought a whole pound---just two small pieces. We really planned carefully for that meal. I cooked dinner and everything was just perfect. Just as we were sitting down to the table the Elders drove up. Our only option was to set two more places and share. I can truthfully say that even with cutting our small pieces of steak in half, we had all we wanted. When we were through we looked at each other and commented on the big piece of steak we had eaten. It was almost like the story of the fishes and the loaves.

November birthdays: Happy birthday to Danielle, November 13th. Hope you have a wonderful day.

I love you all.

I AM IN MOURNING

No, silly! Jack is safely alive in the Care Center in Richfield. I am mourning the death of Paul Newman. I have been enamored of him since the 50’s. How could anyone not be in love with that beautiful face and those magnificent blue eyes? But he adored Joan Woodward. I wouldn’t have stood a chance. One time a reporter asked Paul why he never strayed. Paul’s reply was classic: “Why should I dally with hamburger when I have steak at home?” (I may have paraphrased that a little.)

When Tal was in the play “West Side Story” I watched him on stage and the thought crossed my mind that he resembled Paul Newman. I didn’t tell him my thoughts for quite some time because I assumed, perhaps, he would not like me telling him he resembled an “old” man. Finally, I told Tal I hoped he would not be offended but I thought he looked like Paul Newman. He just laughed and said, “Oh, I’ve heard that before.”

Well, enough of that! I have had an eventful month. As you know, I drove to Cedar City to visit with Patti, Dave and Danielle. I was fortunate to be able to watch Danielle’s High School Varsity soccer game. I had been wishing I could see her play and it was wonderful. Of course, I knew nothing about soccer but Patti was well qualified to fill me in on what was happening and when Danielle’s team won---that was an extra bonus. Very exciting! Dusty came to the game and brought his current “squeeze” Vanessa. Cute girl and very nice and feisty. I’ve been home for a couple of weeks so I don’t know whether they are still hanging out together. It was great to see Dusty again. Dave came home from Vernal late Thursday night and I had a couple of nice chats with him. I love that guy. Patti was the perfect hostess and it was so good to have a chance to visit with her again. I really do have unusually special children---all of them. I have been greatly blessed.

Patti already told you she took me to see Shakespeare’s “Julius Ceasar.” Fred Adams gave us an overview of what the play was about and in doing so, he quoted some of the more famous lines in the play. I remembered that I had heard those lines from my mother-in-law. For those of you who do not know, Thelma Ehlers was Jack’s mother. While Jack was in Korea I lived with Jack’s parents (at their request) and it was a wonderful time for me. Mom and Dad Ehlers were very good to me and I loved them very much. I always loved them a lot. I was much closer to her than I was to my own mother. Grandma and Grandpa Ehlers did seem to favor their two daughters’ children more than mine and that irritated me, but they were good to me, personally. I always tried to be good to them, as well.

While Patti and I were sitting in the theater before the play started, I told her some things about Grandma Ehlers and her love of all things Shakespeare. Patti said she never knew those things about Grandma Ehlers and was quite amazed at what I told her. It occurred to me that all of you might want to learn more about one of your ancestors so that is what I will focus on in this chapter.

Years ago, before we began having the three-hour “block” meetings on Sunday, we had Priesthood Meetings, Sunday School and Sacrament Meetings on Sunday. Relief Society was held on Tuesday afternoons at 2:00 p.m. Tuesday evening we had M.I.A. (Mutual Improvement Association—now known as Young Men and Young Women). Primary was on Wednesday afternoon at 2:00 p.m. during the summer and right after school during the winter. That was the schedule if there was only one ward in a Chapel. Of course, if there was more than one ward in the building the schedule was different for the other ward. As I recall, they would have one schedule for a year and then change with the other ward for a year.

Today, I will focus on Relief Society. The first week of the month the lesson was spiritual. The second week was homemaking and we always had a light lunch. The third week we had lessons on human relations that dealt with most of the situations people encounter in life. (I gave those lessons for about 12 years: first, in our Ward in Sandy, then in Garden Heights South Ward where we lived while our home was being built, and when we moved into our home I received the same calling in the Garden Heights North Ward. It was very educational for me and though it was a huge undertaking every month, I thoroughly enjoyed the challenge.) The fourth week was devoted to literature for 10 or 12 years. Grandma Ehlers was called to do the literature lessons in the Garden Heights North Ward. She was absolutely perfect for that job. She was imminently qualified. I don’t remember all of the authors we studied but I do remember that three years were set aside to study Shakespeare. Fortunately, for me, we didn’t begin to study Shakespeare until after we had moved from Sandy. Obviously, Garden Heights South Ward Relief Society was on a different day than Garden Heights North and I began attending Grandma Ehlers lessons on Shakespeare. That woman was a wonder. She was very well-read and well-spoken and she loved Shakespeare. I wouldn’t dare suggest that all the wards in the Church had GREAT teachers like Grandma Ehlers but we really “lucked out.” I’m reasonably certain that the classes Thelma Ehlers taught were equivalent to what we may have gotten if we had been studying literature at a University. Her classes were always packed.

Some of her lessons stand out more in my mind than others. I remember when she did Romeo and Juliet. She did the entire balcony scene from memory. It was incredible! She had studied Shakespeare enough that she understood it very well and if there were passages that were not easy for a lot of people to understand, she could explain those passages.

I remember the day she did Julius Caesar. She told the story and recited the speeches that Fred Adams recited to us before the play began. As Fred Adams spoke I realized that I was remembering those same speeches from Grandma Ehlers’ lesson. The lessons she taught are probably as close to a course at a University as I will ever get. Grandma always thought that Shakespeare must have been very familiar with the Bible because he echoed many things from the Bible in his own writings. He touched on the evils of murder, greed, infidelity, jealousy, theft, etc., etc. Several times she mentioned that if you want to know right from wrong and can't seem to get through the Bible, just read the works of Shakespeare. I have thought, on occasion, that it probably wouldn't be any more time consuming to read the Bible than to read the entire works of Shakespeare but, at least, it offers an alternative.

I must tell you one more thing about Grandma Ehlers. She had a very subtle sense of humor. What I am about to tell you occurred several years before she began teaching the literature lessons at Relief Society. I became pregnant with Bret in March of 1957 and gave birth to him December 21, 1957. In March of 1958, I became pregnant with Jackie and gave birth to her December 22, 1958. Yes, one year and one day apart. Near the end of February, 1959, my mother-in-law called me and said: “Marilyn, beware the Ides of March.” For those of you who do not know---“Beware the Ides of March” is a line from Julius Caesar. It was just a reminder to me that she was thinking of me and I smile every time I think of it. Patti was born May 27, 19661. No more December babies. Shanna was born 14-1/2 months after Patti, August 12, 1962. And, of course, Tal was born almost five years later on July 25, 1967. As you can see, I took Grandma Ehlers’ advice.

Grandma Ehlers was 5’ 2” tall and she was a little “spitfire.” She obtained her driver’s license and drove their car a couple of times. One day Grandpa asked her to back the car out of the driveway and drive it down the street to pick him up. He walked down the street to turn off the irrigation water for someone. Grandma backed the car out, drove down the street and right into a ditch. Grandpa was pretty proud of his car and was a little upset that she drove it into the ditch so he yelled at Grandma. Grandma vowed that she would never drive again and she didn’t. He spent the rest of her life driving her to the grocery store (and other places) then he’d go home and wait for her to call (she’d use the phone in the grocery story—no cell phones). When she called, he’d stop whatever he was doing, get in the car and go get her. I don’t think he ever yelled at her again. How’s that for women’s lib?

Grandma was very artistic. She was a fantastic seamstress and a great cook. I lived with them for about six months and during that time she taught me many things including how to sew and how to cook. She had Jack’s sister, Elaine, type a lot of her recipes and sent them to me after Jack came home from Korea and we went back East to Quantico, Virginia, where Jack was to be stationed for the next couple of months. Many of the things I learned from her have been invaluable to me. She was a great lady. She died in March, 1981 at 76 years of age. She had breast cancer but she died of a heart attack. The doctor discovered that she had breast cancer but they didn’t treat it because her heart was so bad he figured her heart would quit before the breast cancer became a problem. That is exactly what happened. The day she died, Grandpa had fixed her a sandwich. She was sitting at the table eating her sandwich while he got his own sandwich. He heard her say, “Oh, Arnold, I feel so dizzy.” He dropped everything and ran over to her just in time to catch her as she fell to the floor. He laid her down, carefully, and she was gone. A few minutes later he called us at the office and told us she had just died. What a way to go! That’s how I’d like to leave this world: Quickly and with grace.

There was something else I was going to tell you in this chapter but it slips my mind at the moment so I will stop now. My goodness! How will you all stand it? It’s rather short, for me.

September birthdays: Taylor, September 10th; James, September 15th; Eric, September 25th, Davey and Kammie, September 26th.

October birthdays: Heidi, October 3rd; Zac, October 13th; Kacie, October 26th.

Happy birthday to all of you. I hope you all had/have a wonderful day.

I love you all.

KOREAN FOOD + RECIPE FOR HOMEMADE ROOT BEER - OLD AND NEW

Sunday, July 27th, we had the nicest possible afternoon. The background is: Ali mentioned in her blog that they can lean over their balcony and see their next-door-neighbor Korean Restaurant that serves excellent kimchee. In my comment I told her I had never eaten Korean food. Long story---short: She e-mailed me and said she’d be coming through Loa on Sunday, July 27th and if we would be home she and Erica would stop and fix us some Korean food. You’d better believe, we would be here, just to see them and hug them. The Korean food was a bonus. They cooked and we visited. It was wonderful. Ali served pork, rice, bean paste (very spicy) and kimchee wrapped in a large lettuce leaf (lettuce wraps). Truth be told---it was absolutely wonderful. After they left (they left me all the left-overs) I had two more for supper. I liked it from the first whiff of kimchee. If it were available here in Loa, I can see myself buying it every once in a while just to eat by itself. I’ll have to check whether it is available anywhere in Richfield. The girls had a friend with them---Haley(sp). She is a sweet gal. We looked at some pictures and I told some stories of my early job experiences. We laughed at the differences in how things were and how they are now. I hope I didn’t keep them so long that they missed the boat, or something, at Lake Powell. I look forward to having them come again---soon. I know it may be a little difficult for Ali to get away from Boston in the near future but perhaps Erica will drop by. And, Thanksgiving is coming.

Darn it, Ali. I had a book for you to take to read. And Erica, I had a supplement bottle to show you. I got so caught up in just seeing the two of you that I completely forgot but I love you.



Well, James, congratulations to you and Waiva. So, it’s a boy! That’s great! Now, you’ve had your fun and Waiva has to do all the work. Be sure to give her a little extra-special care and attention. She will need it and she deserves it. When is the expected arrival date? We are very happy for you and for ourselves, as well. If he is even half as good-looking as his older sister he will be a winner. Give Waiva and Kylee a hug for me.



After James read about my parents making homemade root beer, he wanted to know how to make it so I will tell you. It has been a long time but I think I can remember how to do it.

We made the root beer in the stainless steel tank from the milk separator. For those of you who do not know what a milk separator is: It is a machine that separates the cream from the milk. When my folks had two or more cows they used their separator. Most of the time when I was growing up they only had one cow so they didn’t use the separator. (They had two cows for a short time during my life in Blanding but did not use the separator.) When they had two or three cows, they strained the milk, fresh from the cows, into the tank on top of the separator. I’d guess it probably had a capacity of six or seven gallons. They turned a handle and the whole milk flowed down through a series of discs until the milk came out of one spout and cream came out of the other spout. I do not remember my parents ever using our separator although Grace told me they used it most of the time for many years. I guess they didn’t think it was worth all the work to use the separator when they had only one cow.

The reason I mentioned “all the work” was because every time they used the separator, it had to be thoroughly cleaned and sterilized: The tank, the discs, the spouts and whatever else was inside the machine was taken out, washed, sterilized in boiling water and left to air dry. It was a horrendous job that had to be taken care of two times a day after the cows were milked. My Aunt Jenny, across the street, used her separator every day for quite a few years and I saw the work it took to keep it clean. I remember it being fascinating to watch the milk come out of one spout and the cream out of the other spout. I thought, “How does it do that?” It was almost like magic.

I found a picture of an antique separator similar to the one Aunt Jenny had. The one we had was red and our tank was a different shape than Aunt Jenny’s separator tank. (Our tank had straight sides, not rounded like Aunt Jenny’s.) Also, there’s a picture of the discs I mentioned and a good picture of a tank with the spigot.

Anyway, to make root beer, we used the tank from the separator. It had a spigot on it at the bottom of the tank that turned on and off like a tap. We would buy a bottle of “Hires” Root Beer Extract. To make the kind of homemade root beer we made requires yeast for carbonation. We didn’t have “dry” yeast in those days, we had yeast “cakes.” They were about 1-1/4 inch square. They were wrapped in foil with a yellow label. The brand was Fleishman’s (what else?) and they had to be kept cool. (Just a note here: I loved the taste and the texture of the yeast cakes so occasionally my mom would break off a little corner of the yeast cake when she was going to make bread and let me eat it. One time I got really lucky. I don’t know what our doctor thought was wrong with me, perhaps he thought I was anemic because I was so skinny, but he thought eating a yeast cake every day for a week or two would cure it. I really loved that medicine. Just think! A whole yeast cake for myself every day.) To make bread or root beer the yeast cake had to be broken up into small pieces and put into warm water in order to “rise” just like the dry yeast we use now. And, yes, the yeast cakes smelled just like the dry yeast does as it rises. I love that aroma.

We put five pounds of sugar into the tank, poured the Root Beer extract over the sugar and then added about 4-3/4 gallons of lukewarm water over the sugar. We stirred the sugar until it was completely dissolved and added the yeast cake that we had dissolved in lukewarm water. After we stirred the yeast in, the root beer was ready to be bottled.

We had glass bottles. I don’t know where they all came from but most of them were beer bottles. Some may have had wine in them. All I know is: whenever one of us saw a beer bottle at the side of the road we would pick it up, take it home, wash it thoroughly and sterilize it. We would put a cap on it and save it for root beer. I am assuming that’s where most of them came from---the side of the road---inasmuch as my parents were not drinkers of alcoholic beverages. Most of the bottles were brown. I only remember two or three that were clear and we had a few green ones. They were different sizes: some tall and others were short. The bottle caps came in a box of 500, as I recall. They were always available at the General Merchandise stores in Blanding.

We put a funnel in the top of the bottle, filled the bottle, leaving a couple of inches at the top. Mom usually filled the bottles. She’d hand the bottle to me and I’d hand it to my Dad. We put a folded towel on top of a stool to cushion the bottle. My Dad had a hand-held bottle capper. He would carefully place the cap on top of the bottle, cover the bottle cap with the metal part of the hand-held capper then rap the top (wooden part) ‘smartly’ with a hammer. He would gently test the cap to make sure it was secure. Ninety-nine percent of the time it was secure. He seemed to have just the right touch and knew exactly how hard to hit the bottle capper to seal the bottle but not break the bottle. After all the bottles were capped, we’d put the bottles, on their side, on the floor behind the stove and leave them there for about four days to carbonate. After four days, we’d take a “test” bottle and open it to be sure it was carbonated enough. Generally, it was. Then we’d take all the bottles to the ice house. We’d dig through the sawdust and place the bottles gently on the ice surrounded by sawdust and we’d cover them with sawdust. It took about 24 hours for them to be sufficiently cool to drink. And then, oh, my! Drinking the root beer was such a treat. The outside of the bottle smelled like wet sawdust and the contents of the bottle were pure heaven. That homemade root beer was better than any Hires, A&W, Barq’s or whatever brand you drink. Five pounds of sugar seems like a lot and it is, but the root beer we made didn’t seem as sweet as the sweet, syrupy brands that are made commercially now .

Jack and I had inherited Jack’s parent’s root beer bottles and their bottle capper so one summer we made a batch. We had a different kind of bottle capper so it was much easier to cap the bottles. The root beer was really good but I kept thinking there was something missing. It took me a lot of years to figure out what was different about the root beer we made and the root beer my parents made. Finally, I realized what the difference was. The bottles didn’t smell like wet sawdust. By the way, we always took the caps off the bottles very carefully and saved them. After the bottle was empty, we rinsed the bottle thoroughly, turned it upside down to dry and then put the cap back on the bottle to keep it relatively clean so that the next time we used the bottles they were easy to wash and rinse for use.

Okay, James, that’s how we did it. I went to the store to see whether Root Beer Extract is still available. I looked for the familiar “Hires” box and didn’t see it. I spent several minutes looking and I just could not find it so I asked one of the stockers. She showed me the Root Beer ‘Concentrate’ with the McCormick brand on the box. I suppose it is the same, or nearly so. Perhaps McCormick bought Hires out. Anyway, I bought a bottle to see whether the instructions are the same. They are nearly the same. The instructions on the box give you a recipe for “Easy Homemade Root Beer.” Then as you read further it gives you a “flavorful tip.” They tell you to “Find recipes for Homemade Root Beer, Old-Fashioned Root Beer Frosting, and Root Beer Ice Pops on our website.” The website address is http://www.mccormick.com/.

The new recipe tells you that the “lukewarm spring water” should be approximately 95 degrees Fahrenheit. And your “preboiled water to add to the yeast should be cooled to 85 to 95 degrees Fahrenheit.”

They tell you not to use an Aluminum container to mix the root beer. They tell you to use plastic bottles and they recommend that you NOT use glass bottles. They caution you that the “Contents of bottles are under pressure and can overflow or explode.” We lived in a world where people tried to figure things out for themselves and didn’t have to be told of all the “possible disasters” that could/might occur.

So my dear, I don’t know what to tell you about the plastic bottles. I have no clue where you can find them but I’m sure with all your computer know-how you can find something. It probably isn’t a good idea to pick up plastic bottles on the side of the road and re-use them as we did. And where you’d find caps/lids for them, I have no idea. From my perspective, the new instructions for making Root Beer are interesting/amusing reading. Go ahead! Look them up and print them. Let me know how your root beer turns out. I’d love to know.

The last I knew, our root beer bottles and capper were still in Big Water. Bret may have brought them up here but I haven’t seen them. I’ll ask him.

I hope this inspires you to give the Homemade Root Beer a try. It will probably taste great to you because you didn’t get used to smelling the wet sawdust on the outside of the bottle. I would certainly be interested to know where you get your plastic bottles to put it in; whether they can be reused; where to buy the lids/caps.

It has taken longer than I planned to get this chapter finished. I’ve been dealing with Jack’s horrendous mood swings; demands for a check book and credit card; lying to anyone and everyone who would listen to him about how he walked to the Courthouse and back; demands for a key to the gun safe. He has been fairly docile for a few days but I spend every waking moment “waiting for the other shoe to drop.” Oh, well, with the support I have here in Loa, we will get through this. I just had a fantastic massage today (8/19/08) and am much more relaxed for the moment.


I must tell you here that I had a marvelous break on the 21st, 22nd and 23rd of August. Juli has been encouraging me to go to Education Week at BYU. I have wanted to for years and have never done it. Of course, I would have had to battle Jack to do it because women are supposed to stay home and take care of their husband. But with Juli’s encouragement, my Doctor’s encouragement and my Bishop’s encouragement, I just decided to go. Not the whole week this year but maybe next year. I didn’t tell him until Thursday morning that I was leaving. He seemed to get the feeling that something was up and finally, Thursday morning about 9:00 a.m. he asked if I was going somewhere. I said, “Yes, as a matter of fact, I am. I’ve always wanted to go to Education Week and this year I’m going.” Hurrah for me! I explained I was too late to go the whole week but I was going for two days. I told him that I might come home Friday evening but if he didn’t see me Friday night then that meant I wouldn’t be home until sometime Saturday. I gave the cats enough food and water to last so he wouldn’t have to go out if he didn’t want to. Meals-on-wheels arrives about 11:00 a.m. on Thursday and Friday. They have a meal for me so I told him to put it in the fridge and eat it for supper. I showed him, one more time, how to use the microwave, but told him if he couldn’t figure it out, just eat it cold (he hates cold food if it’s supposed to be warm). But, for gosh sake, he’s an Engineer. I told him if he could open the fridge door, there food in there he could eat on Saturday. And, if all else failed, I had a couple of boxes of his favorite cold cereal on the shelf and milk in the fridge. And then I left. I didn’t get away as early as I thought I would but I drove to Shanna’s home. She had encouraged me to visit them and had a wonderful bed where I could sleep. I had a great visit with Shanna and Russ and the older boys (my gosh, they are tall and good looking). Charlie was at a sleep-over at Grandma Bryant’s. But I did get to visit with him and hug and kiss him on Saturday morning.

Juli came over to pick me up and we went to dinner. For those of you who don’t know, Juli has several sisters (Alisa and Christine from Loa, Robin, who came up from Phoenix), a sister-in-law (Nicole from Loa), and a cousin (Wendy from Cedar City), who go to Education Week every year. I love them all, dearly. They are/were so good to me; so patient and caring. I can’t move as fast as they can and I had tendonitis in my right foot that really slowed me down. But we had an absolutely grand time.

Friday morning we went to the Provo Temple and did a session. It was really an emotional experience for me because I haven’t been to the Temple for years. Jack has difficulty walking and couldn’t generate enough energy to go and you know the drill: women are supposed to stay home, etc., etc. After the temple we went to lunch. Then we took in three classes. I know those three classes were prepared especially for me. And, to top off the evening, we went to see a musical: “Pride and Prejudice: The Musical.” It was the premier performance. I cannot emphasize enough how fantastic it was to listen to real singers (not screamers like most of the popular “artists” of today). Every one of those people sang with their OWN magnificent voice and not one of them tried to imitate their favorite pop “artist.” What can I say? I was almost in heaven.

Saturday, I had time to visit more with Shanna’s family, including Charlie and a little friend who happens to be a girl. I think her name is Savannah. Then Juli came to get me and we went to lunch. After that, we all did a little shopping. Juli had to stay up North to attend a banquet with Dallin, so Alisa and Christine rode home with me in my van. I prevailed on Alisa to drive for me—it was my right foot giving me the problem. When I arrived home Jack welcomed me very warmly, turned off the TV and wanted to know what I did and who was there and who I saw. Later, he said he was really glad I was home. I questioned him a little about what he had had to eat. I don’t think he had anything on Saturday. I had brought some brownies with me so I offered him a couple of brownies and a glass of milk. He gratefully accepted. The reason for me telling you this story is this: Jack survived three days and two nights without me. I needed to know that he could. He may not be happy about it but he survived.

Well, that is my Great Adventure! I think I’ll go somewhere every once in a while. It’s good for my morale and for a few hours, at least, Jack seems to appreciate what I do for him.



August birthdays: Happy birthday to Shanna, August 12th, and Eric Shields’, August 20th. Hope you had a super day. Also, Happy Anniversary to Russ and Shanna, August 25th and I forgot to mention Happy Anniversary to Tal and Julianne, July 21st. There, did I miss anyone? I love you all.

FATHER'S DAY TRIBUTE - continued

You will notice I have put the apostrophe before the S in Father’s Day because my last post and this post are a tribute to my Father—not to all fathers.

There are several more things I want to tell you about my Dad—I could have added them in my last post but it was quite long, as it was. This one will not be so long. I can hear your sighs of relief.

I guess now is as good a time as any to tell you the story I keep promising to tell about my brother, George. There were a lot of things he could not do and because he couldn’t, I was the beneficiary. I’m not glad he couldn’t do the things I did to help my Dad but I’ve always been happy about the time I was able to spend with my Dad. I don’t think either of my sisters had the opportunity to be with him as I was but I know my sister, Grace, feels the same way about Daddy as I. He was a great influence in our lives. My oldest sister, Ora, may also have felt about him as Grace and I do but I never had/took the opportunity to discuss it with her. She was 15 years older than I so she seemed more like an aunt or other relative than a sister. I loved her but I didn’t know her very well.

Let’s get back to George. I think one of my first memories is not really a memory, but more of an impression. I seem to remember being really young and feeling as though something was going on and I was not the center of attention. I see these shadowy figures moving around and the atmosphere was very hushed. I have the impression in my mind that my parents were very concerned about something. I was about 20 months old and I had the measles. In those days they were called red measles (not rubella/German measles). Perhaps they are just called “measles” now since German measles are called rubella. Measles are a terrible disease. Thank heaven there’s a vaccine for all of you.

George was getting over measles but he had developed complications (I believe they called it “measles encephalitis”) and he was extremely sick. He had to be watched and cared for 24 hours a day. Obviously, mom couldn’t watch him 24 hours a day so there were two or three women who took turns sitting with him every day. I don’t know how long this continued but he didn’t get any better—in fact, he was getting worse. My grandfather Black (Benjamin Daniel Black) was the Stake Patriarch. He was at our house and while he was there George took a turn for the worse. His temperature was over 106 degrees and had been for quite a while. Nothing they did seemed to help. Finally, George quit breathing. I think this is the point when I got the impression of the shadowy figures and the hushed atmosphere but that impression has been in my mind all of my life. The rest of what I am about to tell you mostly came from Grace. She was 11 and remembers it quite clearly. Also, I got bits and pieces from my mom but she didn’t like to talk about it much. I guess no one there knew about CPR at that time (1935) and shortly after George quit breathing my grandfather pronounced him dead. It was suggested at that time that it might be a good idea to give George a Priesthood Blessing which they promptly did---my grandfather pronounced the blessing on him. In a very short time George began breathing again. However, he was still very, very sick. The closest hospital was in Salt Lake City. They needed to get George to the hospital and do it very quickly.

There was a man in town whose name was Vernon Rowley. He had a big, fast car and he always drove it like a “bat out of you know where.” I seem to remember that he preferred Lincoln vehicles. Even then the Lincoln would go fast (I don’t know whether fast in those days was fast like cars are now but he always seemed to drive to the limit of the car’s capability). Someone suggested Brother Rowley would be able to get George to the hospital faster than anyone else in town. He was asked and he quickly agreed. Shortly after that, George was on the way to the hospital. A lady named Jenny Palmer went with him because she had a wonderful, soothing effect on George and could keep him calmer than anyone. Neither my Mom nor my Dad could go with him.

George was in the LDS hospital for four months. Daddy was able to make one trip to Salt Lake to be with him. My grandfather Black was in the State Legislature. The Legislature was in session for a period of time while George was in the hospital. Grandpa visited George regularly while he was in Salt Lake doing Legislature business.. The LDS hospital had a wing for children that eventually became the “Primary Children’s Hospital.” Apparently George had remarkable nurses and doctors.

George was so sick and he had that high temperature for such a long period of time that there was brain damage. He was a little “slow” after that. I wouldn’t say that he was retarded because he never seemed to me to be retarded but he was “slow.” He had to learn to walk and talk all over again. They gave him a lot of physical therapy in the hospital but his muscle coordination was never very good. If you were to see him walking down the street and if you didn’t know who he was you would probably think he was drunk. He never was, of course. He was just clumsy. He used to stumble and fall a lot as a child. He never was able to ride a bicycle or drive a car. As an adult, his walking became smoother but he never walked “normal.” I should tell you now that he did graduate from High School—not with A’s, but he was able to graduate. Eventually he went on a Mission to the Spanish-American Mission (Arizona, New Mexico and part of Texas, I believe) and he learned to speak Spanish which he remembered all of his life. He had an incredible ability to memorize. He did get married and he and his wife, Glenna, had three remarkable children--one daughter and two sons. Glenna was a “wild woman” but that is a story for another day.

Now you know why Daddy couldn’t have George helping with the farm equipment. That is the reason I had the privilege of spending so much time working with my Dad.

When I was about eight years old, Daddy was able to buy a United States flag. We didn’t have a proper flag pole. We didn’t even have one of those things that people put on the side of their house in which to stick the pole that came with the flag. It was just a flag on a six foot wood pole. The first Fourth of July after he got the flag he came and woke me before the sun was up and asked if I wanted to help him put up the flag. I did. I got up and got dressed. At higher altitudes it always cools off at night (wonderful for sleeping) and by morning it’s pretty cold. I had to put a jacket on because my skinny little body was shaking with the cold. I went outside to find Daddy and I asked him where he was going to put the flag. He told me he had an idea but it was going to take some work because he wanted the flag to be very high. We had one water tap on the west side of our house and one on the east side. There was a hose on the tap on the west side of the house that was stretched over to a pipe. The pipe was about 15 feet long and the hose fit in one end. The other end of the pipe was placed over the water trough for the cows. The trough was a 55 gallon metal barrel that had a piece cut out so the cows could drink (and the horses, too, when we had them). Daddy had water running into the barrel (water trough). He told me he was filling the trough because he needed the pipe and we wouldn’t be able to put more water in the trough until we took the flag down at sundown. When the trough was full, I turned off the water and Daddy took the hose out of the end of the pipe. He carried the pipe to the front (east) side of the house. He had already leaned the ladder against the roof of the front porch. He had a hammer and nails (in case he needed them) and he had some baling wire. (Baling wire was the “duct tape” of pioneer days). We used it for all kinds of things. He laid the pipe on the ground and climbed the ladder. I handed the hammer, nails and baling wire up to him (I had to climb part way up the ladder). Then he asked me to get the pipe and lean it against the roof over the porch. The pipe was made of cast iron and was quite heavy for me. I struggled with it but finally got it high enough that I could let it lean against the roof. With me on the ground and Daddy on the porch roof, we worried the pipe over to the high point of the roof. He did have to pound some nails into the roof. The bottom of the pipe was resting on the ground and leaning against the roof. That’s when he took the baling wire and wound it around the pipe and the nails to hold the pipe upright against the porch roof. It took him several minutes to be sure the pipe was solidly and securely in place. When he was satisfied the pipe wouldn’t fall, I handed the flag up to him and he stuck it in the top of the pipe. Oh, my, it was grand! I was so proud to see that beautiful flag flying over our house. We got the flag in place just as the sun was rising over the eastern horizon.

Of course, that evening as it was nearing sunset, Daddy and I did everything in reverse. We had to return the pipe to the back yard to its place at the water trough. That was Daddy’s and my ritual on holidays until I graduated from High School and moved to Salt Lake City where I acquired my first job. After I left Blanding, Daddy fixed another way to fly the flag. It only required one person to take care of it. I missed our holiday mornings together. Even now, I feel a particular joy in the memories I have of that wonderful tradition. I love to have a flag flying on holidays. The kids and I did the flag thing a lot of the time when we lived in Salt Lake City. After we moved to the Lake Powell area the only time we flew a flag was when we lived on our boat for three years. It was very easy to fly the flag on the boat but when we moved to our house, Jack never got around to fixing something so I could put up a flag. Why didn’t I do something, myself? Well, Jack was always afraid I would make a mess of things and he requested I not try it---so, it never got done.

When we moved to Loa, the young men and young women had a flag project and, for a fee, they put flags up all over town. It was a huge job. I paid the fee and I loved having a flag every holiday. This year they decided not to do the flag project but the flags were offered for sale for those who wanted them. I did. Without telling Jack what I was doing, I bought a flag. The flag is on a hollow pole and a length of rebar came with it. Every holiday I get up at sunrise, pound the rebar into the ground; I place the hollow flag pole over it and “voila” I have my beautiful flag to enjoy. At sunset, I go out and bring the flag into the house---all the while remembering the good times I had helping my Dad fly “Old Glory” high over our little house in Blanding. Having a flag was important to him and it became important to me, as well.

(I found a picture of a flag with 48 stars. That’s the number of stars on the flag when I was young. As a matter of fact, Arizona became the 48th State in 1912 and flags had 48 stars until Alaska and Hawaii became states in 1959. Also I have a couple of other pictures but, alas, I have not learned how to add pictures and I certainly do not want to disturb Juli while they are on their “Make a Wish Trip” so, if you read this and there are no pictures, check back in a week and they will have magically appeared. Thanks, Juli!)

I’ve told you a little about my brother, George, and how sick he was and some of the aftermath of his extended illness now I’ll make an addition to that part of the story. He also had a problem with one of his eyes. Sometimes when I’d look at him both his eyes were straight and he looked right at me, but sometimes his right eye would wander over to the edge of his nose and he looked as though he had a crossed eye. My mom took him to a clinic in Price, Utah, four times each year. The doctors tried several things to straighten his eye and get it to stay in the middle like the other one but nothing seemed to work. An eye doctor in Salt Lake City had had some success doing surgery to straighten eyes so, when George was 12 years old and I was 10 years old, it was decided that George should have this surgery.

One morning during the summer of 1943 I woke up quite early and decided to get up and get dressed. I began to put on my hand-me-down bib overalls with holes in the knees but my mother stopped me. She brought me a freshly ironed dress and clean socks and said I should put them on. I didn’t have any idea what was going on but I put the dress and the clean socks on and my shoes. It was then that she told me that I was going to go to Salt Lake City to visit my sister, Grace. Oh, my, I was excited! I’m sure the reason mom didn’t tell me the night before was because she knew I would get no sleep at all. Daddy had arranged with a local truck driver to transport me to Salt Lake City on his weekly run with a load of lumber from the saw mill. The truck driver’s name was Earl Wright. Two trucks went north every week. The second one was driven by Owen (Ode) Black. Both of them were really nice, trustworthy men. Earl and his wife had been married for quite some time and had no children. They both loved kids and were always doing nice things for the local kids. I liked Earl a lot and felt comfortable with him. Mom gave me some breakfast---I was too excited to be very hungry---and she fixed me a sandwich and an apple to eat for lunch. Daddy took me to Earl’s house (Earl had loaded the truck the day before) and away we went. (When I was three my mother took me to her mother’s funeral in Huntington, Utah and when I was five, my parents took George and me to Moab, Utah for about a week. I don’t remember the reason. My Dad may have had a short-term job in Moab. Those were the only times I had been away from Blanding so going to Salt Lake City was a really big deal).

Of course, the roads were not as nice as they are now. Long stretches were still gravel and there were a number of hairpin turns on the way (that have been straightened out since then). We left about 6:00 a.m. We arrived in Salt Lake City at 7:00 p.m. We were in a truck and it was loaded with lumber but now, even in trucks, it doesn’t generally take 13 hours to make the trip from Blanding to Salt Lake City. I really hadn’t eaten much breakfast so by 10:00 I was hungry and ate my sandwich and apple. When we got to Price, Earl and Ode stopped at a restaurant for something to eat. Ode had his daughter, Erna Mae, with him in his truck. Erna Mae was my age and in my class at school. Earl took me into the restaurant. He ordered a hot roast beef sandwich for himself and also one for me. I had never tasted anything like that before and I really liked it. It was my first time ever eating at a restaurant. After we ate, we got back in the trucks and drove on to Salt Lake.

As we drove over the Point of the Mountain and I saw the Salt Lake Valley I was thrilled. There were so many houses and other buildings. It was almost impossible to believe. Of course, it was nothing like it is now, but it was wonderful to me. Grace lived at 214 West North Temple. I have forgotten the lady’s name who owned the house but Grace and a couple of other young women lived there with the lady. It was quite a large house and had several bedrooms. Each lady had her own bedroom and shared the bathroom. They had kitchen privileges and shared the common (living) room. Grace was working at the Small Arms plant in Ogden so she commuted on the bus to Ogden and back every day. They made guns at the Small Arms Plant---I’m sure you all had that figured out---for the soldiers in the battlefields during World War II. Most of the time during the day, I was left to my own devices. The lady who owned the house was there but I was timid around her so I pretty much stayed in Grace’s room and read books or colored in a coloring book. Occasionally, I would go out in the yard and every afternoon I walked down the sidewalk to the corner, crossed the street to the corner drug store and bought a black walnut ice cream cone. (My dad had given me a dollar to spend while I was away.) The ice cream cone was five cents and the man put a BIG scoop of ice cream on the cone.

In the evenings after Grace got home from work, she would take me to see different sights in the area. One evening, we went to a movie. One evening she took me to Salt Air Resort on the Great Salt Lake. She took me on the roller coaster out there and I thought that was a lot of fun. Everywhere we went, we rode the bus. When the weekend came, she took me up to Shelley, Idaho. My oldest sister, Ora and her husband and kids lived there. Shelley is about five miles outside of Idaho Falls. Wow! I thought I was a world traveler. I think Ora had four kids then. Grace had to go back to Salt Lake to be at work on Monday morning but I stayed with Ora for two weeks. I had a couple of interesting experiences in Idaho but I will save them for a different chapter. It was new and exciting being with Ora and her family for two weeks.

After two weeks, I had to go back to Salt Lake because my mom and dad had brought George up for his eye surgery. Ora and her husband, Stanley, took me to the train in Idaho Falls and sent me back to Salt Lake. There was a very nice man on the train. He talked to me and showed me things to watch for out of the train windows. I was a little worried that there wouldn’t be anyone to meet me in Salt Lake and I mentioned it to the man. He said, “If no one is there, I will take you to your parents.” It wasn’t necessary for him to take me to my parents because my Dad was at the train station to meet me. He was so happy to see me (it had been three weeks) that he scooped me up in his arms and carried me back to Grace’s place. He just didn’t seem to want to let me go. He had to walk several blocks from the train station, but he wouldn’t let me walk. That was the last time he ever carried me, but in my mind, it was a very tender time. Grace was also at the depot. She carried my suitcase---actually, I didn’t have a suitcase. My clothes were in a box tied with heavy string. (I cannot imagine putting a 10-year old girl alone on a train in this day and age. I believe the man who befriended me on the train was very sincere and he would have taken me to Grace’s place if no one had been there to meet me. It was a time of innocence. It’s too bad those days are gone.)

We stayed in Salt Lake for another week and then Daddy and I hitched a ride to Blanding, in Earl Wright’s truck Earl hauled products and equipment from Salt Lake to various businesses in Blanding so the truck didn’t go empty, either direction. Someone with a car brought mom and George to Blanding a couple of days later. Durant must have had to stay home and take care of things while the rest of us were gone. He was 15.

The doctor removed the bandage from George’s eye before Mom and he left Salt Lake to return home. George was fitted with glasses and his “crooked” eye was straight.

There used to be a building behind the Church in Blanding. It was called the “Relief Society” building. For many, many years the Relief Society held their meetings on Tuesday at 2:00 p.m. The Relief Society building was where they held their meetings. The building had two big rooms, both heated with a wood burning stove. There was a bell on top of the building and the bell was used to let people know it was time for the various meetings and it was also used to let the townspeople know there was a fire or other emergency in town. The building was used for the school lunch room as well. There was a huge wood stove in the South room. The stove had a couple of ovens and plenty of cooking space on top. We did not regularly have school lunches when I was in school. Most of the time we all took our own lunch or we walked home for lunch. But, once in a while for two or three weeks at a time there would be hot lunches available in the Relief Society building. The building was, oh, maybe 300 feet from the Elementary School. The High School students also ate school lunch there but they walked four or five blocks to get the school lunch. Often, the students lived closer to the High School than they did to the lunch room. However, when hot lunches were served, there was a lot of participation. We didn’t have much variety---mostly hot soup of some kind with a couple of slices of hot, homemade bread and butter. We had milk to drink and dessert was usually a small dish of apple sauce or canned peaches. As I recall, it cost five cents.

Eventually the R.S. building was torn down and we had no more hot lunches available the rest of the time I was in school. The town obtained a siren to alert people to emergencies and the R.S. building was replaced with a concrete slab. There was a small “band stand” that faced east at the west end of the concrete slab and there was a fence around the slab and band stand. The concrete slab had many uses. For one, it was used as a roller skating rink. We could go there once or twice a week to roller skate. The skates we used could be attached to our shoes and we were given a “skate key” to tighten the skates if they became loose as we skated. There was a leather belt that hooked into the heel piece of the skates and fastened around our ankles to make the skates more secure. It was pretty primitive but we thought it was wonderful. We could go there (I’ve forgotten which night) and skate for two or three hours for ten cents. I couldn’t afford to go every week but some kids did and became very good skaters.

I have given you the background on all of this because I’m leading up to another story about my Dad. The concrete slab was also used for dances. We always had lots of dances in Blanding when I lived there. We had Church dances, school dances, Town dances, square dances. We had dances at the “drop of a hat.” People used to love to dance. Those were the days when people actually held onto each other when they danced. They didn’t hop or jump up and down, they didn’t wave their arms, they didn’t jump into the air and do fake “splits.” People DANCED. Everyone was invited to all of the dances---school, Church---everything. We didn’t have “teen” dances or “adult” dances. We had DANCES.

For a couple of summers, some people organized “square dances” once a week. They had a “caller,” musicians (live) and whoever wanted could come and square dance. My Dad loved to square dance. Though my Mom loved to dance, her feet and legs gave her such grief that she could not dance any more but she wanted Daddy to be able to dance. Daddy asked me if I would go to the square dances with him. YOU BET, I WOULD. I didn’t know the square dancing terms or how to execute the maneuvers but I was smart and willing to learn. Daddy and I went square dancing every week for two summers. It was great fun and we had a blast. I was 11 and 12 those two summers. I believe I was the only “kid” who was actually dancing at the square dances. A lot of people came just to watch. The adults who were dancing were very patient and I learned quickly. As I got so I could do the dancing well, I was complimented by the adults. It was a huge confidence building activity for me.

Two or three years later one of the local men built an enclosed Skating Rink so the kids could skate year around. It cost 25 cents to skate for two hours. I didn’t have that kind of money so I don’t think I skated at the “rink” more that two times. The “open air” dance area was there for many years and they continued to have dances most of the summers. Some years later the concrete slab was replaced with a big Cultural hall with a regulation size basketball court. The Chapel didn’t have a Cultural hall and one was needed. The Cultural hall was built after I had graduated from High School and left Blanding. I don’t believe I’ve ever been inside of the Cultural Hall. I’m just grateful for all the fun experiences that are in my memory.

What I am about to tell you now is probably the most tender and touching time my Dad and I shared together. Actually, I have mixed feelings about sharing it with you at all but in order for you to really know my Dad and to understand why he is so dear to me I have to share this memory.

In January of 1951 when I was a senior in High School I was at a dance in the High School gym. I didn’t have a date. I generally preferred it that way. I knew I would have plenty of opportunities to dance; I always did. I enjoyed dancing with a variety of guys inasmuch as I had no one special in my life. I had never wanted to go “steady.” I liked interacting with more than just one guy at a dance. Even after I married Jack, I still liked it when other men asked me to dance. Jack always thought that was dumb. He thought I should be happy just dancing with him. He didn’t like to dance with other women, so if someone asked me to dance, he usually sat that dance out unless he felt absolutely obligated to dance with the wife of the man who had asked me. Occasionally, another couple would ask us if we’d like to trade partners and in that situation, Jack was forced to dance with the other woman. Okay, I’ll have to admit it---Jack was not a terrific dancer. He thought he was but I was used to dancing with my brother, Durant, who was a fantastic dancer---and there was just no comparison. I danced with several exceptional dancers when I was in High School and I loved dancing with the best dancers.

There were always a few couples who were “going steady” and, obviously, they were at the dance together but most of the High School kids went “stag” to the dances.

So, to get back to my story---I was at a dance and there were some new guys at the dance.
One of them, Georgie Boday, asked me to dance. I accepted and danced with him several times. He was nice and not bad looking. We had fun dancing together and when the dance was over he asked if he could take me home. I was a little leery because I had no idea who he was or why he was in Blanding. Finally, I agreed to allow him to take me home on the condition he would take a friend of mine who lived near to me, with us. Georgie agreed, my friend agreed, and Georgie took us home. He asked if he could see me again and I reluctantly said yes. As I have mentioned: He was nice, polite and not bad looking but I was not “smitten.” The next day was Sunday. Between Sunday School and Sacrament Meeting some of my girl friends and I got together to goof off. One of the gals had her parent’s car to drive and we were driving around town. A short time later one of the girls in the car said, “There’s that guy you were with last night. He is following us.” I looked back and sure enough, he was following us. I told them he asked if he could see me again but I was having fun with my friends and didn’t think I wanted to be with him. Several of the girls in the car said, “Oh, Marilyn, he is so cute. I wish he wanted to be with me. You should go.” I allowed them to persuade me and I got in his car. I don’t remember, particularly, what we did other than ride around town that day but we did have opportunity to talk and get acquainted.

Now, just a little history lesson: The last half of 1950 and in 1951 Uranium had become very important to the U. S. Government. The Military had used two atomic bombs on Japan to “encourage” the Japanese to stop fighting. The war ended in 1945 but the United States continued to make and test nuclear bombs. In order to do that, they needed uranium and there was plenty of uranium in the ground in southeastern Utah. There were a lot of uranium mines around Blanding. A Company named “Joy Diamond Core Drillers” had sent a few men to Blanding to drill in various locations to find more uranium and, perhaps, other elements. It wasn’t long before they were referred to as “the Joy Boys.” Naturally, the guys wanted to have girl friends and enjoy the local activities. That’s why they were in Blanding at the dance on Saturday night.

We had fun together and inasmuch as my girl friends thought Gerogie was “so cute” and they wished he wanted to spend time with them, I thought, “He likes me and wants to be with me so I guess I won’t share him.” Suddenly, Georgie and I became an “item.” We dated for a couple of months and he asked me to marry him. I enjoyed being with him and doing things together; I liked him but I was not in love with him. I have no idea why I said “yes.” There were too many things wrong with our relationship. Yes, we enjoyed each other’s company and we did some fun things but we had almost nothing in common. First and foremost he was Catholic and I was, still am, and always will be, a devout member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Still, we plunged ahead making plans, renting an apartment, etc. My parents would never have given their permission for me to marry Georgie so we decided we’d wait for my 18th birthday on April 6th and then we would go to Trinidad, Colorado, where his parents were prepared to welcome me with “open arms” and we’d get married there. All my girl friends got together and gave me a combined early birthday party and bridal shower. Though I had reservations about the whole thing I was allowing myself to be swept along in the excitement and anticipation of a wedding. It just so happened that I had the “leading lady part” in our school musical that year. We had dress rehearsal Wednesday night. Wednesday was also my 18th birthday. Georgie usually waited for me and took me home after rehearsals but the dress rehearsal was going to be quite long so I told him not to wait for me---I would walk home. We were scheduled to do a matinee performance on Thursday afternoon plus an evening performance. The final performance was Friday night and Georgie’s and my plans were that we would go to Colorado on Saturday.

I got home Wednesday night about 10:00 p.m. I was hungry. I hadn’t had any food since lunch so I fixed myself something to eat and grabbed an Improvement Era from the kitchen counter to read while I ate my supper. (When I eat alone, I have always had to have something to read while I eat. My mother had gone to Salt Lake to stay with Grace. Her explanation for going to Salt Lake at that time was, “I’m not going to stay here and watch you prepare to marry someone not of our faith.” Daddy was in bed asleep, as were my brothers, Durant and George.) I opened the Improvement Era and it fell open to an article by Apostle Mark E. Peterson. He was always my favorite Apostle speaker so I read the article and he talked about Temple Marriage. I began to wonder what in the world I was doing. I had always wanted to be married in the Temple. It was my goal. I realized how much I would be giving up if I proceeded to marry Georgie. He smoked, he drank and he was Catholic. I didn’t see any possibility that he would ever join my Church and I knew I would never join his. I got out my patriarchal blessing and read it. There was a sentence that almost leaped off the page and I realized I had never noticed that sentence before. It said: “Pray diligently that you will not be unequally yoked with an unbeliever….” There’s more but that’s all I’ll quote today. I got ready for bed, and as I said my nightly prayers, I asked for guidance.

Thursday morning I awoke feeling very calm. I knew what I needed to do. Durant was in the kitchen and I told him I had decided not to marry Georgie. He smiled, gave me a hug and told me how happy he was and then he said, “Be sure to tell Daddy before you go to school. He’s in the front yard working in the garden.” I went outside and walked over to Daddy. I said, “I have something to tell you.” He stopped working, looked at me and said, “All right.” I told him of my decision not to marry Georgie. Daddy dropped his shovel, put his arms around me, laid his head on my shoulder and sobbed. That was the only time I ever saw or heard my Dad cry. As long as I live I will never forget the emotion of that moment. Though I had always known my Dad loved me, I had never realized the intensity of his love and caring for me. I had very nearly broken his heart. Every time I think of those few minutes with my Dad (and I think of it often) tears well up in my eyes. As I type this, tears are running down my face and my throat aches. I came so close to hurting and disappointing my Dad. I loved and respected him. I’m grateful I had the good sense not to disappoint him.

I met Jack in August of 1951 and we married in November of l951. It has not always been smooth nor easy, but it was certainly better than it would have been if I had married Georgie. That weekend, instead of going to Colorado, Georgie went to Price, Utah, with his buddies. He spent the weekend drunk and in bed with a prostitute. One of his buddies told me about it. I realized then that if Georgie and I had married and ever argued, that’s how he would have spent his time---drunk and in bed with a prostitute. Any problems Jack and I have had seem minor in comparison.

My apologies to all of you. I believe this one is as long as the last one. I will try to make my stories shorter after this. Do you think I can?

I love you all.

Now, Happy Birthday to Justin, July 21st and Tal, July 25th.

A FATHER'S DAY TRIBUTE TO MY DAD

I wish you all could have known my Dad. He was something else. He was kind, gentle, compassionate, warm, forgiving, loving, generous, and a great teacher. He loved his kids and his grandkids. He was honest and forthright. He was extremely strong and he did more hard physical labor than any man I have ever known. Though he was only able to attend school through fifth grade, he was extremely intelligent. He never stopped learning and he was remarkably well educated. Oh, in many ways he was a typical Utahn. He used most of the rural Utah pronunciations but he knew how to spell the words he mispronounced. The picture you see here was taken when he was in his late 20’s, before he married my mom. This is the picture I told you about in the first chapter about my Dad. I always thought he was very handsome. Of course, by the time I came into this world, he was 45. I only remember him having gray or silver hair. His eyes were blue and, as I’ve mentioned before, they twinkled when he smiled. This portrait always hung on our living room wall when I was growing up. I loved to look at it.

My Dad always expected the best of himself. Both his and my mother’s motto was: “If a job is worth doing, it is worth doing well.” He instilled that into all of us. I’ve mentioned before that he was a “jack of all trades”. He didn’t have much of monetary value but his work ethic was sought after by most employers in town. He worked for various people in town who had property they wanted farmed. Generally, they wanted their fields planted in alfalfa. Of course, being part of the “desert southwest” the alfalfa needed to be irrigated. (No one had the wonderful and efficient sprinklers that farmers use today.) There was irrigation water in a ditch and my Dad seemed to have a magic touch when it came to irrigation. He could keep more water running evenly in more rows than anyone else. His ditches rarely ever broke, so, as a result of his careful tending, he had fewer ditch “breaks” than anyone else. He could “set” the ditches late in the evening and come home to get a fairly decent night’s sleep. But he would be up before daylight and off to “tend” the water.

My sister, Grace, told me that my Dad used to own a team of horses and he had a wagon. I remember, vaguely, that we had horses in our corral all the time and then as I grew older, we only had horses for short periods when he borrowed them from the man for whom he worked. I’m not absolutely sure, but I believe part of his payment for taking care of people’s fields was the use of their horses so he could get his own property plowed in the spring. Also, he needed a team and wagon to haul wood for our stoves. Yes, he had to go out and chop down the trees, trim them, load them onto the wagon, bring them home, unload them and then, chop the wood, by hand. My brothers, Sherman and Durant helped with hauling wood probably from the time they were about six or eight. I will tell you my brother, George’s story in a later chapter. He didn’t help my Dad much with cutting, hauling or chopping wood. There was a reason for that. I chopped wood, occasionally, when I got older but Daddy didn’t think it was appropriate work for a girl. I believe part of the pay for tending the fields was hay for our cows, as well.

Daddy worked in the vanadium and uranium mines around Blanding. He worked on the tunnel. He worked at the saw mill. He did odd building jobs for people. He was always in demand because his work was neat and precise. Daddy was a brick maker. He made brick for several buildings in Blanding. He made the brick, built the kiln and fired the brick. Several times while he was firing the brick he’d take me with him when he had to put more wood on the fire so I could see what it looked like inside of the kiln. The fire was so hot and scary to see and yet so beautiful. It was absolutely spectacular after dark. Daddy would take some of the brick out, throw logs into the kiln and put the brick back in. There were several places where logs could be thrown in. After he got everything going well, he would walk home and get a couple hours sleep and then he’d be up and off to the “brick yard” to do everything all over again. The brick yard was about a half-mile from our house. He always had to walk back and forth between home and the brick yard. Of course, when you’ve walked everywhere all your life, you walk at a pretty good pace.

When I was a kid, with the electric power being so sporadic, no one had refrigerators so the next best thing was an “Ice House.” In the winter when the reservoirs froze over to a depth of about eight inches, people would cut big blocks of ice (about two feet square) and haul the ice to an ice house to keep for warm weather. My Dad had an ice house. He would haul a lot of saw dust from the saw mill. He would cover the dirt floor of the ice house with about 12 to 14 inches of saw dust. He would put a layer of ice blocks on the saw dust, leaving space around the edge to fill with saw dust. He’d put a good thick layer of saw dust on top of that layer of ice, fill in the edges with saw dust, another layer of ice blocks, etc., etc., until the ice house was full, still leaving room on top for a person to move around. We could make our own ice cream in the summer because we had ice. We could also have ice to cool our drinking water, if we wanted. We sometimes had ice almost to the end of August. We cooled our home-made root beer on the ice under the sawdust. It was better than a refrigerator except for the inconvenience. We never had an over crowded ice house. We could put all the root beer we made in the ice house at the same time. If we’d had a refrigerator there almost certainly would not have been room to put all the root beer in at once.

The reason I’m telling you this is because sometimes Daddy would let me go with him to haul the ice. He’d hitch up the horses to his bob sled (a bob sled is a wagon with the wheels removed and runners put on in their place), and away we’d go. He’d load up that bob sled, go home and unload it, cover the ice with saw dust and head back up to the reservoir. Keep in mind that this always took place in January. That’s the only month the ice was hard enough and thick enough to cut. Anyway, when I went with him, he always told me to stay on the bank. I was not to come down on the ice. Most of the time I obeyed him but one time I just had to see what it was like down on the ice. Of course, I promptly fell through a hole in the ice. Fortunately Daddy was close enough he could haul me out. He found a blanket and wrapped me up in it. He had to take me home before he had a full load of ice because he was afraid I’d freeze to death. He never scolded me for that, although I would certainly have deserved the scolding. I guess he was just thankful he was able to rescue me. Needless to say, I never strayed down on the ice again.

One of my first memories is my Dad taking me to work with him. He was working with a crew that was doing concrete work at the new High School after the first one burned down. I guess my Mom was away somewhere and the other kids were at school. He took me to an area near where he was working. He told me that I would be okay if I stayed there and he cautioned me not to come into the area where he was working. I had a coloring book and some crayons but I guess I got bored or lonely and went over closer to him. Naturally, I tripped over something, fell and skinned my knee. Daddy came and picked me up. He carried me back to where I had been and put me down. He pulled out his big bandanna type handkerchief and wiped off the dirt and the drop of blood on my knee and he kissed me. Then he simply said, “You need to stay here.” I did.

I have a couple more memories of going to work with my Dad. One time, when he was working on the tunnel (I will be telling you more about the tunnel in a later post), my Mom had to take George to Price, Utah, to a special clinic and all the other kids were in school. The tunnel was far enough away that when Daddy worked there he would take his “chuck box” with food for a week---or however long he would be there. Sometimes, I guess, he was only there for two or three days at a time. It depended on how well the work was going and how much money was in the Town coffers. Anyway, I was with him for several days. We were living in a tent. During the day he had to go into the tunnel to work. He always came out for lunch to be with me. I had my doll with me and another toy or two. He told me I had to stay by the tent. I said I would and I did. I may have told you this before, but it will only take a minute to read it again. For breakfast up at the tunnel we had corn flakes. The only milk we had to put on the corn flakes was canned milk (evaporated, not sweetened condensed). I thought they were the most delicious corn flakes I had ever eaten. Many years later I remembered how good those corn flakes with canned milk tasted so I thought I would try it again. Somehow, they just didn’t measure up. I guess it was where I was and who I was with that made them taste so yummy.

Another time I remember going to work with my Dad (my Mom had another clinic with George) he was working for Ray Young at the L.C. Ranch. My Dad had asked permission for me to be with him and Ray said, “Okay.” One thing we hadn’t counted on was that Ray’s wife and daughter were also at the Ranch that week. The daughter’s name was/is Norma Rae. Norma Rae’s mother’s name was Elizabeth. Elizabeth Young was one of the loveliest, sweetest women on this earth. She cared about other people and she seemed delighted that I was there to be company for Norma Rae. Norma Rae was about two weeks older than I and we would both begin First Grade in the fall. I had a great time being there. Norma Rae had a “zillion” dolls and we had fun. When I went home, she gave me a rubber doll that was just like the one I already had---and I loved her for that. Now, I had twin dolls to play with at home. I think I already told you about that. My Dad worked hard but at day’s end he always had time to hold me on his lap and tell me about things.

My Dad always planted a huge garden every spring. He had to, in order to feed his family. Before he planted the garden he had to plow the ground. He used a plow that had to be pulled by a horse. I saw him do the whole thing by himself but it was terribly hard to do it alone. I found a couple of pictures of the kind of plow he used so you’d be able to picture in your mind how really difficult it was. The blade of the plow came to a point at the front and then the blade swept back into an arc in order for the dirt to be turned back and over. The left side of the blade (the side you can’t see in these pictures) wasn’t as high as the right side and it didn’t arc as much. You can see how the handles angle out from the blade and the piece that comes out from behind the blade pointing forward hooked to the “single-tree” that hooked onto the harness of the horse. Daddy would tie the reins together and put them around his neck, dig the point of the plow blade into the dirt, grab the handles of the plow, make a clicking sound so the horse would start walking forward. He had to keep the point of the plow dug deep into the ground so the rest of the plow would turn the earth over. If the horse didn’t go in a straight line, Daddy would let go of one of the handles and grab one of the reins lightly to encourage the horse to go straight, grab the plow handle again so he could keep the plow deep into the ground. At the end of the row, he’d have to man-handle the plow around the corner so he could make the turn to go back the other way. Keep in mind that the entire time he was plowing, he had to walk in the soft, damp earth that had just been turned over. That had to be harder than distance running in the sand on a beach.

When I was about six years old he decided I was old enough to ride and guide the horse for him. Why didn’t my brother Durant, who was five years older than I do it? Well, he was 11 years old and he had plenty of other work to do. Why didn’t my brother George do it? That’s another story for another day. Besides, I loved being with my Dad and working with him. It was much nicer than being in the house doing dishes or dusting. Of course, when we were through plowing my chores were undoubtedly waiting for me in the house, but I didn’t mind. The time spent with my Dad was special. Keep in mind that this was a big WORK horse, not a saddle pony. Think of the horses that pull the Busch beer wagon in parades. That’s about the size of our work horses. They had big, strong legs and feet and a broad back.

Daddy always wanted STRAIGHT rows in his garden. Some people didn’t mind if their rows weren’t straight but my Dad did not want crooked rows. It was a matter of pride with him. So, he would lift me up onto the back of the horse. Then he would tell me: “Pick out something in front of you and keep your eyes on it. Drive the horse toward that point. If you don’t look from side to side, but keep your eyes on the point ahead of you, we will have straight rows.” I was able to do that and he appreciated not having to worry about the horse walking straight and he could concentrate on the plow.

The instructions he gave me to drive the horse correctly have been a great guide throughout my life. If I don’t look from side to side, but keep my eyes on a point straight ahead, I can always reach my goal. Now, someone out there is going to be facetious and say, “You can miss a lot of scenery if you only look straight ahead.” Just remember----I have excellent peripheral vision. I doubt that I have missed much scenery in my lifetime.

I rode the horse for my Dad many times. I was pleased to help him. After the ground was all plowed, he had a horse-drawn harrow that would break up the big clumps of dirt and make the ground easier to “work” for planting the seeds. I drove the horse with the harrow behind, as well. I have included a picture of a horse-drawn spike harrow that is similar to what Daddy had. I wanted an exact picture but couldn’t find it but this will give you an idea. (Actually, Juli added the pictures.) After the harrowing was finished and the ground was relatively smooth, Daddy would make furrows in the dirt so we could water the seeds after they were planted. His furrows were straight as an arrow. I often wondered how he could make them so straight because he was walking backward. I guess he had his eye on something in front of him and walked straight backward from the point he had chosen.

Then we planted seeds. I always loved to plant corn and potatoes with him. I’d carry a sack with the corn or the cut-up potatoes (each piece of potato had at least one “eye” in it---it’s the eye that sprouts and grows). Daddy would stick his shovel into the dirt; push the handle forward so there was a gap between the shovel and the dirt; I’d drop three or four kernels of corn or a chunk of potato into the gap; he’d pull the shovel out, step on the spot to compact the earth around the seeds, take a step forward and we’d do the whole thing again. He was a great teacher.

When I got to be about 10 years old, I was able to help him harvest the alfalfa crops that he grew for other people. The people he worked for had a tractor to pull the mower and the rake. It wasn’t one of your big fancy, enclosed, air conditioned tractors like many of the farmers here in Loa have now. It was just a plain, old-fashioned tractor with a metal seat (ouch!). You were exposed to the elements all the time so we had to wear a hat and long sleeves or we’d have been burned to a crisp. The alfalfa mower also had a metal seat, as did the rake. My Dad had a perpetual case of hemorrhoids and it was really painful for him to sit on the metal seat of the tractor, so he had Durant drive the tractor and I rode the mower and operated the mower controls so we could get the alfalfa cut. Again, why didn’t George do that? Daddy was afraid that George’s balance was not good enough for him to try to operate machinery like that, so he taught me. Durant and I mowed a lot of alfalfa in those years---always under the watchful eye of Daddy. After the alfalfa was cut we’d let it dry for a few days and then we’d go and rake it into rows that were easy for the guys to pick up with pitch forks and load onto wagons to be carried to the barns. Daddy seemed to think that pitching hay was too hard for me to do and he was probably right.

Occasionally, his employer would want his hay baled. As I recall, there were a couple of “community” balers. They were pretty big so Daddy usually had adult, male help to run them. I always felt a “tad” cheated, but only a “tad.” After a day’s work in the fields, Daddy would always put his arm around me and tell me how proud he was of what I had done. That made it all worthwhile. Did I get paid for doing those things? No, I did not. In those days, everyone in the family worked together for the good of the family. It was a matter of survival.

When I was 10, Daddy decided I was old enough to take piano lessons. He wanted me to learn the Church Hymns. I don’t think he thought about me learning to play other music, as well, because his goal was for me to learn the hymns. Daddy made arrangements with Marge Lyman to give me lessons. I was very excited to begin. Sister Lyman was a lovely, kind and patient woman---an excellent teacher. My lessons were one hour long and I was expected to practice at least one hour every day, including my lesson day and Sunday. The lesson cost 25 cents for an hour. I guess I had a natural talent for music because I progressed very quickly. After about six months of lessons it was winter and jobs were scarce. My Dad decided that, although he didn’t want me to stop taking lessons, he just didn’t have the 25 cents per week to pay for the lessons. He went to Sister Lyman and told her that I would have to quit. Sister Lyman came right back at him with: “You can’t take my best student away. I will not let her stop. I will give her lessons free.” My Dad was not one to take charity! He would pay for the lessons, somehow.

My Dad had a big apple orchard. He also had pears, peaches and apricots. One of his pear trees was a “winter” pear. He dug a big pit in the ground, built several bins in the pit and put plenty of straw in the bins to keep the apples and winter pears off the ground. He always had lots of apples so we could have as many as we wanted to eat every day. What does that have to do with music lessons? He would take Sister Lyman apples and pears. We always had a cow so there was always cream for making butter. Mom would make butter and Daddy would take a pound of really good butter to Sister Lyman. As soon as it was spring and the garden was growing, he took fresh produce plus butter and cream. I’m sure she was paid much better in that manner than 25 cents per week. It was a good deal for every one. Sister Lyman seemed to be pleased with the arrangement and I was able to continue lessons for another eight months.

When I was 12 my Dad was called to be a Stake Missionary. He and his companion, Joe Hunt, would go to Bluff (a town about 25-27 miles southeast of Blanding) every other week because they had no Priesthood in Bluff at that time. I guess they took turns with another couple of Stake Missionaries so they didn’t always have to miss their own meetings. Anyway, there was a piano in the tiny building in Bluff but no one to play it. Daddy took me with him so they could have piano accompaniment for singing the hymns. I could play most of the hymns by then; I loved the experience and I loved being with my Dad. He was so very proud of me and Brother Hunt was impressed.

Daddy was always looking for ways to make extra money for his family. For several years he went door-to-door selling “Mason” brand shoes. They were extremely well-made shoes and people seemed to like them. He was able to make some money that way. Also, he went door-to-door selling “Stark” brand trees. They offered shade, ornamental and fruit trees. They were great trees. People bought trees from him a lot. The mark-up wasn’t much but it provided a little extra cash. There was no nursery in Blanding for many years so, over time, he was able to sell trees to nearly every family in Blanding.

I really didn’t know much about his tree selling until my mother died in l991. When we went to her funeral Bishop Joe Lyman (who happened to be the youngest son of Marge Lyman, my piano teacher) told me that he really missed my Dad. I asked him, “How so?” He said, “Well, I bought quite a few trees from your Dad.” He went on to tell me that when a person bought a tree from my Dad, he also bought my Dad’s services for the life of the tree---at no extra charge. He explained what he meant. When someone bought a tree (the trees were shipped in from Stark Brothers Nursery in Michigan) Daddy would deliver the tree/trees to the person’s home and then say, “Where do you want me to plant this/these?” Bishop Lyman told Daddy that he didn’t have to plant the trees but Daddy would not let anyone plant the trees he sold. He didn’t want any of “his” trees to die because they weren’t planted correctly, so he planted every tree he ever sold. Not only that, for the first year he watered the trees, just to be sure everything was as it needed to be. After the first year, he pruned the trees for his customers. While the trees were small that was no big deal but after they were grown to size, it was a “heck of a big deal.” Bishop Lyman said that some of Daddy’s customers knew how to prune their own trees and did so, but for those who did not know how to prune, Daddy was always there to help. He also made sure that the trees were sprayed.

My Dad always took really good care of his own trees. He knew how to prune, when to prune, how much fertilizer and water each tree needed and when it was needed. As a result, he always had a bumper crop. Also, he managed to get enough money together to buy a small sprayer so he could spray the trees properly when needed. Other people saw what good fruit he got and wanted his help with their trees, including spraying. Finally, the little sprayer just wouldn’t do the job any more. The Town Council got together and decided that the Town needed a commercial size sprayer and that Daddy should be the one to do the spraying. I don’t know how much they paid him but it wasn’t enough. People used to use terrible things in spray. Durant used to help Daddy spray. The big sprayer was a two-man job. No masks were provided and they didn’t think about masks being a necessity so the first day they used the big, new sprayer, they sprayed trees for several hours and came home so sick I thought they would both die. Daddy and Durant were both nauseated and in pain but could not throw up to relieve the pain. Finally, my mother made a concoction of raw egg with mustard powder and gave it to them. Durant threw up almost immediately and got some relief but even that horrible stuff didn’t induce Daddy to throw up. It took him about a day and a half to get relief. It was pretty scary. I don’t remember much of what was in the spray mixture but I do remember one of the chemicals in the spray was nicotine. They determined it was the nicotine that had made them so sick. Daddy wouldn’t spray with nicotine any more and they were okay after that. Also, the Town provided masks for them and that helped. Daddy did the spraying for people all over town every spring for several years. I don’t know who took over for him when he decided he couldn’t do it any more or, whether any one did. He went back to using his own small sprayer on his own orchard.

After I had graduated from Sixth Grade and had gone on to the High School (grades 7 through 12), my Dad was hired to be the Custodian at the Elementary School. He received the enormous salary of $1,000.00 per year. At least, I thought it was an enormous salary. I thought we were rich. Yes, he had a steady job and received a pay check monthly. Daddy really enjoyed that job. He kept the job until the School District made him retire. I think he was 70 when he retired.

A couple of years after Daddy got the job at the school, Durant was ready to go on a mission. Durant’s expenses would be $60.00 per month. Our Ward offered to pay $20.00 per month so that left $40.00 per month for Daddy to pay. That took $480.00 per year from the $1,000.00 per year that Daddy was paid but it worked out just fine. Daddy still sold shoes and trees and did the town spraying for that period of time. As I recall, he hired someone to be his spraying helper while Durant was gone.

During the summer, Daddy was in charge of making sure the school building was thoroughly cleaned for the new school year. He was allowed to hire help and the School Board paid that help. There were windows to wash (lots and lots of windows and they were high).

The desks had to be scrubbed and all the chewing gum scraped off. The rest rooms needed to be deep cleaned. Daddy hired me to work at the school. My sister, Grace, was also available to help clean the school during two summers, as I recall. We were a good team. However, I may have gotten my fear of heights from cleaning the outside windows on that school. I was always the one who did the outside and as I mentioned, they were high. The School Board allowed a certain amount to be paid for cleaning the school. I do not remember exactly, but I seem to remember being paid 25 cents an hour. I thought I was a millionaire. That was a lot of money. Daddy did the repairs that were needed and fixed any plumbing problems. He did small painting jobs and touch-up. The first year Daddy had the job, the School Board wanted a lot of painting to be done and authorized funds to hire a painter. The painter’s name was Edson Palmer. He and my Dad had been friends for years. One day he was painting the doors on the west side of the building. I had been cleaning in the rest room down stairs. There was only one way to get out of the restroom and that way was up the stairs by the west doors that were being painted. As I passed by Mr. Palmer, he turned around and said, “You are so beautiful.” Then he grabbed me and planted a huge, wet, sloppy kiss on my mouth. I was 13. I had never been kissed in that fashion before and I was disgusted and scared. I broke away from him and hurried away. I worked by my Dad the rest of the morning but I didn’t tell him. I was too ashamed and afraid. At lunch time Daddy and I walked home to get something to eat. Daddy was outside for a little while and I told my Mom what had happened. Mom went outside and told Daddy what I had told her. Daddy didn’t stop to eat. He just went right to the school building and I guess he really gave his friend the word. I learned later that Daddy told Mr. Palmer if he ever laid a hand on me in any way, again, he would beat him, Mr. Palmer, until he was bloody. Mr. Palmer continued with the painting until it was completed, probably another week or so. He didn’t touch me again. Of course, I steered pretty clear of the guy so he wouldn’t have a chance to bother me further. I have always been grateful to my Dad for believing me. After all, he and Edson had been friends for many, many years. Edson was at least as old as my Dad. If that happened now, Edson would probably have been tossed into jail for a while for what he did. My Dad was a good enough friend to Edson not to tell on him, but he made it clear that his actions were unacceptable.

I could tell you so many more experiences with my Dad but this post is quite long enough. My Dad was always the example of how one should live his/her life. All of his children loved him, dearly. We all respected his integrity. We all learned many of life’s lessons by watching his example. Swearing and profanity were not in his vocabulary. I remember his total honesty. If there was a right and a wrong way to accomplish something, there was never any question which way he would choose.
Daddy passed away in January, 1976. He was 88 years old. He had spent so much of his life smiling that the corners of his mouth perpetually turned up. As he lay in his coffin at the viewing, it appeared that he was smiling, and I’m sure he was. He was never happier than when he had his kids and grandkids around him. All but one or two of his descendents were there.

I love you all.