Attention Walmart Shoppers

ANOTHER SPENCER-ISM

noreply@blogger.com (Marilyn) — Thu, 24 Sep 2009 01:16:00 +0000

I had to share the latest Spencer-ism with you. That kid just absolutely cracks me up. Today I was staying with Spencer while Eric was at school. We were talking and he was asking questions. All at once he became very serious and said: "Grandma, when I'm as old as you I'll be a hundred billion." Don't you love it?

LIVING AND LEARNING WITH NEW ADVENTURES

noreply@blogger.com (Marilyn) — Sun, 20 Sep 2009 22:16:00 +0000

My life is just one adventure after another. Everything turned/is turning out well. I am happy, healthy and after a couple of good night's sleep I am able to perform the tasks that need to be done. But, I'm getting ahead of myself so let me start at the beginning.

It all began a couple of weeks ago. Patti called me and, with Danielle's game schedule in front of her, she relayed the information that Danielle would be playing a home game (soccer) against a BIG rival (the other High School in Cedar) on Thursday, September 17th, and the new Shakespeare Festival season would be beginning on Friday, September 18th, and would I like (be able) to come over for the game and the play. Everything fit into my schedule and I gave her a big YES!

Inasmuch as the amount of knowledge I have regarding the inner workings of an automobile would fit on the head of a very small pin, I decided I'd take my van over to the local shop and have them check the tire pressure; determine whether my tires were safe to travel to Cedar and back; change the oil and filter, etc. The people at that shop have taken very good care of me since my arrival in Loa. When I call them for anything, they always offer to come pick up my vehicle, take care of "whatever" and bring the vehicle back when the work is done. Believe me, that kindness/courtesy has been much appreciated. They recognize my voice on the phone---they just take care of me. They picked up my van Wednesday morning, took care of it and brought it back to me Wednesday afternoon.

I packed my suitcase Wednesday evening so I'd be ready to leave at a decent time Thursday morning. I had hoped to leave about 10:00 a.m. but a couple of things came up and I didn't get away until almost 11:30. Initially, I had planned to wash my van in Richfield so it would be pretty, but inasmuch as I was so late and I couldn't remember how many miles I had to drive or how long it would take me, I decided not to wash the van and wait to wash it in Cedar. I certainly didn't want to be late for Danielle's game. I did, however, fill the gas tank in Richfield and immediately drove to the freeway (I-70) and I was on my way. The speed limit on I-70 is 75. I don't do 75 but I did set my cruise between 65 and 70. I-70, between Richfield and I-15,
is a beautiful drive and I was thoroughly enjoying the scenery. I saw a sign that said: I-15 5 mi. I was satisfied at what good time I was making. A couple of miles later as I was nearing what I thought was the last hill before I-15, I passed a truck with its blinkers on. After I passed the truck I checked my rear-view mirror before I moved back into the outside lane. I thought I saw smoke. It alarmed me just a little but then I thought, "I've just passed a truck. That's probably where the smoke is coming from." (Can you imagine that, in my mind, I ended two sentences with prepositions?) I breezed over the top of the hill and as I checked my rear-view mirror I thought I could still see smoke. At first I thought it was my imagination. My next thought was, "There is probably another truck in front of me." Then I looked at my dash! The red light that indicates the little oil can with a drop of oil was glowing. I do know enough about cars to realize that I really didn't want to see that red light on the dash. I touched my brakes to turn off the cruise and began to slow down. I was on the downhill side of the hill leading to I-15.

I decided to let the van coast out of the canyon if it would because I was afraid I wouldn't have cell service in the canyon and I knew I needed help. There were a couple of bridges that, of course, didn't have a wide enough place for me to stop and then I saw the off-ramp that turns north on I-15 toward Salt Lake City. I coasted past that off-ramp and pulled into the emergency lane. As I came to a full stop I realized the motor was not running so I turned off the key. Almost as soon as I turned off the key I realized I was not as far over on the emergency lane as I had, at first, thought. I turned on the key to move about 10 feet further where there was more room in the lane but the vehicle was dead where it stood. To say the least, I was a tad worried. I have to tell you that in the next two hours (or however long it actually was) every vehicle (and the traffic was quite heavy) coming down that highway moved over into the far lane and did not even come at all close to me. I got out of the van and raised the hood in case a Highway Patrol Trooper happened by so he/she could see I needed help.

The first thing I did was try to call AAA for a tow. Alas, I guess I've only had my cell phone three or four months. Juli got it for me and she and Kadi programmed it with the numbers I thought I'd call. Guess what? I didn't know how to put a new number into it and I couldn't figure it out. I suspect my brain was not working to full capacity at that moment so I called Patti. Her number was in the phone. Patti dropped everything, got on another phone (keeping me on line for information) and called AAA. They told her they would send a tow truck and tow me to Fillmore. I didn't want to go north to Fillmore because, duh, I was headed south to Cedar. We were told only the first five miles were free and unless I went to an AAA approved shop it would cost $4.00 per mile. The shop they were pushing at that time was in Fillmore. We were told it was the only shop in the area that was AAA approved. Patti and I discussed the situation and tossed around two or three options. Patti called Dave for some input. AAA called me and told me a tow truck was on the way and it was coming out of Beaver Valley towing and it would be there shortly. A few minutes later the tow truck driver called me and said he was 30 to 35 minutes away. I called Patti back. She had talked to Dave. He had learned that the Dodge dealership in Richfield is the only Dodge dealership in southern Utah. By then, inasmuch as I would not be able to get to Danielle's game on time (and seeing Danielle play her game was the big draw in going to Cedar---everything else was a bonus) we all decided that I should go to the Dodge dealership in Richfield.

AAA had told me they had called the Highway Patrol to alert them. Highway Patrol Dispatch called to tell me they had a trooper in the area and he would come and stay with me until the tow truck arrived. (I don't know whether Patti had told them I'm old.) I waited for quite a while and finally a trooper stopped at the side of my van and asked if I was okay and did I have any water? I said, "Yes, I'm okay and yes, I do have water." He said, "Okay, I'll be back to check on you a couple of times until the tow truck gets here." So much for staying with me until help arrived! I never saw the Trooper again.

I called Juli to tell her what was going on and she said, "I'll come pick you up in Richfield." We decided I'd call her when the tow truck arrived and we'd probably get to Richfield about the same time but after the tow truck arrived I thought I should get to Richfield and then call her to come because I needed to see how serious the damage was and I didn't want her to have to wait a long time.

The thing that is so incredible to me is this: Both Patti and Juli were willing to drop whatever they were doing and do whatever was needed to rescue me. It brings tears to my eyes every time I think of it and I think of it many times each day. I am so blessed to have a loving family on whom I can rely.

It was hot sitting in the sun, however I was happy it was cooler than it had been a few days earlier. I had my windows open and, of course, the flies swarmed in. The flies were quite annoying.

Before the tow truck arrived I glanced through the front window and could see a car stopped in front of me. Two old guys were getting out. I must admit I was just a little nervous. Now is the time to tell you why I was not a whole lot nervous. When I travel alone I carry a gun---and I know how to use it. One guy stopped to take a look at the car, the other came to the window and said, "My name is Richard Beaumont. We are from LaVerkin. Are you okay? Can we help? Do you know what is wrong?" I told him about the little oil can light on the dash; about having the oil changed yesterday; about the tow truck that would be here in about 10 minutes. By then, I could tell they were completely harmless and really did stop to try to help. One of them kneeled down and got under the van to take a look. Frankly, he was old enough that I wondered whether he'd be able to get back up on his feet after crawling part-way under the van. I marveled that he was able to get back on his feet. I don't think I could have gotten down in the first place and I know for sure I couldn't have gotten back up without help. He told me there was a big puddle of oil under my van and that there didn't seem to be a plug in the pan. Guess that's why my van stopped. Cars don't seem to work right if they don't have oil! The three of us visited a few minutes. They asked where I'm from and when I said, "Loa," they got really excited. They told me they come up to Boulder Mountain several times each summer for camping and fishing because it is so much cooler on Boulder Mountain than in LaVerkin. I enjoyed their company until the tow truck arrived.

The two old guys told the driver what they had seen under the van. The driver, who is a certified mechanic, took a look and verified what they said. The two guys told me good-bye and good-luck, then got into their vehicle and drove on. They had to move, of course, in order for the tow truck to pull in front of me. After he pulled in front of me he asked me to come and he'd help me into the tow truck and then he'd load up the van. I guess this is the appropriate time to tell you that the minute I looked at him, I knew I was in love again! He was extremely good looking with a marvelous smile. I learned later that he also has a great sense of humor. He and I talked and laughed all the way to Richfield. I hope he remembers me as fondly as I remember him.

I took my purse, water and cane to the truck and then was faced with the daunting task of actually getting into the truck. Holy cow! Those trucks are high; the steps are high and far apart and I'm not much of a climber anymore. There's always a bright side to these things. He had to help me a lot! What fun! Yeh, I was finally up in the truck. He pulled my van up onto the back of the truck and we were off to Richfield.

After we pulled up to the Dodge dealership a man came out to see what was up. Rick, my driver, told him and also told him I'd had the oil changed the day before. The Dodge guy said, "That's who you need to talk to, first." I didn't remember the number so Mr. Dodge guy went in to a phone book, got the number and brought it out to the tow truck. Rick called the shop here in Loa. Gary answered the phone. He is the man I usually deal with at the Loa shop so I know him best and I was glad he answered the phone. Rick told him he had me and my van at the Dodge dealership in Richfield and told Gary what he had seen under the van. Gary said, "Take her to Wal-Mart. Leave the van in the parking lot. If she has any shopping to do she can do that while I drive down to get her." The first thing I did was call Juli to tell her not to come to get me because I'd be coming with Gary in his tow truck. Rick and I drove to Wal-Mart. He unloaded the van. I paid him for the tow; he helped me down out of the truck---no small task (no pun intended). Personally, I don't think it was as good for him as it was for me. Then we said good-bye.

I had a short list at Wal-Mart but I had to wait for an electric cart. By then, even with a short list, I was too tired to try to walk through the store. After about 20 minutes a cart became available so I did my shopping. Just as I picked up the last item I looked up and saw Gary coming down the aisle. I waved and said, "Gee, I'm sorry we have to meet like this." He smiled and said, "I think I'm a lot sorrier than you are." I felt very badly for him because I consider him to be my friend and he has always taken such good care of me. I gave him the key to my van. He went out and loaded up my van while I checked out. Of course, I had the daunting task of trying to climb up in another high truck and I have to tell you---the steps were even further apart on the Loa truck than they were on the Beaver truck. Gary had to do some boosting to get me in. I'm sure I enjoyed it more than he did. We talked and told stories the whole way home and it was very enjoyable for me. We know each other better now. I like him a lot. He drove me home, got me down out of the truck and into the house. Then he went out and got my suitcase and everything out of the van and brought it into the house. Again, he apologized for what had happened. He said his 18-year old son changed the oil and afterward, the son told his dad that he checked everything twice because he knew I'd be driving alone and he didn't want anything to go wrong.

As for me, I was well taken care of. I wish everything had been good because I know this is causing my friends grief and they thought they had taken every precaution to be sure I was safe. I don't know exactly what happened. Perhaps we'll never know. Sometimes things just happen! I love my friends at the shop and they are doing everything possible to get my van fixed.

Friday afternoon Gary came over to tell me what's up. They will be putting a new motor in my van. It will probably take 10 to 12 days to get the motor to Loa and installed. In the meantime, they have loaned me a Blazer to drive until mine is fixed. It is costing them a lot of money but they are determined to do things right. I have the utmost respect and love for them.

I probably should tell you of one of the decisions I made before I left Loa on Thursday morning because it turned out to be of great importance. Every day I take three or four vitamin supplements and a couple of prescription pills. One of the pills is for allergies and the other is to prevent water retention. I decided not to take the water pill inasmuch as I'd be on the road and I didn't want to have to stop every hour to pee. I went to the bathroom the last thing before I walked out the door---probably about 11:20 a.m. I loaded my stuff, drove to Richfield, filled with gas and thought about going to the restroom but it was not urgent. I figured before I was in trouble I'd be on I-15 and there would be several convenience store/fuel stops where I could find a restroom. As it turned out, I didn't get to a restroom until about 5:00 p.m. at Wal-Mart. If I'd taken my water pill, I'd have had to go at Richfield and then while waiting for the tow truck, I'd have had to get out of the car and "bare" everything at least two times right there at the side of the van with the whole world looking on. Not taking my water pill last Thursday was one of the better decisions I've made in my lifetime.

The end of my most recent adventure is coming to a close. It certainly was not all bad. I had the privilege of riding/interacting with two good-looking men with whom I had a very good time. At Richfield while I was waiting at the Dodge dealership, I called Patti and told her, "I think I'm in love again." The driver was climbing into the truck at the time and heard me. When I said what I said, I wasn't paying attention and didn't realize he was close enough to hear. After I was through talking to Patti and had hung up the phone, I said to Rick, "I hope I didn't embarrass you, considering that you are young enough to be my son." Rick laughed and said, "Actually, I'm flattered." Aaaaaahhhhh! Not only is he good looking---he is also very gracious and happily married with children. AND Gary and I are still friends and I love him more now than before. He is also young enough to be my son and is happily married with children.

There are many things to be learned during any adventure. One of the most important things I have learned is to be more aware of what's going on under my van. I am going to be checking under the van each time before I drive it. If I had looked while was getting fuel in Richfield there may have been an indication of something wrong: a drop or two of fresh oil or something. I am also going to walk around my van each day before I drive it to make sure the tires are okay. No, there was no problem with the tires but that doesn't mean there never will be. I need to be aware of those things. In years past I have always relied on Jack to notice things like that. Obviously, I don't have that crutch any more. I must be more self-reliant.

This paragraph is a Post Script to the above: Out of curiosity, I went outside and looked at my driveway where my van was parked before I left. After the oil was changed my van was brought back to me and parked in my driveway. I then drove to the grocery store and back and parked it in my driveway. It was parked in two slightly different places and there are two small oil spots. There has never been an oil drip on my driveway since we moved here, until now. If I had looked under the van and seen the oil, I may have been able to avoid this whole ordeal. In my defense, I had no reason to think there would be any problem inasmuch as I'd just had the oil changed. They have changed oil for me before in other vehicles and there have been no problems. This, for some reason, was different. And now I am different.

I do love you all so very much.

MEXICAN RIVIERA ADVENTURE

noreply@blogger.com (Marilyn) — Sat, 05 Sep 2009 20:41:00 +0000

Oh my! Do I have an adventure to share with all of you! I do, indeed!

Bret and Heidi invited me to go on a cruise with them. I thought about it for awhile and I had a dozen reasons why I shouldn't go. I had always wanted to go on a cruise but Jack said he didn't think it would be much fun; that the ships are too big; that there are too many people on them; that it would be too crowded, etc., so we didn't go on a cruise. I looked at my future options of going on a cruise; I decided that the older I get the less likely I'd be able to go and since, unfortunately, I'm not getting any younger I just took the plunge and said I'd go.

Friday morning, February 6th, Tal took me to Richfield to meet Bret and Heidi. They had come to Richfield the night before and stayed in a hotel so we could leave by 8:30 a.m. to drive to Long Beach, California. It had taken me two days to pack. I couldn't decide what to take to wear. Finally, I just put some clothes into my bags and decided if they weren't right it didn't matter. The chances I will see any of those people again (except Bret, Heidi and Aspen) are fairly slim. As it turned out, I guess what I took was okay. I experienced a lot of "firsts" on the trip. I had never eaten at an "In and Out Burger." Now I have. I couldn't believe how good the food was and how long the lines were. It was fun and tasty. On this trip no one yelled at me if I had to stop to go to the restroom. It was great! Friday night we stayed at a hotel in Carson (close to Long Beach) and we had all day Saturday to look around.

I believe I've told you that Jack and I lived in an apartment in Newport Beach, California, for about five weeks beforre he got his orders to go to Korea. Bret and Heidi had never seen where that apartment was and they thought it would be neat to find it if I could remember where it is. I thought I remembered Balboa Boulevard but I had long-since forgotten the number so we "went looking." We drove and drove (south) and I just did not see it. I began to wonder whether I would recognize it if I did see it. Finally, after I thought we must surely have passed it, I said, "I just don't know whether---Oh, there it is!" Bret turned the corner; we found a parking place and went back to take a look. Heidi took pictures and then we walked the short distance to the beach. Wow! The beach has changed. Now, there is a six-foot wide sidewalk along the edge of the beach where people can run, walk, ride bicycles, skateboard, etc. I believe the tide was out so it was about 300+ feet to the ocean. Bret, Heidi and Aspen walked to the ocean. I sat on a block wall and people-watched. There are nice restrooms strategically placed on the beach, which weren't there when we lived there. You have to remember, we lived in Newport Beach in November and December, 1951. (By the way, we lived in apartment No. 5, back in the corner on the right.)

We did some sightseeing the rest of the day. We saw a big IKEA store. Bret asked whether I'd ever been in an IKEA. I hadn't, so we stopped and went inside. Oh, my goodness! I had heard about IKEA and I'd seen advertising but I could never have imagined what it was really like. We went through the whole store. When we got to the china section I decided I'd go home, throw out all my old tableware and start over. There are some exceptionally new and exciting things available now. However, when I returned home I thought better of it. I guess I'll use what I have. Anyway, going through the store was certainly an eye-opener and a lot of fun. I'm sure it wasn't much fun for Bret. He pushed me in a wheelchair. I'd have never made it if I had tried to walk.

We decided to eat dinner at an Outback Restaurant. I'd never eaten there before so Bret and Heidi decided I should have that pleasure. It was really hard to choose what to order but when I finally decided, that was some kind of good food!

Sunday morning we got up, had breakfast and then got ready to board the ship. We were to begin boarding at 11:00 a.m. Bret has VIP privileges so all we had to do was go to a room, show them our credentials (passport, etc.) and go aboard. The dock workers took everyone's luggage to the ship. We had tags with our assigned room numbers on the luggage and when we got to the ship our luggage was waiting outside our doors.

The ship we boarded was the "Carnival Pride." It is one of their smaller cruise ships but even so, it was enormous. With as much walking as you have to do on a cruise ship, I'm glad we didn't go on one of the biggest ships. Every time we turned around, someone was taking our picture. They put the pictures on big display boards so we could decide whether we wanted any of them. After we found our rooms we went to lunch. There were all kinds of foods we could choose at several buffet counters. It was really fun. We both had a balcony with our room and that was really nice. I don't remember what time the ship sailed but the movement of the ship was quite wonderful. I knew it would rock me to sleep at night and I liked that. That night at dinner (our assigned dinner time was 8:15 p.m. every evening and our assigned table was 142) I began my quest to try as much on the menu, that I had never tasted, as I possibly could. I wish I could remember everything on the menu because I ordered several things the first night I had never tasted. However, I don't want to bore you with every little detail so I will just hit the high points. We could order two or three appetizers; we could combine a couple of entree's and order two or three desserts if we thought we could eat that much. I knew I couldn't so I had to make decisions (the menu was different every day).

There were wonderful soups, seafood and other things for appetizers. Their entree's always listed red meat, seafood, chicken and pork plus a couple of vegetarian options. I think I'm forgetting something but it escapes me at the moment. Sometimes it was difficult to choose because everything sounded so delicious.

The first night out Creme Brulee was on the menu. I had never had an opportunity to eat Creme Brulee so I, of course, chose that for my dessert. Oh, my goodness, it was so wonderful! I knew, for sure, I had died and gone to heaven. If we eat in Heaven, Creme Brulee will be there! It was so delicious I just closed my eyes and enjoyed the taste and feel of it in my mouth. My cute waiter saw me salivating over my dessert. He leaned down by my ear and said, "I have another one. I will bring it to you." At that point I was absolutely certain I was in heaven. I ordered Tilapia for my entree. Jack had always said Tilapia is a "soft" fish and "no good." Frankly, I doubt he had ever tasted it but inasmuch as he was an "authority" on everything, he had to make a negative comment to dissuade me from ordering any. I can't imagine why it mattered to him what I ate. Frankly, I can't imagine why I caved in and listened to him and I can't imagine why I didn't just order what I wanted. As it turned out, I loved the Tilapia. Mercy me! He has missed out on a lot of really good food because he was afraid to try new foods.

Monday, February 9th the moon was full. Obviously, Sunday, February 8th it was almost full. My room was on the side of the ship where I could watch the moon rise. What a gorgeous sight! That was incredible! My first cruise and I get a full moon! Monday and Tuesday we were "at sea" so we just did fun things on the ship. They have activities for the kids, as well, and Aspen had lots of fun doing kids things. Of course, every day, mealtimes were a new adventure. I did sample a lot of dishes I had never tasted before. It was a delightful experience.

Each night when we returned to our rooms, there was a darling little "animal" on our beds. They were made with a couple of white towels with some little sticky dots for eyes and nose. We had dogs, seals, rabbits, fish, elephants---I wish I could remember all of them. Five of the seven nights we were aboard the ship I had two "animals" on my bed. They were so cute I wanted to bring all of them home with me. However, I didn't want to be charged for the towels. They would have charged me $22.00 for each towel---a little pricey for a souvenir that may have fallen apart if I was unable to pack it properly. I didn't bring any home but Heidi took pictures of some of them so I can enjoy looking at them whenever I feel the urge.

Wednesday we docked at Puerto Vallarta. Thursday we headed north and docked at Mazatlan and Friday we were at Cabo San Lucas. At each Port, Bret hired a van with a driver to take us on a tour of the area. I couldn't believe how different each City was. In my mind, I had pictured all three Port Cities as being similar. How wrong I was! The drivers told us a lot of information and history about each City and, of course, we were offered the opportunity to stop and shop. We didn't do much shopping but we did a lot of browsing. It was interesting and fun. In Puerto Vallarta we visited an ancient Cathedral. It was lovely. We also saw where the movie "Night of the Iguana" was made and many other delightful sights and sounds. The trees, flowers, birds and butterflies were incredibly beautiful---even magnificent. There was only one thing that disturbed me. It has always been my experience when I see an eight-sided sign at a road crossing, I know I should stop, look both ways and proceed with caution. Apparently it is an option in Mexico. Those van drivers didn't even notice the stop signs. They just plowed forward. Fortunately, we didn't have an accident in any of the three cities. We counted ourselves lucky. Otherwise, each day was a fun day.

(Bret asked the van driver in Puerta Vallarta whether the economic problems occurring in the United States were affecting Mexico. The driver's response was: "If the United States sneezes, Mexico gets pneumonia.")

Saturday was another day at sea and it had its own bundle of firsts for me. I had heard a lot about escargot but had never been in a position to taste it. It wasn't that I was dying to taste it but I was curious. I have a great curiosity about food---most food, that is. There are things that I have no desire to try: worms, grasshoppers, crickets, tarantulas, etc. In my opinion, only publicity seekers eat things like that unless they are starving. So, back to the escargot! I know escargot is a fancy name for snails and what I know about snails was that they leave a slimy trail. As a rule, I don't do slimy. Saturday night at dinner, escargot was on the appetizer menu. I wasn't sure I wanted a whole appetizer but Bret said he was going to order escargot and that he would share with me. The escargot came bathed in lots of garlic butter. I love garlic butter so I figured the escargot couldn't be all bad. I had heard people say eating escargot is like eating a piece of rubber bathed in garlic butter sauce. I used a spoon so I could get plenty of the garlic butter sauce. It wasn't so bad. It didn't taste like rubber and it was far more tender than a piece of rubber. I'm not sure I'd ever order en entire appetizer for myself but if someone else ordered and wanted to share, I'd eat one again.

There was a nice man sitting at our table. I had chatted with him on several occasions. He was very solicitous, kind and interesting. He had ordered Ahi (tuna) tartar for his appetizer. He had noticed I was sampling new foods at every meal. After I had eaten the escargot he asked if I'd ever eaten Ahi tartar. I told him I hadn't so he asked if I would like to sample his appetizer. I know "tartar" means "raw" so I was just a tad reluctant. As I've mentioned, I don't do slimy, and I thought raw fish might be a little slimy but he was so sweet, cute and persuasive I decided to give it a try. For those of you who do not know---with anything "tartar" the chef chops the meat very fine---almost as though it has gone through a meat grinder---they season it and mold it into small cubes---maybe 3/4"---at least that's how the Ahi tartar was served. There was a small dollop of white sauce on top and a small sprinkling of caviar on top of the sauce. I suggested I cut off a small piece but he insisted that I should pop the whole thing in my mouth. I did and lived to tell the story. It isn't something I'd order for myself but it wasn't slimy and actually didn't taste too badly.

For my entree' on Saturday night I ordered veal. How could I live to be 75 years old and never have eated veal? The reason, of course, was Jack. Many times he mentioned how much he disliked veal so I never bought any to cook at home. We rarely ate at restaurants that might have served veal. I enjoyed the veal and will undoubtedly eat it again in the future.

When we left Long Beach to travel south to Puerta Vallarta the ship traveled at a nice easy-going speed of 18 knots. The boat rocked gently and it was altogether lovely. After we left Cabo San Lucas the ship speeded up to 22 knots. The ship has a lot more movement at that speed. I didn't mind the difference in speed but it was not as smooth. A couple of times I had to put my hand out to grab a chair or steady myself against a wall because the motion of the ship was more pronounced. We had a lot of ground (water) to cover to get back to Long Beach by Sunday morning. Friday and Saturday nights I really felt the rocking of the ship and I slept more soundly with the faster speed. It was great! The passengers could track the progress of the ship on their TV in their room. It was very interesting. Who would've thought such a thing was possible? The screen showed the shoreline and the position of the ship. Cool!

I think I have hit the high points. Heidi took pictures and put them on discs for me so you can enjoy some of them with this post. Thank you, Heidi. I did buy a few of the pictures the ship's photographers took and we may be able to add a couple of those, as well. I loved the cruise. I loved my traveling companions. I loved meeting new people. I loved the food. I just love the whole idea of being able to be on a cruise.

If you don't see any pictures with this post, please check back in a few days to look at them. Juli is adding the pictures so you can enjoy them with me. Thank you, Juli.

Bret and Heidi celebrated their wedding anniversary June 24th. Tal and Julianne celebrated their wedding anniversary July 21st. Happy anniversary!

Happy Birthday to Justin, July 21st; Tal, July 25th; Shanna, August 12th; Eric Shields, August 20th. Hope you all had a great day.

I'd better say Happy Birthday to the September people. I plan to have another post on my blog before September is over but just in case---Happy Birthday to Taylor, September 10th; James, September 15th; Eric Ehlers, September 25th; Davey, September 26th; Kammie, September 26th.

I love you all.

UPDATE ON JACK - MAY 2009

noreply@blogger.com (Marilyn) — Tue, 26 May 2009 16:44:00 +0000

Yes, I know! It’s been too long since I’ve posted. I really have been working on my post about my cruise. It’s almost ready. I now have pictures, as well, so it will be more fun for you to look at and read. In addition, I’ve had cataract surgery on both eyes—two weeks apart and there was a short time when I had great distance vision but zero close-up vision. That meant I couldn’t see what I was typing on the computer screen. I do have to go in for a “laser zap” on my eyes. One in five people who have cataract surgery have to have the laser zap. It seems that occasionally a piece of the sac that held my original (what I was born with) lens, breaks off and then turns up in front of the new lens in the form of “fog.” That’s what I have to have done this Thursday, 5/14/09.

Enough about me! Here’s what’s happening with Jack:

For a number of years, Jack has had several TIA’s or mini strokes. He would have one and be unable to communicate for two or three hours and then he’d be back to normal as though nothing had happened. But in the past two weeks he has had two and maybe three strokes that have caused damage, i.e., his left leg is dragging, he cannot stand without assistance and can only walk when there is a person on both sides holding him up. Also, he has little use of his left hand. When I was at the care center on Tuesday, May 5th, his left eye-lid was drooping. His Doctor (Dr. Brown) thinks he had another stroke on Wednesday, May 6th. They drew blood and did a lot of tests on that. I have received the report but do not understand much. I will get with Juli when she has time. She really knows a lot about that stuff.

I talked to Jack on Sunday, May 3rd. He seemed pretty much like he has been. When I talked to him on Monday, May 4th, he really seemed out of it. He was slurring his words more than before but he kept saying things that were really “out in left field.” He told me that Juli is in charge over at the care center and that Juli really has everything “under control” at the care center. Then he told me that he needed me to look into something for him. He said, “Grandma Erickson died and she had a lot of nice furniture.” Then he said, “There are people who are taking her furniture and putting it into bottles to preserve it.” That’s what he wanted me to look into. He didn’t think “those people” should be taking Grandma Erickson’s furniture. For those of you who don’t know who Grandma Erickson is: Grandma Erickson is Jack’s mother’s mother. She passed away in December of 1956.

Juli had seen Jack on Saturday, May 2nd. She told me his left eyelid seemed to be drooping. I called the care center on Monday and talked to his nurse. She said that he seemed to be dragging his left leg and couldn’t stand up by himself and that he didn’t seem to have as much strength in his left hand as he had before. That’s when she told me she thought he’d had a stroke. She said that it was a small stroke and that they didn’t know whether he might soon have a massive stroke. Some people have a couple of little strokes and then have a massive stroke that either kills them or leaves them helpless.

I drove over to Richfield on Tuesday, May 5th to visit him. He was in the Physical Therapy room and they had been working with him. He looked at me and there was not an ounce of recognition in his eyes. A few minutes later he knew who I am but not at all, at first. I had taken him a Frosty. He tried to hold it in his left hand and had quite a hard time. I had to keep pushing the cup upright so it didn’t spill out. Bret was there to see him on the following Friday. He also took him a Frosty. By Friday, Jack was unable to hold the Frosty at all. Bret had to hold it for him. It was that weekend that Dr. Brown told Tal he thought Jack had had another stroke.

I went over to see him again on Friday, May 15th. He talked and talked but I was only able to understand two phrases. He was just mumbling. I told him several times that I couldn’t understand him and asked him to repeat what he said. He apparently did repeat what he had said but I couldn’t understand him the second time, either. It is very sad. Apparently the Physical Therapists are working with him a lot but I don’t think there’s much hope he will make a miraculous recovery.

That is pretty much how things are at the moment. I’ll try to keep you updated. It is so sad to someone who used to have so much energy and got so much accomplished become totally dependent for his care and lose his mind and memory in the process. As an Architect, he was the Architect on about 100 chapels, multiple schools, public buildings, hospitals, high rise condominiums and other miscellaneous buildings. He learned how to fly and got his private pilot’s license. He was President of the Sugar House Rotary Club and Rotary District Governor for the State of Utah. He sang with the Beehive Statesmen Barbershop Chorus for about15 or 16 years. While he attended the University of Utah, he played violin with the University Symphony Orchestra. Later, he was invited to play violin with the Westminster Community Symphony Orchestra. Later, he became Concert Master of that Symphony Orchestra. He was in the Coast Guard Auxiliary for 10 years. He loved to snow ski and water ski. He was a pretty good snow skier and a great water skier.

Yesterday, May 22, I met Shanna and Charlie in Richfield. Jack didn’t know Shanna at first and then he thought she was Narda (his sister). She told him that she is not Narda but is his daughter Shanna. Even after that, he asked her whether she ever talked to her sister Elaine, so he was still thinking she was Narda. He told us he has invented a new telephone but he is afraid to tell the person who is in charge of the telephones because he thinks that person will steal the phone. A little later he told me he doesn’t know what to do about his phone. He said, “I guess I will just leave it on the bed and let them steal it.” He really seemed happy to see me and just wanted to hang onto my hand for a long, long time. He told Shanna and I that he guesses “this place (the Care Center) is really my home now.” There is a “lift” in his room now because one person just cannot move him around from his wheelchair to the recliner or the bed. I was happy to see that the nurses and aides don’t have to try to lift him. The “lift” seems a secure and safe way to move him.

I will keep you updated on his condition from time to time.

As for now, I have been a real slacker where the birthdays are concerned. I didn’t forget any of them. I remembered them on the day and knew whose birthday it was and I thought of each of you. I just didn’t get them mentioned on my blog. But, here goes:

Happy Birthday to Spencer, February 9th; Juli, February 10th; Aspen, March 6th; Russ, March 12th; Kylee, March 14th; Charlie, March 17th; Dusty, April 8th; Dave, May 6th; Ali, May 7th; David, May 8th; Patti, May 27th; Waiva, May 31st. Hope you all had/have a super day.

Dave and Patti – Happy Anniversary March 17th. I love you all!

JANUARY MUSINGS

noreply@blogger.com (Marilyn) — Wed, 28 Jan 2009 07:04:00 +0000

In case you are interested in trivia, yesterday, January 26th was “National Bubble Wrap Day.” Today is Mozart’s birthday so today I will listen to some Mozart music. Today is also Jack’s mother’s birthday. If she were alive, she would be 103. My parents were married January 9, 1918 so January 9th was their 91st anniversary. I just thought you’d all appreciate a little nonsense.

On February 4, 1991, the following article, written by me, was published in the Southern Utah News and the Page Chronicle:

“Here we are---already into February and, as yet, I have no clear-cut idea of which resolution I’m going to work on in l991. I have several in mind, each of seemingly equal importance. How do I decide? I wish I knew. Being able to make decisions has never been my most notable characteristic.

“For instance, I go into an ice cream store for a cone. They have 31 different flavors. It’s impossible for me to decide whether I want Butter Brickle, Praline Pecan, Black Walnut or Mocha Fudge.

“What do I do? I compromise by getting a cone with all four flavors. That would be a nice, simple solution if the salesperson didn’t always ask which flavor I want on the bottom. Immediately it throws me into the position of having to make another decision---choosing which flavor I want to taste last. If I knew which flavor I wanted to taste last, I’d only need one scoop! See what I mean?

“To make a resolution is a serious step. It demands a great deal of thought and a lot of commitment. Each of the resolutions I need to make will require a change in lifestyle. It is highly improbable that a person will/can make more than one major change in him/herself at one time, and I’m talking three drastic alterations in behavior.

“Okay, I’ll enumerate the choices:
1. Lose weight.
2. Be punctual.
3. Get organized.

“My doctor says to lose weight is of prime importance. My hair dresser says that punctuality is a virtue. My dear husband cries out for me to get organized.

“Should I attempt all three resolutions at once? By trying to accomplish all three, do I doom them all to failure? If I choose only one---which should it be?

“Therein lies the dilemma.”

Now, in 2009, I can add a postscript to the above. I still need to lose weight and my office is a mess. Yes, I do need to get organized. However, I have made great strides in the punctuality thing. When we lived in the Garden Heights North Ward I was the Ward Organist for many years. I liked to be at the Chapel 15 minutes early so I could start playing the prelude music ten minutes before the meeting was to begin. Generally, I was there 15 minutes early. As the Ward Organist I was almost always on time---rarely even two or three minutes late. The punctuality problem was elsewhere in my life. I remember in those days when I would arrive at the Chapel 15 minutes early there were always half a dozen “older couples” already in their seats waiting for the meeting to commence. I used to think: “Don’t you people have anything better to do than sit here for 20 minutes waiting for Church to begin?” (As you all know, most people arrive at Church within the last five minutes before the appointed time. And, of course, some people generally come in a little late.)

Now that I’m an “older person” I have become one of “them.” Yes, I leave the house about 30 minutes before Church time. It takes me between five and ten minutes to get into my van, drive, park and walk into the Chapel. I sit and wait. Also, in most other aspects of my life I am punctual these days, and, you know what? I feel good about that. I suspect it would feel equally as “good” to lose weight and get organized. We’ll see how this all turns out. I will make a report next January—that is, inasmuch as I’m an “older person,” I will report if I remember. If I forget---please, all you young people out there, remind me!

Happy birthday to Dallin, January 22nd; Ember, January 25th; Erica, January 31st. Hope you all had/have a great day.

I love you all.

CHRISTMAS MUSINGS

noreply@blogger.com (Marilyn) — Wed, 24 Dec 2008 18:32:00 +0000

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 . . . . . . .

noreply@blogger.com (Marilyn) — Mon, 01 Dec 2008 04:08:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (Marilyn) — Wed, 05 Nov 2008 05:04:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (Marilyn) — Wed, 05 Nov 2008 01:58:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (Marilyn) — Fri, 03 Oct 2008 03:15:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (Marilyn) — Sat, 30 Aug 2008 19:50:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (Marilyn) — Sat, 19 Jul 2008 02:42:00 +0000

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

noreply@blogger.com (Marilyn) — Thu, 19 Jun 2008 00:39:00 +0000

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.

JUSTIN ABINADI BLACK - CHAPTER TWO

noreply@blogger.com (Marilyn) — Thu, 05 Jun 2008 03:21:00 +0000

In the first chapter about my Dad I told you that my Dad was born in Huntington, Emery County, Utah and he lived there until he was ten. At that time his Dad, Benjamin Daniel Black decided that things were not very good for them there as far as making a living to support three families so he decided to try another place. Well, I have a copy of what my Dad wrote about that trip so I’m going to let you read what he wrote, exactly as he wrote it. I have come to the conclusion that certain people are born at certain times because they have the strength to endure what comes in their lives. Our obstacles are so much different and require other strengths. I’m not sure I could have endured what the pioneers did in crossing the plains and in settling the West after they arrived here.

Following, is what Daddy wrote of their move to New Mexico:

(January 31, 1974, my Dad wrote to Karen Black. For those who do not know who Karen is—she is a niece of both Jack and I. Her dad is my brother, Durant, and her mother is Jack’s sister Elaine. Thank goodness Karen and another niece, Eileen, daughter of my sister Grace, became interested in learning more about my Dad. They began writing to him and asking for stories.)

“Maybe you would be interested about our trip from Huntington, Utah to Fruitland, New Mexico. I guess you know I was born in Huntington, Utah. My Father’s health wasn’t good in Huntington, and he decided to move to Old Mexico. This was when I was ten years old. At this time he had three horses, but having 3 families, he had to have a team and wagon for each family. So, he had to get 3 more horses and 2 wagons. So, he traded what property he had, and got 3 horses and the wagons and a little needed money. And his Father bought a horse for him, so now he had 7 horses, and three wagons and was ready to start. There were two other families and another man ready to go with us. So, we started and went one mile out of town. And stopped overnight at a farm where they had arranged to pasture the horses that night. Time we were ready to leave the next morning, it was raining, and rained almost steady all day. So we didn’t go far that day. The next morning the sun was shining bright, but the road was muddy, so progress was slow. So, after two days of travel we were only about 25 miles from Huntington. That night we had no hay for our horses so we had to turn them loose to forage on the range. When the men folks went to find them the next morning, one of our horses couldn’t be found. But on close inspection of the road, they found his tracks, and he was headed for Huntington. So Father came to camp, ate his breakfast, got on a horse and went after him. Father was gone the rest of that day and all the next day. The horse had gone all the way to Huntington, and then up Huntington Canyon to his former home. Father got to Huntington after dark, and stayed with his Brother Charles that night. The next morning, as Father was quite sore from riding bareback, Uncle Charles sent his son up the canyon to get the horse. When Tom got back with the horse, Uncle Charles gave Father a quilt to ride on and a rope so he could make loops for stirrups, which made Father’s ride back to camp more comfortable. But when it began to get dark the second day after Father had left, and he hadn’t got back yet, my Mother, Aunt Susie and Persus Roberts went back the road some distance, and hollered as loud as they could. Father was close enough he heard Mother’s voice and answered and the women folks came back to camp rejoicing and Father wasn’t far behind.

“Nothing of interest happened after that until we reached Green River one and a half or two and a half days later. We got there about noon, and the men at the Ferry wanted three dollars a wagon to Ferry us across and that would have cost Father $9.00. So, Father said he wouldn’t pay that much, he would find a place where he could ford the river and cross. They offered to come down a little, but Father said they were still too high. Then, a man came and said he knew where there was a fording place and he would ford us over for three dollars, but Father said if you can ford us over, I can ford myself and it won’t cost me anything. So by inquiring around a little he found a man that told him that up the river about a mile there was a place where people had forded the river, but it had been some time since any one had crossed so we went up the river and found the place. Then Father, Azariah Brown, and Will Guymon got on horses and rode across and back and finding it all right for crossing, we all crossed over. But while in Green River, the men folks found a place where they could pasture their horses over night. So, after we had crossed over to the east side and had eaten our supper, Father, Brother Brown, Will Guymon, my brothers, Ben and Acel, took some bedding in a wagon and all of the horses and went back to the west side where the horses were to pasture. Some of the horses were loose, and two of the men were on horses trying to drive them, it was a little upstream and two horses of Brother Brown’s wouldn’t go against the stream and got too far downstream and got in the quick sand. But they were near the bank, and the men worked until midnight to get them out. But the bank was too high and steep for them to get out on that side, so they sent them back to the east side. We boys got them and we had built up a big fire, and we led them back and forth around the fire until they were dry and warm so they wouldn’t get sick. So it was one o’clock or after, time we were all in bed.

“The next morning, we started on toward Moab. As I remember, we got to the Colorado River about the middle of the afternoon on the third day. There, there was nothing to do, only to ride the ferry. But, they only charged us $2.50 for all three wagons, and the boat was large enough to take all three outfits at once. But, we were to leave our extra horse to come with the next load, as there would be only 2 outfits. But, the horse was loose, and he didn’t wait. When we were about half-way across, he plunged into the stream and followed us. I heard a man say, “He will never get out alive.” Another one said, “I wouldn’t give 50 cents for a chance for him. But he swam and caught the boat and swam right along by the side of it. Father got a rope and put it around his neck. There were 4 or 5 men on the south bank, and a man on the boat had quite a long rope, which they took. Two or three men got hold of each end, and put the middle of the rope over the horses rump. Although the bank was almost straight up, by the men pulling on the ropes, the horse got out all right. Then, one man jokingly said, “I am going to charge you $2.00 for that horse swimming the river.” Another said, “I’ll give you ten dollars for that horse.”

“Well, after all were across, we started on toward Moab. We had not gone far when Mother noticed some watercress by the side of the road. She said, “There is some watercress. We must have some.” We had a big brass bucket, so we got it. And my sister, Tamar and I got out of the wagon to get some. But when we got to the cress, the frogs began jumping every direction, so we went back to the wagon and told Mother the cress was no good, there were frogs all through it. She said, “That makes it all the better. Get some water cress and get a lot of it. So, we filled the bucket and the whole camp had water cress for three or four days. And all seemed to enjoy it. That was the first time I ever saw water cress.

“From Moab we traveled on toward Monticello. When we got to Cane Springs we stopped there to water our horses, and fill our barrels with water. Each wagon had a 30 or 40 gallon barrel fastened to one side, so we could have water when we came to a camp where there was none. While there, my brothers, Edd and Ernest and I noticed some goats at a corral not far away. So, we went to see them and look around a little, while the men folks filled the barrels. Soon, the call came, “We are going.” So, we ran for the wagons. In the bottom of Cane Springs Canyon was a narrow wash, about five feet wide and that deep or deeper. When we got to it, Edd and Ernest walked back a few steps and ran and jumped across, but when I tried, my toes barely touched the bank and I went part way down. But, they grabbed me by the arms, and pulled me out, and we soon caught the wagons.

“We traveled on, I don’t remember how long, but we got to Church Rock Saturday night. There was water there and the feed was good. So, we lay over Sunday. The women did some much needed washing.

“Monday we started on. It was not far to Peter’s Hill. There at that time, the road followed the canyon, crossing it several times. At one crossing, the reach in our wagon broke and Father had to go up a side canyon some distance to find a tall straight cedar, out of which he could make another reach. Then to make the reach, and get it into the wagon took quite a bit of time. We only got to Carlile that night. A distance of probably eight miles. From Carlile, we went southeasterly direction toward Cortez, and didn’t go to Monticello. When we got to Cortez, we stopped at a Flour Mill to get some flour and some grain for the horses. While at the mill, three drunks came on horses. They stayed around a while doing things that were amusing to we kids. While they were there a stirrup came off of one fellow’s saddle. He didn’t seem to have missed it. My brother, Ben, picked it up and gave it to him, and then helped him put it back on. When they were through, the fellow said, “Thank you.” But, Ben said nothing. So, the fellow put his hand on Ben’s head, and said, “Say, I said thank you.” Then Ben said, “Oh, you’re welcome.” Then, he said, “That’s right. When a fellow says thank you, tell him he is welcome.” Then as they rode away, one fellow waved his hat and hollered, “Hurray for Bryan!” Another hollered, “Hurrah for McKinley!” And the other said, “Hurray for any old thing.” Then, we drove down into the south Montezuma valley where we got some excellent pasture for our horses, at five cents a head. Next day as we traveled on south, we came to a Ute Indian Agency, where they gave out rations to the Indians each month. There was a large spring there where the Indians brought horses to water, and we stopped and watered our horses. While there, an Indian came with quite a band of horses and they were quite small. And Will Guymon said to me, “Why don’t you go and fill your pockets with ponies so you will have some to play with.” While there, a Navajo Indian came and wanted us to let his boy ride with us to Fruitland, New Mexico. He said his boy had been kicked in the chest by a horse, and couldn’t ride his horse. As Will Guymon rode alone a good deal of the time, he decided to let the boy ride with him. The older Indian went along, riding his horse and leading the boy’s horse. After we had gone on for some distance, we asked the Indian if the pony he was leading was gentle enough for us kids to ride. He assured us he was, so Ernest, I, Tamar, Mish and Mead all took turns riding the pony. The Indian seemed pleased to have us ride him, so he wouldn’t have to lead him, and we got a lot of fun doing it. Well, we drove into Fruitland just after sundown two or three days later. Father’s sister, Tamar, and his brother, William lived there. So we stopped at Aunt Tamar’s and Father took the other two families to Uncle William’s. Uncle William told Father that the people in Old Mexico were poor and jobs were scarce, and he would have a hard time in Old Mexico. He had better stop there, and that is what we did.”

That is the end of my Dad’s story about traveling from Huntington to Fruitland, New Mexico when he was 10 years old. He wrote the story when he was 86 years old---two years before he died. I am absolutely in awe of his memory of some of the small details of the journey. Another thing, he was only able to finish fifth grade. I really don’t know how much school he actually attended during those first five years. All things considered, he learned a lot in whatever amount of school he was able to attend. Karen and Eileen copied his stories as he wrote them and did not change word usage, spelling or punctuation. Some of his punctuation is a bit unusual but not bad. Of course, he did not stop learning just because he couldn’t attend more school. His spelling is quite remarkable. He loved to read and probably learned a lot of spelling because he did read a lot.

In the last paragraph of his story he mentions some brothers and sisters riding the Indian pony. Let me clarify a couple of things so you will know who belonged where. All three of my grandfather’s families were traveling together. Daddy’s brother Ernest was the oldest son of “Aunt Alice,” wife number three; Daddy and his sister Tamar were from my grandmother who was the first wife; “Mish” and “Mead” were daughters of “Aunt Susie,” wife number two. “Mish’s” full name was Artimisha—“Mish” for short. “Mead’s” full name was Almeda---“Mead” for short. I knew Uncle Ernest quite well. I also knew Aunt Mish well. I will be mentioning her more later. Aunt Tamar and Aunt Mead both died before I was born.

In one paragraph Daddy mentions “Cane” Springs. It is spelled Kane Springs. Also he mentions “Carlile.” I can’t verify it on a map because my maps don’t show it but I’m pretty sure I remember the place is spelled Carlisle. I can’t verify the spelling on any of the maps I have because it is not shown. I guess I should talk to some of the old-timers in the area and I will. I had a friend who married a man who lived at Carlisle/Carlile. It was/is a very small place.

I will be passing along more of my Dad’s own stories along with my stories of him. I have lots more stories. I will also be doing a tribute to my Dad inasmuch as Fathers’ Day is June 15th.

The only birthday this month is my sister, Grace. She will be 85 on June 27th.

I love you all.

THE SHOW AT MAIN AND CENTER STREETS

noreply@blogger.com (Marilyn) — Mon, 19 May 2008 23:35:00 +0000

There was a show at the corner of Main and Center Streets in front of the Post Office. I had the starring role. Here’s the story. Saturday, Juli called me from the IFA store and said they had some red currant bushes and did I want them? I went down to take a look. They were gorgeous plants and I thought—oh, good! After they start bearing, I can make the red currant jelly for our Thanksgiving Snow Pudding. Also, they had some flat-leaf parsley plants and some good looking tomato plants. We probably can’t plant them until after Memorial Day week-end because the weather is supposed to be cold again, but the plants were really moving out of the store so I thought I should get them and bring them home.

Juli offered to load the plants into the back of her car since (she said) the floor was already dirty and no need to get the back of my van dirty. I said, “Okay.” Then Juli told me she would drop her sister, Alisa, off at her home and then come over to my house and leave the plants. I told her I’d meet her at my house. The thought ran through my mind that maybe I had enough time to stop by the Post Office, get my mail and make it home by the time Juli got there. So, I stopped by the Post Office and parked in front. I hurried in and got my mail and was rushing out so I wouldn’t make Juli wait. Now, let me stall the story here for a moment while I tell you that I normally stop at the side of the Post Office, not in front. I didn’t think it would make that much difference. It did. You see, when I walk out the door to go to my car I only put one foot on the mat that is outside of the door and step right onto the concrete. Since I had to go another direction, I had to take two or three steps on the mat. I guess I didn’t pick up my right foot high enough and caught my toe in the rubber of the mat and fell headlong on my face. No one was more surprised than I to find me on the ground. I just lay there for a few seconds trying to assess the damage. I had a couple of spots that hurt but I decided there were no broken bones. I also thought, if I lay here long enough, I can get back up by myself. BUT, I also thought, “Oh, good grief, someone is going to see me.” Someone did see me and stopped to help. It was a lady whose face was familiar to me but I couldn’t think why her face was familiar nor could I think of her name. She offered to help me. I wasn’t sure how she could. I hadn’t had time to think how I would get off the ground if someone offered to help. I made a futile attempt to get up and fell back. The lady asked whether she should call the ambulance and I said, “No, I don’t think I need the ambulance.” Then she said, “Would you like me to call Tal?” Immediately, I was reassured that I was home. Another stranger knew who I am and where I belong. Immediately, I felt an almost overwhelming feeling of thankfulness for the decisions that we have made in my behalf.

Well, to make what could really be a long story, short, I was able to get my left leg underneath me, the lady lifted me under my right arm and I stood upright. After she determined that I was probably okay to drive home, she let me go. Juli was already unloading my stuff when I got home. I told her about my fall. After she satisfied herself that perhaps I was okay, we laughed as I told her that the lady asked whether she should call Tal.

Today, Monday, Tal called me and said, “I didn’t know you fell.” I asked him who told him. He said, “Mom, you live in a small town.” Then he told me the lady’s name: Melanie Grundy. I asked him whether she lives in the Loa Ward and he told me she lives in Lyman. Then I wanted to know why she looked familiar and he said, “She works at the bank.” Ah! Mystery solved.

Am I okay? Yes, I am okay. I have a few bruises on my body but they don’t begin to add up to the number of bruises to my ego.

When I was a senior in High School I had the leading role in the school musical. I had begun to think that would be my only public performance. But---ta-da-I have another leading performance to add to my resume’. My singing role was a whole lot more fun but it was nowhere nearly as dramatic as my performance at the corner of Main and Center Streets in Loa, Utah.

MOTHERS' DAY TRIBUTE TO MY MOM

noreply@blogger.com (Marilyn) — Sat, 10 May 2008 00:05:00 +0000

I’m working on Chapter Two about my Dad but inasmuch as Sunday is Mothers’ Day, I think I will pay tribute to my mother. In the past few years I have gained a whole new perspective of who my Mother was and though I was quite bitter toward her for many years, my feelings have softened a great deal. You know the old saying, “To understand someone, you need to “walk in their shoes for a mile.” I have tried to “walk in her shoes” in my mind. Today, I’m going to try to explain who she was and why she deserves my understanding.

My mother was 25 years old when she married my father. She came to Blanding with my dad after their wedding and endured a life of hardship, pain, suffering and terror. Oh, my dad loved her and he was as good to her as he knew how to be (almost). But life was hard. There was never much money and there were few amenities to ease her life. She gave birth to seven large babies—I was the smallest at 9-1/2 pounds. The largest was my brother, George, at 12 pounds. She developed horrible varicose veins during her third pregnancy and the varicose veins became worse during each ensuing pregnancy. By her fourth pregnancy the varicose veins had become huge weeping sores on her ankles. The sores were extremely painful and they never healed until 10 or 15 years after I graduated from High School and left home. Finally, at that time, a new doctor with new skills and knowledge, came to Blanding and he tried something “new” and it worked. The sores were finally healed. The scars from those sores never went away. Each time she became pregnant, with extra weight of the baby she was carrying, the pain increased. It must have been almost unbearable. She had to clean and dress the sores every day which was a tedious process. She couldn’t put her feet on the floor in the morning if she didn’t put her elastic stockings on first. She couldn’t put her left heel on the floor. It just wouldn’t stretch out. She always had to put her feet into her regular shoes. She was never able to just slip her feet into a pair of house shoes.

She told me many times that she had not wanted me. I always resented my mother telling me I was not wanted. Perhaps I was not wanted by my mother, but it would have been kind of her not to tell me that. As I told you in my first blog entry, I’ve always been happy that my dad prevailed and I was born. I can understand my mom not wanting to go through the pain of carrying me inside her for nine months but I didn’t need to know that I was not wanted. That was something better left unsaid. I felt unloved by her. She never said anything to dispel the feeling I had that she didn’t love me—not until I was 53 years old. When I was 53 she said, “I love you.” By then, it didn’t matter much. I had other people around me who loved me and were willing to frequently tell me they loved me. My dad always loved me and he made sure I knew that I was wanted. So, you see why my dad is so very special.

My mom was sick a great deal when I was small. Now, I know she went through a terrible menopause. In those days there were no medicines to alleviate the symptoms and not many people had hysterectomies. I could go into gory detail about her menopause but suffice it to say, it was bad. I remember when I was five she was in bed in her bedroom, most of the time. Daddy was away at work and all the other kids were at school so I was there with her alone. I had to keep the fires burning in the stoves so the house would be warm. She told me to be sure to lift the wood high over the coals so I didn’t push the coals to the back of the fire box of the stove in the kitchen, then I was to lay the stick of wood down on the coals so the wood would burn evenly. The stove in the living room was not so difficult to refuel, but I had to do that, too. I cannot imagine having a five-year-old keep the fires burning. But I did it. Then she’d send me out to the root cellar to get some potatoes, carrots and onions to make vegetable soup for the other kids when they came home for lunch. She’d have me wash the vegetables and then take them into the bedroom so she could cut them up for the soup. She’d have me put a pot of water on the stove and she always explained everything very carefully so I wouldn’t get burned or hurt when I did these things. She taught me to peel the vegetables, though she did most of them because I was really slow. Soup wouldn’t have been ready until supper time if I had tried to peel all the vegetables. Then she’d cut them up and tell me how much salt to put into the pot. I’d put the vegetables in the pot and when the pot started to boil she’d have me use a couple of hot pads to pull the pot to a “not so hot spot” on the stove. (It was like turning down the heat on our modern-day ranges.) Sometimes we had a soup bone to put into the soup to give it some flavor. Sometimes, the older kids would clean some beans and put them to soak at night and the next morning I’d see to it the beans got cooked so they’d have some lunch. I guess, during the time mom was so sick, my older siblings made bread in the evenings because we always had bread. There was no school lunch in Blanding, in those days.

Mom taught me to tell time. We only had one clock. At night, Daddy took the clock into the bedroom but in the morning he would take it into the kitchen and put it on top of the dish cupboard. Mom would tell me to look at the clock and then tell her which number the big hand was on and which number the little hand was on. She would tell me what time it was and she very thoroughly taught me to tell time. I learned to tell time very quickly so I didn’t have to tell mom where the big and little hands were. Digital clocks didn’t come into existence until many years later, at least not for general use.

When the food was cooked, lunch eaten and the dishes washed and dried, she would tell me to get the Chinese checker board and marbles. She taught me to play Chinese checkers and I learned so well that I was occasionally able to beat her. I was always so proud when that happened. And, I could almost always beat my brother, George, at the game. We also played some card games together i.e., “Authors,” “Old Maid,” “Rook,” etc. Sometimes she’d read to me but I had learned to read so sometimes she’d have me read to her. Occasionally, she would have me sweep the floors or dust the furniture. The Fall after I turned six I started 1st Grade and mom got better so she could be out of bed most of the time.

At some point in my mother’s life the Doctors’ surmised that she had a mild case of Polio. They were not absolutely certain but it was their best guess. As a result of that, she wore a size 6-1/2 EEE shoe on her left foot and a size 9AA shoe on her right foot. That meant she had to buy two pairs of shoes when she needed new shoes, or, she had to have her shoes made for her. Generally, it was cheaper to buy two pairs from Sears-Roebuck. She always wore a shoe that laced up the front and had a 1-1/2-inch “block” heel. AND she still had the open sores from the varicose veins.

She couldn’t walk very far and when she did walk she always had a great deal of pain. Occasionally, if there was a problem with a cow (when Daddy was out of town) she’d have to go milk the cow. We had one cow that enjoyed being a problem. Mom seemed to have a calming influence on her. When my Dad was out of town it was my brother, Durant’s job to milk the cow. Sometimes when he tried to milk her she would stick her foot in the bucket or kick him or knock him down with her head. I remember him with a bloody nose several times. On those occasions, mom would go and milk that ornery old cow. The cow’s name was “Lade” (don’t ask me). Lade never gave my mom any problems. You may wonder why we kept that ornery old bovine. Well, she was a huge cow. And she gave more, rich milk than any cow we had ever had—or would ever have. She gave 14 quarts of milk every morning and 14 quarts every night. We could hardly afford to get rid of her. Mom would make butter and sell it and get a few cents to help get the things we needed. She, along with others in town, shipped cream in a three or five gallon can to a creamery in Grand Junction, Colorado and got a few dollars from that each week. Mom helped with the garden when Daddy was away. In the Summer and Fall she had fruit and vegetables to bottle and when the weather got cold, Daddy always slaughtered a beef, pig and lamb. All that meat had to be taken care of—we had no refrigerator or freezer—so much of the meat was sealed in glass jars and pressure cooked so we could have meat to eat. When she was able, she made at least one big batch of bread every week—sometimes two, depending on circumstances. She took care of the milk, cream and butter. Her left leg was so painful that she kneeled on a chair with her left leg and dragged that chair around the house and kitchen to do her work. When Daddy was home he always helped her as much as he possibly could and all of the kids pitched in to help with everything. BUT, it was mom who had the load to carry. She was in charge. There was work to be done and it was her responsibility--also, the laundry, ironing, house cleaning, bed making and everything that goes with being a mom. As I said, we all pitched in and did as much as we could but when you’re a mom—well, those of you who are moms know what I mean. If mom worked in the garden, she kneeled on a rug of some kind because she couldn’t stand very long. I don’t know how she kneeled so much. My knees just won’t let me kneel longer than a couple of minutes at a time.

I have to give my Mother credit for what she did. Her life was not easy. She was terrified of the Indians. She had terrible health problems. She always had to make one penny do the work of two. Perhaps she just couldn’t help being mean sometimes. As I got into my teens she wasn’t speaking to me three-fourths of the time. At first, I cried and begged her to talk to me but my begging did no good. She would only talk to me when she got “good and ready.” Finally, I got over caring whether she talked to me or not. Most of the time, I honestly did not know why she wouldn’t talk to me. I want you to know that many times I wanted to scream at her. I thought then and I still do, that she was very unfair. But, I NEVER screamed at her. I never even talked back to her. When I spoke to her it was always with respect. It wasn’t that I thought she deserved my respect but there is a Commandment: “Honor thy Father and thy Mother.” I did that. It doesn’t say you have to love your father and mother—it says “Honor” them. I knew I could not honor her if I disrespected her. Besides, I wanted my Dad’s respect. I would never have had his respect if I had disrespected my mom. He knew she was unfair to all three of his daughters but she was our mother and for that reason, Daddy expected us to treat her well. She really liked her sons but she seemed to view her daughters as competition. I think Daddy was as confused by her actions as we girls were. Both my older sisters “sassed” her. I am not trying to say that I was “the perfect child” but I never “sassed” or “talked-back” to my mom and I am proud that I can tell you that. For that reason, I think my Dad had a special place in his heart for me.

There is something else, as well. I absolutely have a clear conscience as regards my mom. My mother gave me life. Whether she wanted to or not. She did. It was a long, painful ordeal for her. She taught me many things that have served me well throughout my lifetime. She endured many hardships and much pain to raise her family. For that, she deserves my gratitude. I guess the best thing she taught me was: I wanted to be a different kind of mom to my kids. I think I was.

I am envious of women and girls who have a great relationship with their mother. I feel sorry for my mom. I feel sorry that she didn’t want a fun relationship with her daughters. She missed out on some terrific times. She never knew that I’m a fun person. She never knew what a great sense of humor I have. I missed out not knowing my mother better. I missed out because she hardly ever told me anything about when she was young. I would like to have known more about what she did. I would have liked to hear about her mother—what she was like and what she did.

One of the times we went to Blanding to visit my folks, a neighbor saw us there and came over to say hello. We chatted for a few minutes and then he said to me, “You look like your mother.” At that point, I was not feeling very kindly toward my mom and I wasn’t flattered at his remark. We were outside my mom’s bedroom and the window was open. I knew my mom was in her bedroom. My first impulse was to tell the neighbor he was crazy. But I knew mom would hear whatever I had to say so I said, “Oh, do you think so?”
He said, “Yes. When your Dad first brought your Mother to Blanding, I thought she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen.” I was somewhat humbled by his remark and simply said, “Thank you.”

In the second paragraph of this chapter I told you that my dad was “as good to my mom as he knew how to be (almost).” I should clarify that. My mother loved fireplaces and always wanted one. When my dad made the final addition to the house she begged him to build a fireplace for her. He didn’t. I think she felt a little bitter about that. I suspect the reason he didn’t build it was that it would have cost a lot more to build a fireplace and build it right, and he just didn’t have the extra money. So sad.

My suggestion to all of my grandchildren is that you “Honor” your parents. You may never know the sacrifices they have made for you. Some are sacrifices requiring a great deal of courage but they were willing to do it for YOU. All parents make mistakes raising their children. They don’t have Master’s Degrees in how to be a parent. Most of us learn through trial and error. I didn’t mean to preach. I apologize for that.

Anyway, I pay tribute to my Mother this Mothers’ Day. I thank her for giving me life and I thank her for the practical things I learned from her. I thank her for being who she was so I could become who I am.

And now, for the May Birthdays: Happy Birthday to: Dave who turned 50 on May 6th; Ali, May 7th; David, May 8th; Patti, May 27th; Waiva, May 31st. Hope you all had or will have a Great Day.

I love you all.

STOPPED BY A COP

noreply@blogger.com (Marilyn) — Fri, 18 Apr 2008 08:42:00 +0000

Yup, it happened. I was stopped by a cop Thursday, April 17, 2008 at, or around 4:00 p.m. in Loa, Utah. I have not been stopped by a cop in 25 or 30 years. It may be longer than that. This is only the fourth time I’ve ever been stopped by a cop. I have received two speeding tickets (one of which I should have gone to court and fought because I think it was bogus). The third time I was stopped I guess I was speeding but I didn’t know it because the speedometer didn’t indicate that I was speeding. You see, Jack had just put BIG tires on the pick-up I was driving and when you change the size of the tires from what they were when you bought the vehicle your speedometer doesn’t accurately tell you how fast you are going. The officer asked me if I knew I was speeding and I told him that I didn’t. I rarely ever went more than a couple of miles over the speed limit. Fortunately, Patti was with me that day. She spoke right up and said, “My mother never speeds! She’s the most boring driver I know.” The officer laughed and said, “Okay, I believe you.” Then he looked at me and told me that I’d better have the speedometer checked.

Okay, so those are my experiences with being stopped by cops. But let me start at the beginning. Yesterday was a gorgeous day and quite warm. A nurse had called and told me that Jack’s and my prescriptions were ready to be picked up (for Medicare, Part D). I told Jack I needed to go get them and asked him if he’d like to ride along. He said, “Sure.” We drove over to the clinic in Bicknell. I ran in, well, actually, I walked as fast as I could, and when I got back in the van I asked Jack if he’d like to see the campground where Juli and her sisters and their families and I had enjoyed an Easter picnic. (Jack didn’t want to go to the picnic but I went, anyway and had an absolutely delightful time.) He said he’d like to see the campground so I drove over there. It was just a couple of miles away. It’s a really nice campground and the hills were wonderful for the kids to roll their Easter eggs. After that, I drove around the new Wayne County Community Center so he’d know where I go when I help out at the Senior’s lunches. He had never been there, either.

We left Bicknell on our way back to Loa and Jack asked if we could take the “Big Rocks Road” past the airport---so we did. Just as we were getting back to town on the Big Rocks Road, Jack said, “What is that big metal building over there?” I said, “Let’s go see.” I knew what it was but we were in no particular hurry and he was really enjoying the drive so I signaled for a left-hand turn. The cop was stopped at a stop sign on the right side of the road. I turned left and drove up the street and turned right at the next corner in order for Jack to see what the building is. As I approached the street in front of the building I signaled for a right-hand turn, braked slightly and turned the corner. That was when I realized the cop was still following me and he had his lights flashing. I immediately pulled over and stopped. I watched him in the outside mirror and I didn’t recognize the face so I knew he wasn’t the Sheriff. When he got to my door he looked in the said, “Do you know that one of your brake lights isn’t working?” I replied, “No, I didn’t know that.” He said, “Yes, the brake light on the driver’s side is not working.” “Well, I’d better call Gary (Brian Auto) and get it taken care of,” I said.
And he said, “Yeh, you could call Gary or you could just have Tal replace the bulb.” I laughed, because then I knew that he knew who we are even though we didn’t know who he is.

Now, is that the cutest, or what? It is very comforting to know, at our age, that someone is looking out for us and it’s not necessarily our immediate family doing it all of the time. I love that part of living in a small town. As a matter of fact, I can’t think of anything I don’t like about living in a small town. Of course, I was raised in a small town where people more or less looked after each other, so why would Loa be any different?

Juli stopped by the house shortly after we got home and I shared our little adventure with her. We laughed and rejoiced in the whole thing all over again. She told us that if one of the teenagers in the County gets stopped for speeding, or whatever, the parents know about it before the kid gets home. Knowing that may make the teenagers think twice about doing something they know they shouldn’t do. I think that’s great! I’m sure Juli told Tal about me when she got home. I haven’t talked to Tal, yet, so I haven’t heard whether the deputy called Tal and said, “Hey, I just stopped your mother.” It makes me laugh just to think about it. I hope the deputy did call Tal.

Perhaps I should add one more thing to this little story. After Juli left our house I went into the family room and sat down to go through the mail. Jack and I laughed, again, about the cop stopping me and then he said, “I really enjoyed the ride today. You are really a good and careful driver.”

BAREFOOT IN THE SNOW AND COOKING BACON

noreply@blogger.com (Marilyn) — Wed, 16 Apr 2008 19:02:00 +0000

Ah, yes. Walking barefoot in the snow! How well I remember that and how happy I am I do not need to do it any more.

When I was eight years old my Mom and Dad decided I was old enough to have my own bedroom. I had been sleeping in the living room on a day bed that I shared with my sister, Grace. We pulled it down every night to make a double bed and we made it up every morning. When Grace graduated from High school she somehow had found a job in California doing housework and cooking for a family there. I don’t know how she got the job (I’ll have to ask her sometime) but she went right to California after graduation.

Remember, after I was born, Daddy built a lean-to on our house and that lean-to became the kitchen, pantry and a screened porch. Actually, it wasn’t really a porch. It was a room with screens for windows (no glass). Daddy had an old canvas that he cut in half and he nailed the canvas over the screens in that room. Only problem was that the canvas was quite worn and had some holes. It did offer some privacy but not much protection from the elements. When it snowed, if there was any wind with the snow, I would wake up with snow on my bed. However, I thought it was quite wonderful to have my own room. I shared the room with a huge cupboard with doors that closed tightly. Mom kept the milk in there and I will be telling you more about that at a later time. I don’t remember what else was kept in the cupboard but there must have been something else.

Anyway, I had a bed and a couple of hooks on the wall to hang clothes.

You may remember that we only had stoves in the kitchen and living room. Though the stoves were great in those days, they didn’t retain heat like the new stoves available today, so when the fire went out the rooms got cold in a hurry. Absolutely no heat got into my bedroom and it was cold. That’s why I heated bricks or smooth rocks in the oven, wrapped them in towels or something and put them in my bed to warm it enough I could stand to climb into the bed. Now, I had a pretty good bladder but occasionally I would feel the urge to visit the outhouse in the middle of the night. My shoes were by my bed and a couple of times I put my feet into my shoes and wore them to the outhouse but those shoes felt like ice cubes. By the time I got back from the outhouse, my feet were so cold, I couldn’t get them warm the rest of the night (the bricks and rocks were cold by then so they were no help). The next time I had to go to the outhouse, I decided my feet couldn’t get any colder if I went barefoot and that’s what I did. There was one problem. I couldn’t stand to put my toes down into the snow so I pointed my toes toward the sky and just got the bottom of my feet on the snow. It worked! When I got back to bed my feet weren’t nearly as cold as when I wore my cold shoes. And, yes, I really could point my toes toward the sky. I got so used to walking barefoot on cold surfaces that when I put bare feet on any surface, my toes automatically pointed upward. Jack used to get the biggest kick out of that. He thought I was quite talented. (Wow! What a talent!)

Do I still point my toes upward? Well, it’s been a long time since I had to walk on really cold surfaces and gradually my toes began to touch the floor. And, as a result of getting older, I found I needed to put my toes on the floor for extra stability. I can’t just scoot around with only my feet under me. When Shanna mentioned about walking barefoot in the snow and toes pointed upward I thought, “Gee, I wonder whether I can still do that.” I tried and due to the lack of practice pointing them skyward they don’t go nearly as straight up. I guess I can start exercising those muscles every day and get my talent back if I want to. The question is: Do I? Well, let me try it for a while and see whether it’s worth the effort. When I was young, it took no particular effort.

COOKING BACON

I love bacon but it was always SO messy to cook. Even if I used a splatter screen over the pan, it was messy and you have to deal with the bacon curling in your stove-top pan. But now I have the perfect way to cook bacon with no curling and it doesn’t cook in the grease.

If you have a cookie sheet (with sides at least one inch) put a cooling rack (like you’d use for cooling cakes or cookies) into the cookie sheet. Lay your bacon strips on the cooling rack. Heat your oven to 400 degrees. When the oven is up to 400 degrees, put the cookie sheet in the oven. I can’t tell you exactly how long it takes because at 7000 feet in altitude it is different than if you’re at sea level or somewhere between. Just keep an eye on the bacon the first time you try this and keep track of the time it takes. You can cook your bacon crisp or limp—however you like it. When it’s just right for you, remove the cookie sheet from the oven. Your bacon will be nice and flat—no curling—and cooked to perfection. What’s even better, all the grease is in the bottom of the cookie sheet and the bacon isn’t sitting in the grease. You can wash the cooling rack in your dishwasher. And, you can pour the grease from the cookie sheet. You can either dispose of the grease or you can put it in a container and put it in your refrigerator to cook with later—if that’s what you like to use. If you cook beans and add a little bacon grease to the pot, it makes the beans a complete protein and they’ll be better for you. Yes, you do need a little fat in your diet. I’ve been cooking bacon like this for about a year now and it is wonderful. I keep wondering why it took me so long. Try it—I think you’ll like it. Let me know what you think.

Hey, here’s an EASY recipe for absolutely the most deliciously decadent brownies you’ve ever tasted:

TOFFEE BROWNIES

1 pkg. brownie mix with walnuts (it needs to be at least 17.6 ounces and up to 19 ounces is better)
Vegetable oil cooking spray
3 (5 or 8 ounce) candy bars with toffee chips and almonds--recommended Symphony brand

Prepare the brownie mix according to package directions

Line a 13 x 9-inch cake pan with aluminum foil and spray with vegetable oil cooking spray. Spoon in half the brownie batter and smooth with a spatula or the back of a spoon. Place the candy bars side by side on top of the batter. Cover with the remaining batter.

Bake according to package directions. Let cool completely, then lift from the pan using the edges of the foil. This makes it easy to cut the brownies into squares. Dust the top with a little powdered sugar. You will want to lift the brownies off the foil at this time and store in a container you can cover tightly.

(The first ones I made I used 5 oz. bars. I bought some more bars and didn’t notice that I had picked up the 8 oz. bars so I used them anyway. They were so gooey and wonderful that it was almost immoral. However, the 5 oz. bars are delicious, as well.)

I love you all.

LONG BROWN STOCKINGS AND MARCH MADNESS

noreply@blogger.com (Marilyn) — Wed, 02 Apr 2008 20:38:00 +0000

Patti has mentioned long brown stockings in her comments a couple of times so I will tell you about them. My March Madness has nothing to do with Basketball but I have had my own March Madness which I will share.

When I was a child, and even into my teens, women and girls did not wear pants/slacks. We always wore dresses. Let me amend that—when women had to go to work in the factories during World War II, they did wear slacks and thanks to Katherine Hepburn, pants/slacks steadily became more and more popular. (For those of you who are too young to know who Katherine Hepburn was---she was a movie actress who won about four “Oscars” and many other acting awards. She was a real trend setter. She didn’t like to be confined to dresses all the time and she really made pants/slacks popular. Thank heaven for women, here and there, who believed that women could become whatever they wanted.) After the war was over and the women no longer needed to work in the factories, they were expected to put on dresses, go back to their homes and forget that the pants/slacks era had ever happened. Somehow, that didn’t set well with the woman who had worked in the factories. They liked receiving checks that were theirs to spend as they needed and they didn’t have to ask “hubby” for permission. They also found they liked wearing pants because they were so comfortable so they were quite willing to follow the trend Katherine Hepburn had set. For some men, that was a hard pill to swallow.

I always wore dresses to school. Wearing dresses was expected. Girls also wore “bobby sox” (anklets), except in the winter. (Pants would have been an easy answer but it was too soon for pants to be accepted.) When it got cold, the Elementary School girls wore long stockings. My mother made a kind of “harness” (for lack of a better word) to wear under my clothes to hold up my stockings. We didn’t have panty hose---just stockings. Some of the girls wore some kind of elastic around the top of their stockings to hold them up but my mom didn’t think that was healthy. I wish I could draw you a picture of what the harness looked like but with my limited ability at that sort of thing, you’ll just have to envision what it looked like. It hung from my shoulders and had horizontal connecting pieces on the front, back and sides so it wouldn’t fall off my shoulders. Also, there were connecting pieces around my waist to keep it in place. Straps hung from those pieces with hooks to hold up the stockings. (Can you picture it?) My mother insisted that I start wearing long stockings by the end of September and I couldn’t quit wearing them until May. I hated those long stockings. They were ugly. They were made of thick cotton knit and after I bent my knees a few times they bagged at the knees. Ugly, ugly, ugly! The stockings were a beige color. Mom always bought a package of three pairs of stockings. Three pairs were supposed to last the school year. Remember, when we did the laundry we had to heat the water, etc., etc. So we either had to wash the stockings by hand, or just simply wear them several times. When I was in Elementary School, I generally opted to wear them several times between washings.

If I wore holes in the stockings, I was required to “darn” or “patch” the holes. My mother could darn socks beautifully. She tried to teach me but I was never good at it so I usually ended up sewing a patch over the holes. I didn’t make very pretty patches either, so by Springtime, my stockings were really terrible to look at. By Spring, I always hoped I could stop wearing them. No such luck! Mom had her own ideas of what was proper attire for little girls, so every day I had to wear those ugly stockings. In March, some of the other girls were wearing “bobby sox.” I wanted to be one of them. Since my mom wouldn’t let me be one of them, every day I put the long stockings on before I left the house and I’d walk to school. The street from our house to the school had a slight rise in the first block and then it sloped down the second block to the school. As soon as I was over the rise and on the down side and I knew my mom couldn’t see me, I unfastened those stockings and rolled them down. That was not very pretty, either, but there were other girls whose mothers made them wear long stockings and they rolled theirs down, too, so we had a style of our own. It was an unsightly fashion statement but it worked for us. Of course, before we went home for lunch or after school, we had to roll them back up.

By the time we were in sixth grade, most of the girls wore anklets all winter. Yes, bare legs get cold, but who notices cold when “fashion” is the issue. There were only about four of us who had moms who made us wear long stockings. I was probably warmer than some of the others but I was so timid and shy that anything that set me apart from the others was almost more than my mind and spirit could bear. I had warm legs and zero self-confidence. Naturally, those of us who were still forced to wear long stockings had to endure the teasing from others whose mothers cared more about fashion than good sense. By April, I was the only one still wearing long stockings. I was the only one still rolling down the stockings each morning after leaving home and rolling them back up before going home. I was lucky that my brothers didn’t tattle on me, but I’m sure they had their own issues on their minds. Finally, when May came around, mom allowed me to wear anklets. Pants/slacks would have saved me from all the humiliation of long stockings. Also, pants/slacks would have been much more modest. We didn’t have monkey bars, slides or swings at our school, but we did a lot of cart wheels, jumping, running and hop scotch playing. Fortunately our underpants covered us very well (no thongs in those days) but it would have been more modest to wear pants.

This is not the end of the story. After we had graduated from sixth grade and were going into seventh grade at the High School I was absolutely certain that my mom would not make me wear long stockings all winter. But, she did. The stockings were different, however. Now, instead of the beige cotton knit, she got me a pair of “grown up” stockings. They were made of rayon and they were brown. Nylon hosiery had become available but nylons got “runs” in them quite easily and we certainly couldn’t afford to buy pair after pair to get me through the school year. Rayon was considerably more durable but not as durable as the cotton had been. A lot of older women still wore rayon hosiery and had not made the switch to nylon. I guess what I’m saying is that the rayon stockings were for “old ladies” and me. And, yes, I only had one pair. I had to wash them every night and hang them near the stove so they’d be dry by morning. They were ugly. Mom had also bought me a garter belt to hold them up. In seventh grade we had to dress for P.E. and shower afterward. I hated that garter belt and the long stockings. It was very embarrassing.

There was a kid a year older than I who was a real jerk. His name is George Redd. He seemed to think he was something special because he descended from the “hole-in-the-rockers” (more about that later) and he was mean. Perhaps cruel is a better word. He always ridiculed me and my long stockings. Every time he saw me he would say, “Well, there’s Marilyn in her fancy nylon stockings.”

I should tell you here that there was one other girl who wore long rayon stockings in seventh and eighth grades. Her name is Klea Black. She had contracted Polio about four or five years earlier and she had survived. She had a mild disability as a result of the Polio and her mother was somewhat protective of her. Klea had missed an entire year of school while she recovered from Polio. She was a year ahead of me before she got sick but she came to our class after she was well. She was a very nice person and we enjoyed having her in our class. Somehow, George Redd had the decency not to “pick on” Klea. I had no reason to wear the ugly long, brown stockings other than that my mother insisted I wear them. I really disliked George Redd. He was always with a “pack” of like-minded boys. When he ridiculed my stockings all his buddies would snicker.

Finally, by ninth grade, my mom relented and let me wear anklets to school. Yes, I had cold legs but cold legs were easier to endure than the ridicule that came with my ugly, long brown stockings.

There is an upside to all of this. I think wearing those ugly, long stockings made me determined to “be somebody.” I wanted to excel at school and participate in the extra-curricular activities, as well. I don’t recall George Redd ever doing anything noteworthy that set him apart from the crowd or that made him stand out in a positive way. He always “stood out” as a bully. I, on the other hand, accomplished many things in many areas during my school years that have benefited me throughout my life. I’m sure I’ll get around to telling you about those experiences. I guess the most important benefit was that I began to overcome my extreme shyness because of my accomplishments. Perhaps the ugly, long brown stockings helped me get past the unimportant aspects of living and move on with determination.

Now, for March Madness.

I think I have mentioned that I have two callings in the Loa Ward. I play the piano for the Senior Primary and also for the Ward Choir. Occasionally, I get a bonus and play the organ for Sacrament Meeting when the Ward Organist is going to be out of town.

Around the first of February, the Ward Choir Director told me that the Ward Choir would be performing three numbers for the Easter Program. She had picked out an arrangement of: “Christ the Lord Is Risen Today” and “I Heard Him Come.” She asked if I had any suggestions for the third one and mentioned she’d like it to be something easy. I did have a suggestion: “Easter Morn.” It is a song that was in the old Deseret Sunday School Song Book. That’s the song book we used at Church when I was a child. That song book has not been used for over 50 years and the song I mentioned is not in the song book that followed the Deseret Sunday School Song Book, nor any others that have followed since that time, yet, it is a very beautiful and meaningful song, in my opinion. I played it for her and she loved it. It is a duet for women’s voices. We began practicing those three numbers, plus what we were preparing for the third Sunday in February. “Easter Morn” was easy for me; “I Heard Him Come” was doable; “Christ the Lord Is Risen Today” was more of a challenge but was also doable. Everything was great---and then the choir director called and said the Bishop had just informed her that Ward Conference was scheduled for March 9th and he wanted the choir to provide a number. She opted to do something familiar from the Hymn Book which was okay with me. We practiced, “Be Still My Soul.” Okay, so that is all fine and dandy!

Then the Stake Choir Director called me and told me Stake Conference was scheduled for March 16th and the Stake Choir was to perform two numbers at Stake Conference and would I please accompany the Stake Choir on the organ? I thought, “Here is a nice little challenge---why not?” So I agreed to play. She brought me the arrangement she had chosen for one number: “Home Can Be A Heaven On Earth.” The second number would be: “He Is Risen” from the Hymn Book. The Stake President had requested that the Choir sing the first two verses and have the congregation join in on the third verse. “And,” she said, “You will also be expected to play the prelude and postlude music plus two congregation hymns.” Unfortunately, no matter how many years I play the organ and piano, and no matter how well I know the numbers, I still feel very much in need of practice before I “perform.” If a 12-year old plays something and makes a mistake, no one pays much attention. Perhaps that is true of a 74-year old, as well, but in my own mind, it is important that I play well. I cannot imagine Horowitz (who has passed away) playing a piano concert without practice or any other professional, for that matter. True, I am still an amateur, but I try to play perfectly.

I certainly had enough on my plate to keep me out of mischief. Playing the organ for a choir is a whole different animal than playing for a congregation. I played a medley of hymn arrangements for the prelude before Stake Conference and I opted to play “Londonderry Air” for postlude. Here was my reasoning: It was the day before St. Patrick’s Day so Irish seemed appropriate to me AND I knew that “Londonderry Air” or “O, Danny Boy,” if you prefer, was a favorite of President Hinckley. I figured I’d take a chance to play it because it is a favorite of mine, as well. The reason I said: “I’d take a chance,” is because, in this Stake, people generally just play hymns for postlude. Apparently there were others in the congregation who like that particular piece because I had a number of compliments and no one came to tell me to stop.

The organ in the Loa Ward Chapel is different than any I have ever played so every time I play it is a new experience. I felt the need to do a good bit of practicing at the Chapel so I could feel comfortable with the organ. It will be the same if I’m ever asked to play again. It takes time to learn a new instrument and I can’t go over there to practice every day. I should but I can’t.

Tal and Juli were at Stake Conference and said the organ sounded good. I appreciate their compliments and comments. Also, the Stake President came over to the organ and complimented me. I guess it was okay.

Stake Conference was over but there were still three numbers to be performed on Easter. Fortunately, they were on the piano and they went well. I appreciate the talents I have been given and I appreciate the opportunity to serve the Lord by using by talents. I do not take my callings lightly and I grow in ability every time I play. I am so grateful that my Dad insisted I “learn to play the hymns” when I took piano lessons. Music is something you take with you through life and in our Church, there is always opportunity to use that talent. I am blessed to still be able to play. Practicing keeps my mind alert and my fingers agile. It is also good for the soul. That’s the story of my March Madness. It was hectic and sometimes very stressful, but now that it’s over I look back on it as being very satisfying.

I love you all.

Happy Birthday to Dusty on April 8th

THE LIGHTER SIDE

noreply@blogger.com (Marilyn) — Tue, 11 Mar 2008 10:25:00 +0000

Did you know that a good belly-laugh every day will help you live longer? Why do you think I’ve lived so long? (I hope to be here a lot longer, too.) I love to laugh, so I try to see humor in most things---sometimes laughing is the only thing that keeps me sane. I heard a couple of pretty good jokes Saturday night and thought you all might enjoy hearing them. (Have you had your good belly laugh today?) I ran these by Tal and Juli. I didn’t even get a snort on the first one but got the “belly laugh” on the second. It doesn’t mean that the first one doesn’t have some merit. Perhaps one of you has a weird sense of humor, as do I. The second one is a tad naughty—hope you’re not offended. If you are, please let me know. I don’t want anyone to think I have an X-rated blog. So, here goes:

Why did the chicken cross the road? Because she heard the Mayor was going to lay a cornerstone and she wanted to see him try.

A man died Sunday morning while he was having sex. He and his wife always had sex on Sunday morning to the rhythm of the Church bells. Everything was going just fine until the ice cream truck drove by.

So much for that! I have had a clipping from a newspaper for some time. I cut it out to share with all of you so now I’m going to share it and then I can throw the clipping away.

The headline read:

WARNING: AVOID READING WACKY LABELS WHILE EATING

DETROIT(AP) Words to live by, from a warning label on a small tractor: “Danger: Avoid Death.”

That warning was selected Wednesday as the winner of the 11th annual “Wacky Warning Label Contest,” sponsored by Michigan Lawsuit Abuse Watch. The contest is part of an effort show the effects of lawsuits on warning labels.

Kevin Soave of Farmington Hills, a Detroit suburb, won the $500.00 grand prize for submitting the tractor’s “Danger: Avoid Death” label.

The $250.00 second place was given to Carrianne, Jacob and Robby Turin of Greensburg, Pa., for a label they found on an iron-on T-shirt transfer that warns: “Do not iron while wearing shirt.”

Richard Goodnow of Lancaster, Mass., earned the $100.00 third place prize for a label on a baby stroller featuring a small storage pouch that warns: “Do not put child in bag.”

Contest organizerBob Dorigo Jones says the silly labels reflect how broken the U.S. civil justice system is.

Honorable mention went to Cyndi LaMonde of Traverse City for a label on a letter opener that says: “Caution: Safety goggles recommended.”

Ann Marie Young of Fillmore, N.Y., found: “The Vanishing Fabric Marker should not be used as a writing instrument for signing checks or any legal documents.”

My own personal comment to the above is: “DUH.”

I love you all. Happy St. Patrick’s Day!

ADDENDUM TO VALENTINE BLOG

noreply@blogger.com (Marilyn) — Mon, 03 Mar 2008 20:15:00 +0000

In the comments section following my valentine story, Juli asked, “What is a punch?” In my mind, I knew what a punch board looked like because, as a child, I had seen them many times in the Café in Blanding, but I didn’t know how to describe them so anyone would be able to picture a punch board in their mind. So, I went online, not really expecting much because I hadn’t seen a punch board in many years and didn’t know whether or not they still existed. I should have known better. Apparently, punch boards are still big business. Punch boards are available for all kinds of activities and there are still a few around from “the good old days,” for a price. I found some pictures so I picked the one that seemed closest to what I remember AND there was a description of how they are made and how they are used. Who knew? So, I’m going to quote the information I found because it is so well done. I can see the old punch boards in my mind but I never “punched” one so I was not sure I could adequately describe them.

Punchboards were legal in Utah in the 1930’s, 1940’s and 1950’s, which is surprising, considering the primarily “Mormon” population. Apparently, they are no longer legal. Punch boards are considered a form of gambling.

Now, I will be quoting from the material I found online:

“Punch Boards are used in fund raising process. A punch board is planned for the player to punch a ticket out of a hole with numbers or symbols showing whether the player is a winner or loser. There are many diverse types and variations of Punch Boards. These boards range from 200 holed-boards to boards with 4,000 holes.” (The punch boards I saw in the Café probably had 4,000 holes.) “Price of these boards ranges from $0 to $1.00 per hole. It is a gambling device also known as push board.”

“It is illegal to operate these punch boards in many states of America. But it is quite common to find punch boards being played nowadays in some areas of the country. They are played particularly as fund-raisers for clubs and organizations. Punch boards are also gaining popularity in countries outside the United States. Punch boards usually consists of a square piece of wood or cardboard in which hundreds or thousands of holes have been drilled.”

“They are filled with slips of rolled or folded paper. Each slip of paper has a digit or mishmash of symbols printed on it. The holes are roofed with a foil or paper seal, which protects the related slips. Punch boards usually have a chart listing the combinations of numbers or symbols that are considered winners. Additionally, the prizes or cash amounts that will be awarded to the winners are also listed on the chart. Punch Boards usually feature cash prizes. Nowadays they are being used to publicize everything from shoe polish to Coca-Cola.”

“Archetypal punch boards’ construction is of laminated cardboard built up to a thickness of 5/8 to 1 inch. Some punch boards utilize a different payout card with jackpot seals or a separate payout board. While playing, a player pays the punch board’s operator a set amount of money (a nickel, dime or quarter) for a chance to use a metal stylus (or “punch”) to break the seal on the hole of his choice, and “punch” one of the slips of paper out of the board. If the integer or symbols found on the slip of paper matches one of the pre-determined winning combinations, the player is awarded the consequent prize.”

“Punch boards were particularly popular in America during the 1930’s, 1940’s and 1950’s.”

There! Now you know what punch boards are. It’s kind of a mini history lesson that you can tuck away in a remote corner of your brain and someday when someone asks, “What is a punch board?” you can say, “I know what punch boards are. My grandmother told me about them”.

People have always wanted to get something for nothing, or for very little, and during the depression so many people had so very little that a punch board seemed to be a possibility for getting something almost free. In the l930’s the punch boards cost one cent, five cents or 10 cents per punch. In our home during that time, one cent was precious; a nickel was grand and a dime was almost heaven so we wouldn’t have squandered our small amount of money on something that wasn’t a sure thing. But, obviously, there were people who would, and did. I guess punch boards in the 1930’s were similar to going to Las Vegas now. They used to have penny and nickel slots in Vegas. They haven’t had any penny or nickel slots for a long, long time. Even dime slots may have gone the way of the penny slots. I don’t know for sure, because it’s been a while since we’ve been to Las Vegas. When we did go to Las Vegas our interest was generally good food, cheap. Also, in the days when we went to Las Vegas, the shows didn’t cost an arm and a leg so we’d see an occasional show. We didn’t gamble. Wait a minute, I’ll take that back. One time I was alone and I thought no one would see me so I put three quarters into a slot machine and got 18 quarters back. I figured I was ahead so I just took my quarters and left. I didn’t want to lose what I had won. Now, you all know my secret indiscretion!

I’m working on getting another chapter written about my Dad. And, I have acquired some stories, written by my Dad, so I will add one or two of those from time to time. Joel Black sent me what he had. His sister, Karen, wrote to my folks several times in the l970’s and Daddy would answer her letter with something he remembered from his past. Why I didn’t do that I’ll never know. The stories are interesting reading and it will help you get a sense of who he was. Also, there are two very short stories my Mom wrote. I didn’t know she ever told anyone anything. Actually, I do remember one story she told me and I will tell that one eventually so you’ll have three stories from/about my Mom before she married my Dad.

That’s all, for now. I hope to get the next chapter done fairly soon but just in case---March dates to remember: Happy Birthday to: Aspen, March 6th; Russ, March 12th; Kylee, March 13th; Charlie, March 17th. Happy Anniversary Dave and Patti, March 17th.

I love you all.

HEART-SHAPED BOXES OF CHOCOLATES

noreply@blogger.com (Marilyn) — Mon, 11 Feb 2008 22:02:00 +0000

With Valentine’s Day coming at breakneck speed I thought I should share some of my memories of the day.

In elementary school our teacher would decorate a big box. It sat at the front of the room and everyone brought their valentines for classmates and put them into the pretty box. Our teacher would have all of his or her students cut out hearts, cupids and other valentine related things to decorate the room and windows. Yes, we had windows in our classrooms and we decorated those windows for every holiday. In February we not only celebrated Valentine’s Day but we also used to celebrate both President Washington’s (February 22nd) and President Lincoln’s birthday (February 12th). We would cut out black profiles of Washington’s and Lincoln’s heads, paste the profiles on a sheet of red construction paper and stick them up in the windows, facing out, so whoever passed the school building could see them. Our teacher would tell us stories about the Presidents and we learned about patriotism and serving our country. Of course, it was not difficult to be patriotic inasmuch as the United States was fighting World War II and most of us had brothers, uncles, cousins and even dads who were away fighting and dying for our freedom.

I will talk more about World War II at a later time but today, it’s all about Valentine’s Day.

When Valentine’s Day finally arrived we were all excited for the party and to see how many valentines we would receive. We must have had “Room Mothers” because when the last recess was over cookies and punch had magically appeared. And then the long awaited opening of the “big box” that held the valentines. After the teacher opened the box, someone would be designated the “Postman” and he or she would take some valentines out of the box and distribute them to the person whose name was on the envelope. After four or five minutes, someone else would become the “Postman.” Being the “Postman” was a very brief but coveted position. When the bell rang we would gather our collection of valentines and go home. But Valentines’ Day didn’t end with the closing of school. The evening hours were equally as exciting. There were always people to whom you wished to give a valentine that did not go to school: Aunts, Uncles, cousins who were not in your classroom and neighbors.
We made our own valentines for these special people. As dusk approached, we would gather up the “special” valentines and go deliver them.

We always had valentines for Uncle Ben and Aunt Jenny who lived across the street. We would go their house, very quietly sneak up to their door, lay the valentines on the porch and run and hide. I’m not sure what the significance of this particular ritual was but it was our custom and we loved it. Someone in the house would answer the knock on the door, pick up the valentines, take a perfunctory look around (to see if they could see who had left the valentines) and when they could see no one, they’d go back into the house. After the door closed, we’d come out from our hiding place and go to the next house. Generally, we had between six and ten houses we wanted to visit. When all the valentines were distributed we’d head home. If no one had seen us or “caught” us we considered the evening to be a total success. My brother, George, and I usually went out together.

As I recall, my children used to make their own, individual valentine box. I don’t remember whether it was just so they’d have something in which to carry their collection of valentines they received at school or whether they had another purpose. (Someone can straighten me out on this detail, please.)

I don’t imagine Valentine’s Day at my school was very much different than Valentine’s Day at school now but Valentine’s Day at school is not the main reason I’m doing a Valentine’s Day chapter.

Now, we get to the real story:

When my sister, Ora, was a senior in high school she was dating a guy whose name was Lee Cummins. Lee was not a local boy. He was from New York and he was in Blanding with the CCC (Civilian Conservation Corp). “What,” you ask, “was the CCC?” During the depression there were very few jobs and millions of people were out of work. When Franklin Delano Roosevelt was inaugurated as President of the United States in 1933, he and his “people” wanted to find a way to help people so they could have enough money to buy food, clothes and shelter. So, the CCC was established to provide young men with jobs working in the national parks and forests and I think, perhaps, reclamation projects as well. They built roads where there had been no roads on forest land and in the national parks, to make it easier when people visited those places. I’m sure they did other jobs, as well, but I was pretty young and don’t remember some of this stuff---or perhaps I didn’t know. But I do remember my parents talking about the programs of the day and if I recall what they said, the young men in the CCC were paid $30.00 per week and they were to send $25.00 home to their families. I believe food was provided for the “CCC’s”, as we called them. Oh, I should tell you that barracks were built to house the young men. I suppose beds of some kind were provided. I don’t know how many young men were sent to Blanding but I do know that we all benefited from the work they did. There were other programs set up for men and women of all ages. The one with which I am the most familiar was the WPA (Works Progress Administration) because my Dad benefited from it and I will tell you more about the WPA in the next chapter about him. There were other projects organized to spread employment and help people earn some wages but the CCC and WPA are the only ones that directly affected us so I can’t tell you about anything else.

Of course, the young men with the CCC’s were pretty normal guys and they wanted to date girls---big surprise. The only girls available to date were the local girls so that’s who these guys pursued. Remember, Blanding was (and I believe, still is) a “Mormon” town. Until the CCC group came there were probably only one or two non-Mormon families in town (I will be telling you about them in later installments). So, as you may imagine, having these guys who definitely were not Mormon dating their daughters just about gave some of the local parents heart attacks. Actually, several of the guys married local girls, stayed in Blanding and eventually joined the Church. But the CCC guys were well-behaved and treated the girls with respect. Both my older sisters dated guys with the CCC’s. The name of the fellow Grace dated was Steve. I don’t know his last name. Anyway, Valentine’s Day came and this Lee Cummins gave Ora a heart shaped box of chocolates. I thought that was the most wonderful thing in the whole world. I must have been really impressed with it because I was only three years old and I remember it as though it happened yesterday. I thought about it a lot and hoped that someday, someone would give me a heart shaped box of chocolates. I thought and thought about it, wishing and hoping, someday, I’d get one. (Steve never gave Grace a heart shaped box of chocolates. I’m sure that’s why I don’t remember his last name.)

Now, before I finish my story I have to fill you in with some important information. There was a café in Blanding. There was a long counter with stools as well as booths for people to sit to eat. You could get ice cream cones, sundaes, banana splits, shakes, malts and soft drinks, plus coffee, breakfast, lunch and dinner. Behind the counter on a shelf on the wall, there was always several heart shaped boxes of chocolates and there was a punch board. For a price, you could buy a punch on the punch board. I don’t know how much it cost---maybe 10 cents per punch. If you made a lucky punch, you’d win a heart shaped box of chocolates. There may have been other prizes of lesser value, as well. I really don’t know because I don’t think I ever went into the café until I was in High School but I could see the boxes of chocolates on the shelf through the windows as I’d pass by. People who had jobs and could afford it would come into the café to eat and frequently they’d buy some punches. Apparently, Lee chose a lucky punch, won a box of chocolates and gave them to Ora for Valentine’s Day.

From the time I was three, every year, I wished for a heart shaped box of chocolates.

When I was a senior in High School I was dating a guy named George Boday. Actually, we were engaged. On Valentine’s Day, George Boday brought me a heart shaped box of chocolates. I was almost beside myself with joy. You may say to yourself, “How nice that she finally got her heart shaped box of chocolates.” Well, maybe not! I was pretty naïve and I wasn’t sure what the etiquette was when someone gave you a box of chocolates. I didn’t know whether I should open the box and offer George a chocolate or whether I should just accept it and save it to open later. So, I just accepted it, thanked him and saved it to open later. Boy, was I glad I did! When I opened that box of chocolates I saw that the candy was SO OLD that all the middle of every piece of candy had sunk down to the bottom and the chocolate was almost white with age. I was happy I hadn’t opened the box and offered one to George. I think he’d have been terribly embarrassed.

I never told him. I’ve often wondered whether he thought it was rude or strange that I never offered him a piece of candy. This is what I think happened. He was in the café and bought at least one punch, probably more. Since it was Valentine’s Day and he had won a box of chocolates he wanted to give it to his fiancé. It was a nice gesture. Now, the government requires that manufacturers put a “best if used by” date on food and other products, as well, but in those days, there were no “best if used by” date on anything. So, the people who ran the café just kept those boxes until they were gone and then got new ones. The box I received had been on the shelf a long, long, long time. Oh, yes. I should tell you. I thought, “Even though it looks terrible IT IS CHOCOLATE and maybe it will taste good, anyway.” IT DIDN’T!

You know what? Whether or not I get a heart shaped box of chocolates has never mattered much to me since that time. Now you’ve heard my Valentine story. Hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed telling it. When I think of it I always smile in remembrance.

Happy Valentine’s Day! Oh, just a word of advice. Heart shaped boxes of chocolates aren’t, necessarily, all they’re cracked up to be unless they come from a “high end” candy manufacturer.

Now here’s a question for you---What’s the difference between Tiger Woods and Princess Diana? Answer: Tiger has a better driver. Tal’s response to this was, “Oh, that’s cold!”

I love you all.

JUSTIN ABINADI BLACK - Chapter One

noreply@blogger.com (Marilyn) — Fri, 01 Feb 2008 02:48:00 +0000

When I was a child, I thought Abinadi was a very weird name. I wondered whatever could have possessed my Grandfather and Grandmother Black to name a child such a ridiculous name. My mother explained that Grandpa Black (Benjamin Daniel Black) made sure that each of his sons had one name from the Scriptures. Sometimes it was the first name, or, as in the case of my Dad, the middle name. Actually, I was happy that Abinadi was his middle name rather than his first name. He was always called Justin (or his nickname “Jet”) and just used the middle initial. Probably relatively few people ever knew his middle name.

Just recently, I decided to read the Book of Mosiah again---chapters 11 through 17. I have come to the conclusion that Abinadi was a worthy man and now I am proud my Dad carried the name. I don’t know any other sons of my Grandfather who are more worthy to carry the name. Don’t get me wrong. I really admired my Dad’s brothers. They were all good men—kind, hard workers, etc., but my Dad was kind, loving, generous, wise, patient and above all, he loved his wife and kids. He had a strong testimony of the Gospel of Jesus Christ and, I believe, his knowledge of that Gospel guided his existence. (As I look at the list of his brothers, I see some who were given names I don’t recognize as being from the Scriptures, so maybe it was my Grandmother who wanted her sons to have names from the Scriptures. Guess we’ll never know for sure.)

My Dad’s parents were Benjamin Daniel and Annie Ozina Porter Black. Annie Ozina was Benjamin’s first wife. My mother told me several times that my grandfather, Benjamin Daniel, was16 and grandma, Annie Ozina, was 15 when they married. Having been told that, I believed it to be true but, when I ran that by my sister, Grace, she told me her genealogy sheets showed he was 19 when he married my grandmother. Also, I verified his birth date with Joel Black who, apparently, got the information from Grandpa’s grave stone. Benjamin Daniel was born July 2, 1859 in Nephi, Utah. Annie Ozina was born April 27, 1863 in Porterville, Utah. Benjamin D. and Annie Ozina were married February 21, 1879. Before the end of the year he had courted his second wife and married Susan Louisa Palmer on December 12, 1879. He was 20 years old when he took his second wife. Four years later he married Annie Alice Baldwin on December 26, 1883. Annie Ozina gave birth to nine children. Susan Louisa gave birth to 10 children. Annie Alice gave birth to 11 children.

It was customary to call the “other wives” of your Father/Grandfather, Aunt. So we called Susan Louisa, “aunt” Susie, and Annie Alice, “aunt” Alice. That was the way with polygamous families. Annie Ozina and Aunt Susie loved each other and treated each other like sisters. But when Benjamin Daniel began courting Annie Alice, both my grandmother and Aunt Susie objected. When a man was contemplating taking another wife, he was supposed to get the approval of his other wife/wives. They didn’t mind him taking another wife, just not her. They both perceived Annie Alice as being selfish and not willing to work together, with them, as a family. But Benjamin D. persisted and married her anyway. I do believe there was a little tension for a while but it was what it was and, though my Grandmother and Aunt Susie relented somewhat, there was never the closeness with the three of them as there was between Aunt Susie and my Grandmother.

As previously mentioned, Annie Ozina gave birth to nine children. Six of the nine died as infants/toddlers. The babies lived as short a time as two days, with the longest time being just over two years, but mostly, they died as infants (maybe a couple of days to a few months). I cannot begin to imagine what it must have been like to lose baby after baby. My Dad’s oldest brother, the first born child, Benjamin Grant lived to 93. His sister, child number four, TamarArvena lived to 38 (no children). My Dad, child number five, lived to 88. You may wonder why so many of the babies died. I’m sure my grandparents wondered the same thing. Grandma was told by several that the reason so many of her babies died was because, “her milk was poison.” What a cruel thing to say! But no one knew the real reason and people always need a reason for what they do not understand. They needed to justify things in their own mind and “poison milk” was the best they could offer.

My sister, Grace, has the RH negative factor in her blood. None of the rest of us do/did. Many years ago she and I talked about it and wondered if Daddy had the RH negative factor in his blood and, perhaps, that was the reason she has it. Obviously, Grace didn’t inherit it from our Mother, because Mom had seven children and six of us lived to be adults. The child who died contracted something that was “going around” in Blanding and several other young children died of the same ailment. But, in the early summer of 1975, my Dad was in the hospital in Grand Junction and nearly died. They drew blood, of course, and “typed” it at that time. You guessed it! He had the RH negative factor. So, Grace and I have surmised that our Grandmother also had the RH negative factor in her blood and that’s why so many of her babies died. Now, I do not have the knowledge to explain exactly what the RH negative factor is, but in those days they would not have had any idea there was such a thing or what to do about it if they had known. If my understanding is correct, the first born child was in no danger, regardless of its blood type. That is why Uncle Ben lived. But the mother’s blood begins to build up antibodies. I understand that child number two MAY have a chance. Obviously, not in all cases because Grandma’s child number two and three, died. If a fetus has the same blood type as its mother, (with the RH negative factor) the antibodies in the blood of mother and child won’t be at “war” with each other and the baby has a good chance to live to be an adult. So, it would seem, Aunt Tamar and Daddy had the RH negative factor and that’s why they lived. Child number six, seven, eight and nine must have had their father’s blood type so they were unable to survive the onslaught of antibodies from Grandma.

I know I have explained the RH negative factor very badly and if you are not aware of such problems, you are probably REALLY confused by now. Perhaps if our Eric, the Doctor, has the time, he could explain what I’m talking about in a more understandable manner---Please. I do know Medical miracles have occurred in that particular area and now there are things that can be done to save the babies born to RH negative mothers.

My Grandmother died before her 42nd birthday. My Dad was not quite 18 when his mother died. Daddy took care of his Mother quite a bit before she died. After grandma died, Uncle Ben. Aunt Tamar and Daddy rented a place for a while but after a time things changed; Aunt Tamar went somewhere else, and Uncle Ben got married. Daddy lived with Uncle Ben and his first wife, Vilate, for a while but then he was pretty much on his own. Yes, his father was still living, but his father had two other families. It must have been a lonely time for him. Aunt Tamar got married, as well, so Daddy was really alone until he married my mom when he was 30 years old. (Joel just e-mailed me some stories that Daddy wrote down and sent to Karen. They are very interesting. So, eventually, you’ll be getting those, and you’ll be able to read his own account of some of his experiences. They were hard times. It made me cry to think of him going through some of the things he did. And, reading the stories made me appreciate the man he became, even more.

There! I’ve given you some back ground on my Dad’s family so if I refer to some of this information I won’t need to go into the details again.

My Dad was one of the most upright men I have ever known. He was absolutely reliable. If he said he’d do something, he did it and he did it the best it could possibly be done. He was totally honest. He gave more than a day’s work for a day’s pay. When he was paid for a job, his tithing came out FIRST. He always did his home teaching. I never heard him say an unkind word about anyone. I never heard him swear or use bad language of any kind. I spent many hours working outside with my Dad. He was a great teacher.

Daddy was 6’ 1” tall, slender, handsome; with dark medium brown, curly hair when he was younger. Of course, by the time I knew him, he had gray in his hair. He weighed about 175 (+/-) pounds. (Grace has a picture of Daddy when he was about 30, I think. I’m hoping I can get a copy of that picture so you can see how good looking he was.) He had beautiful blue eyes that twinkled when he smiled and he smiled often. I know a man in Page, Arizona who has twinkly eyes like my dad; my oldest brother, Sherman, had twinkly eyes and I have three grandchildren who have twinkly eyes. It is a rare blessing to have twinkly eyes. Perhaps the reason I remember his eyes so much is because they ARE rare. How can I explain “twinkly?”
How about this? When my Dad’s mouth smiled, his eyes smiled, as well. It was almost as though there was mischief written all over his face. That does not mean he couldn’t be stern. He could, and occasionally, he was. I remember several times when I had really misbehaved (yes, even I misbehaved on rare occasions) he would send me out to cut a willow so he could give me two or three swats with it to make me realize I had acted inappropriately. A small, pliable willow across your backside and the tops of your legs helps a child remember what he or she did wrong and it reminds the child not to do it again. A willow stings but does no damage. I would never say that my Dad abused me. He was only disciplining me in a manner I would not soon forget. As I said, willows sting. I only remember him using a willow on me two or three times. I must have learned my lesson quickly. Besides, I didn’t like to have him angry at, or disappointed in me. Of course, my older siblings always maintained that I was treated better than they were. You know the complaint of the oldest child—“parents learn on the first child” and each succeeding child gets less harsh treatment than the one before. By the time I came along they had acquired more patience, or, perhaps, they were too tired to be as hard on me. OR, perhaps I was just a better behaved kid. I’m sure that’s what it was. What do you think?

There is an old adage that says, “Jack of all trades and master of none.” The description, “jack of all trades” was fitting for Daddy, but “master of none” was not fitting. He knew how to do many things and whatever he did, he did it well.

I’m going to close this chapter at this point and continue with the next chapter as soon as I get my thoughts in a decent sequence. We have a very interesting heritage, wouldn’t you say? And it gets even more interesting. After I get through with the chapters about my Dad, I’ll fill you in on a few interesting facts about my great-grandfather, William Morley Black, who took six wives. And, I still have to tell you more about growing up in Blanding in the 1930’s and 1940’s. There is a lot more good stuff coming.

Now, for the February birthdays. Spencer, February 9th and Julianne, February 10th. Happy Birthday! Hope you have wonderful days.

I love you all.

THE LETTER CAME IN THE MAIL

noreply@blogger.com (Marilyn) — Tue, 29 Jan 2008 18:57:00 +0000

And it’s official. The Department of Motor Vehicles has taken Jack’s driving privileges away. I knew it would be coming and I have to tell you that I expected a huge explosion, but it didn’t happen. Jack opened the letter and read every word. He studied the form that came with it (if your condition gets better you can take the enclosed form to your physician and you can retake the driving test---or words to that effect) and studied the list of sites where the driving test can be taken. He re-read everything then asked me if I’d keep it in a safe place so that when he finds “a doctor who is not his enemy” he can get it filled out and retake the test.

I must admit, I was relieved when the letter came because his driving has been scaring me silly for several years now. If he remembers that the DMV has taken his driving privileges away, we shouldn’t have any more arguments about who is going to drive. Of course, he may forget from time to time.

Thursday night he took his shirt off and in doing so, he pulled one arm inside out. Next morning he decided to wear the same shirt so he tried to put it on. He kept getting it more and more tangled and finally threw it in a heap on the floor, saying, “This is worthless, get rid of it.” I picked it up and within a matter of four or five seconds, had it right side out and ready for him to wear and I handed it back to him. You may say, “Why didn’t you just fix it for him in the first place?” I could have, but he needs to do whatever he can for himself, as long as he possibly can.

Jack has a nebulizer and meds for his asthma. He used to be able to get his own meds and put them in the nebulizer but now, I have to get the meds out for him and take the nebulizer cup apart for him or he puts the meds in the wrong place and wastes them. The other day, he tried to put two nebulizer cups together and got frustrated because they wouldn’t fit. He called me and asked me to help. I have no idea where he found the second nebulizer cup (he must have had it stashed in his drawer and I didn’t know it) but it was causing him grief. I took it and hid it so he won’t be able to find it until he needs to replace the one he’s using. He doesn’t need anything extra to befuddle him more than he is.

My advice to all of you is this: Keep your minds active. Do things to make yourselves think Play a musical instrument but don’t just play the easy stuff you already know. Learn a new and more difficult piece. Play Scrabble---even if you don’t like Scrabble. Do jigsaw puzzles---even if you don’t like jigsaw puzzles. Do crossword puzzles---even if you don’t like crossword puzzles. Do Sudoku---that’ll make you think. Read books and articles that challenge your mind and teach you something new. Don’t always use a calculator. Do the math on paper some of the time. I generally do whatever math I have to do on paper first and then check it with the calculator. The goal is, of course, to do it correctly on paper as though there were no calculators. The calculator is merely a tool to back up your brain---don’t ever let it “replace your brain.” I have no idea whether working your brain will prevent dementia or alzheimers, but I am certain it can DELAY the onset of those diseases. And, this I DO know. Your brain will atrophy just like any other unused organ in your body.

I could tell you myriads of ways in which Jack’s “confusion” manifests itself but I won’t take the time or space to do so. I will just mention a few episodes from time to time to keep you current on his condition so it won’t come as a big “surprise” when he gets to the point I can no longer care for him by myself. I must tell you that his condition makes me very sad. I never thought it would happen to us. I guess no one ever thinks it will happen to them but you cope with what you get in this life. I’m doing great and I will certainly care for him as long as I can. It is what it is. I still have my music to buoy up my spirits and it also seems to calm Jack when I play the piano or organ so that is pretty much a daily part of my routine. I have family who checks on me and brightens my day whenever they call. I have friends and activities to give me a different perspective and I am still able to leave Jack for an hour or two here and there. I have many blessings.

Now, if I just had an amusing story to tell you to make you smile I could end this chapter on a lighter note. Sadly, I don’t. BUT, please go through my blog and check out the pictures Juli has added for me (and being the sweetheart she is, she gave me credit for putting them on). Don’t quit looking until you see four pictures. You may have to go to “older posts” to see the picture of the house in which I grew up. I’m so excited. Everyone else has pictures and now I do, too. This is fun. One of these days I will make some sketches to add. Don’t expect them to be great. I am the least artistic person in the world. Years ago, my daughters took me to classes to try to teach me tole(sp) painting. They were all so good and I was an absolute flop. However, the classes were not a total loss. We had tons of fun. We laughed and talked and I remember those classes with much love and fondness. I’d take another class any day, just to be with all of my daughters---including Julianne and Heidi.

I love you all.

SUNDAY SWEETHEART UPDATE

noreply@blogger.com (Marilyn) — Wed, 16 Jan 2008 17:34:00 +0000

This is current information which I will include, maybe once a week, or whenever necessary, to keep you all up to speed on what is going on in our lives.

Jack hadn’t been to Sacrament Meeting for three or four weeks, for one reason or another: Too much snow on the ground and he was afraid he’d slip and fall; just didn’t feel up to it and so on. But this past Sunday, January 13th, he decided he could make it so we went and sat in our usual spot. When Sacrament Meeting was over and people were filing out to go to Sunday School, Jack’s “Sunday Sweetheart,” Della Brian saw him sitting on the bench and I cannot describe the look of delight that crossed her face. I wish I had had a camera. It absolutely tickled me to see it. She hurried over to him, grabbed his hand and squeezed it, then planted a very long kiss on his forehead. She turned to me and said, “I’ve missed my Sunday Sweetheart”, squeezed his hand again and went to Sunday School class. Jack looked just a tad embarrassed but I think he was quite pleased with the attention. Della Brian is about 87 years old and what a pistol!

Well, that’s the fun part. Now, is the sad part. Those of you who talked to Jack at Thanksgiving probably realize that he is not really “up to speed” with what is going on around him. He rarely ever knows what day or month it is. He never knows what the date is or the year. He has no clue what our phone number or address is. When the doctor asks him about it he responds with, “That’s not important for me to know.” He is becoming more and more confused about things present AND past. We had an appointment to see the doctor Monday and now, this doctor has told him that he must not drive any more and it nearly killed him to hear it. He doesn’t seem to know that he doesn’t know. In any case, he would be a menace on the road but he doesn’t think there’s anything wrong with him. On Tuesday he was quite despondent most of the day. He thinks if he still lived in Salt Lake City that he could just go drive whenever and wherever he wanted and do all kinds of things. Now there’s a scary thought---Jack driving on the streets of a big city. Our doctor here, Dr. Chappell, is the fourth doctor to tell him he can’t drive. He doesn’t believe any of them and he is angry with them for suggesting it. On the other hand, occasionally he will have a few minutes or even a few hours of clarity and we can talk about things. Then he slips back into his “fog.”

He needs more and more of my time to help him and take care of him. I think we will be getting some “Home Health Care” shortly---mostly so a medical professional sees him each week. But hey, we are managing and I’m still able to care for him at this point. I must learn to be more patient. He still loves to listen to me play the piano and organ, so I try to play one or the other every day. I practice the numbers to accompany the choir and sometimes the Primary songs. Then I try to play something he likes—especially on the organ. That’s a good thing! Playing the piano and organ is something that---“if you don’t use it, you’ll lose it” and I don’t want to “lose” it. Besides, when you get to be my age your hands need all the exercise they can get or they will stiffen up and you won’t be able to use them at all. So, there are my words of advice for today. I love you all.