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.”
Friday, April 18, 2008
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
BAREFOOT IN THE SNOW AND COOKING BACON
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.
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.
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
LONG BROWN STOCKINGS AND MARCH MADNESS
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
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
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
THE LIGHTER SIDE
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!
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!
Monday, March 3, 2008
ADDENDUM TO VALENTINE BLOG
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.
Monday, February 11, 2008
HEART-SHAPED BOXES OF CHOCOLATES
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.
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.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
JUSTIN ABINADI BLACK - Chapter One
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.
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.
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