#52 Stories--Story # 29

How many different homes or apartments have you lived in throughout your life? How many different cities? What have you gained or lost in each of those moves?

As a very young girl I lived in Sunnyvale--a house on Santa Paula street until I was about 3 or 4, and another home on Sugarpine Drive until we moved to or family home in Gilroy, CA. I lived there with my parents, sister, and grandparents until I left home to go to college in Provo, Utah at BYU. I was just eighteen years old when I left home.  I lived my freshman year in the Deseret Towers, U-Hall, apartment U-712, as I recall.  DT has been torn down now and made way for newer nicer on campus housing and other buildings.

I lived there for 2 semesters then came home to work the summer after my first year away at school.  I lived back in my childhood home that summer while I worked in San Jose. then my second year of BYU I lived in an apartment at Raintree Apartments on Freedom Blvd in Provo.  I have had several roommates, by my room-roommate there was Stephanie Coltrin. she was from Westchester, New York. We lived there for two semesters then moved to a little rental home that following summer that was behind the old Albertson's on University Parkway. Living with her was not helping me be a better person, and due to some additional complications, I moved at the end of the summer to Stadium Terrace apartments, just north of the BYU stadium.

In those apartments I moved without knowing anyone, but I knew whatever it was  had to be a better situation than I was leaving. Boy, did I luck out there! I ended up living with the apartment manager, Stacy, and her other roommate, Perri Campbell. We each had our own rooms in this apartment, as part of the perks of living with the manager. Plus the bathroom was a huge common area with sinks and countertops and 2 "stalls" and a curtained off shower area. I'd never seen anything like that before. We were a "basement" apartment directly off the diving board of the swimming pool.  My room backed up a portion of the mailboxes--consequently I could hear EVERY TIME someone picked up their mail. Stacey and Perri and I lived together for a couple of years.  Things were great there.  I stayed year-round and kept going to school while I lived there.

Eventually Perri had to move as her dad had been diagnosed with ALS and she needed to go home to Washington and care for him and help her mom. I was crushed to see her leave, as I felt she was like a big sisters I never had. I knew it was the right thing for her to go home and help her dad in his final years.

Stacy had plans to move on too.  Things just can't stay that "young adult college student" phase forever, I suppose.  So I had 5 knew girls move in. I remember one called herself Michel--but after stealing something from the rest of us, she ended up committed to the psych ward at UVRMC for a time.  I never did get my favorite jeans back from her.

The final group of ladies I lived with were fantastic roommies!  Jennie, Jen, Jodi, and Shannon were wonderful to live with for the last year or two of my university life. Jen, Jodi and Shannon had known each other from their missions to Norway. Jennie, Jen and Shannon I believe had known each other from internships in Washington DC. They were gracious enough to include me in their group as we lived together in the same little downstairs apartment until three of us got married that final semester we were there.

Then after marrying Genius Golfer, we lived in his mom's Springville home's basement while I finished my degree that summer. I ended up working at a place in Provo following graduation, and we found a brand new apartment in Springville (169 N 200 E, I think) where we lived for a semester until we realized that we could move back to his mom's basement and save money to buy a home. So we did that, moving back to 235 E 1300 N in Springville.  It worked out great as she worked nights as a nurse at the Provo hospital and I was working days in Provo while GG was trying to get his business off the ground.  She'd had dinner made when I got home from work, and I'd cleaning up the kitchen and she'd be off to work. She made those couple of years pretty easy for me, I'm happy to say.

Toward the end of summer 1994, we felt it was time to find a place, but after having grown up and attend schools in basically one place my whole life--and GG having to move mid-high school--we knew we wanted to find place where we could raise our kids.  we found a spec home that the builder was getting ready to finish and we squeaked by with out financing and a little help from my parents and bought our first home on 300 West in Pleasant Grove.

The kids went to the same elementary school, junior high and high school as many, many of their friends--graduating together after going to their whole public school years together. Not everyone can say that.  I made wonderful friends in PTA, Strawberry Days committees, kids' swim, soccer, and football teams and of course our local congregation over the years.

About 18 months ago, we saw the chance to build a retirement home in St. George, after having visited several times and falling in love with the weather and landscapes there. We aren't living there full time at this point, but wish we could get there more often to enjoy the quiet and peace it offers.

Someday the day will come that we make the permanent move south.  But I love where I am until then. When we do move it might take me a few years to really love my neighbors and make new friends in the area and ward there. But all good things take time.  Just like leaving here will take time to get over too.

#52 Stories--Story # 6

What were the faith and religious traditions of your ancestors?

The only formal religious affiliation I know of it that my maternal grandmother and her family before her were Lutherans.  The Finnish side of the family was baptized in the Lutheran church--in Frederick, South Dakota, it was the Savo Lutheran community.  They worshiped in this church:

Salvo Community - Lutheran Church destroyed by tornado in 1921

Even when I knew her, my grandmother--by this time living in Kelso, Washington was a religious person, and worshiped with friends in a local church in their town.  Grandma Bernice was an avid pianist and more than once I remember her telling me that she had played the piano at their Bible study or women's meeting. Knowing her, I am sure her devotion to the faith community was as much a social one as it was a religious one.

My paternal side had no long standing affiliation but were Christians of one denomination or another.  My paternal grandparents joined the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints when my dad was 8 years --1950.

Upon their decision to marry, my parents attended both the local Lutheran and LDS congregations to see which they could get along together in as a family. I recall my dad telling me that there was no way he could have been a Lutheran as there was too much formality and recitation in their service. My mom, meanwhile, had a dear friend who had introduced her the LDS faith, and once my grandfather--her dad--allowed it when she turned 18, she was baptized into the LDS church. I don't believe she ever looked back.

I do love her little Lutheran Bible though.  I remember being enchanted by the colored cover and the picture of Christ at the beginning of it. She primarily used the LDS scriptures in her personal and our family study, but I remember seeing it on occasion and loving that little book of scripture.

#52 Stories--Intro and Story #1: School Lunch Memories

I recently recognized a suggestion to help use my time on Sundays more wisely--write down my own life's stories.  I used to be a prolific journal keeper.  I received a journal when I turned 8 as a birthday gift and I have an apple box full of little fabric-covered, lined-paper, hand-written journals from my growing up years.  As I got older, my journal keeping sort of ebbed and flowed.  It usually had to do with how well I was living the Gospel of Jesus Christ and how obedient I was directly related to how faithful a journal writer I was being at any given time.

In 2006 I began writing this blog, as a way to keep my family in touch with what was going on here, as several loved ones live far away and we don't get to see each other or speak as often as I'd like.  But once the kids left for college, I've felt I had little to write about and I lost some of that interest in writing.

However, this prompting to journal about my own life's stories made sense to me.  I love the biography that my mom has written about my dad's life--even though it is still under construction.  I already love knowing those stories he has entertained me with over all these years are recorded and written down and that I will be able to share them with my own grandchildren someday down the road.  What if my own children want to know things about me that I never thought to tell them?  What will the do with the gaps in my journaling? To answer those kinds of questions, I have decided to adopt a Sunday afternoon activity of writing on one short topic based on these kinds of questions:

Goals & Achievements

What goals do you hope to achieve this year?
What is something you taught yourself to do without help from anyone else?
What goals are you actively working toward right now?
What would you want your friends and family to learn about making and achieving goals from your example?
What will be the greatest achievement of your life?

Love & Friendship

Do you know the story of how your grandparents met and fell in love?
What have been the most important and valued friendships in your life?
Who was your first best friend? Are you still in contact with each other?
What qualities in friends do you most admire?

Goals & Achievements

What were your favorite hobbies and pastimes in your childhood?
Do you like to dabble in lots of different hobbies? If so, what are they?
What hobbies, interests, and talents do you have in common with your parents, grandparents, and other ancestors?
Who taught you how to work? What would you want your children and grandchildren to learn from your example?
What are some of your greatest career achievements so far?

Home & Hearth

What was your childhood home like?
What kinds of things did you collect and display in your childhood bedroom?
How many different homes or apartments have you lived in throughout your life?
What do you love most about where you live now?
What are the barest essentials you would need to make any place a home?

Mothers & Motherhood

How has your mother or being a mother enriched your life?
What lessons have you learned from your grandmothers’ life experiences?
What are some of the stories you loved hearing from your mother’s youth? From your grandmothers’ younger days?
What is the best thing about your relationship with your mother or grandmother?
Who are some important mother figures besides your own mother who have been influential in your life?

Fathers & Fatherhood

What did you enjoy doing with your father when you were a child?
What life lessons have you learned from your father?
What are some of the stories you loved hearing from your father’s youth? From your grandfathers’ younger days?
What are some of the signature phrases, quotes, or sayings that remind you of your dad? Of your grandfathers?
Who are some important father figures besides your own father who have been influential in your life?

Events & Milestones

What do you know about the day you were born?
What were the biggest momentous events in your life and how have they changed you as a person?
What decisions have you made that have had a long-lasting positive effect on your life?
How does your family celebrate significant milestones?
What events and milestones are you still anticipating and looking forward to?

Travels & Vacations

What were your most common childhood vacations like—road trips, visits to grandma’s house, camping trips, weekends at the lake or the beach?
Do you have one special vacation spot that you return to again and again?  What do you love about it?
What are all the different modes of transport you’ve used?
What are the most memorable meals or exotic foods you’ve tried on any of your travels?
What destinations are on your vacation wish list?

Education & School

Who was your most beloved teacher? Why?
What are your memories of school lunch?
What subjects did you excel at in school? Which were hardest for you?
What extracurricular activities did you get involved in?
What valuable lessons have you learned from school that have helped you in your life?

Values & Beliefs

If you had to pinpoint three main values that your parents lived by and tried to instill in you, what would they be?
What personal values do you hold most dear?
What values do you feel are most important to pass down to posterity?
What were the faith and religious traditions of your ancestors?

Causes & Convictions

What motto or creed do you live by?
In what ways do you sacrifice your time to volunteer in your community?
How has your life been enriched by your commitment to causes?
Is there someone in your life who has inspired you to care more about community and global issues?
How has your commitment to make the world a better place evolved throughout your life?

Holidays & Traditions

What were some of your favorite holiday traditions in childhood?
Which were your top three favorite holidays when you were a child? Why?
Which of your childhood holiday traditions have you continued into adulthood?
What are the most memorable and treasured gifts you have received in your life?
What different occasions do you celebrate each year?

So beginning with the random question of  the week, I'll try to share things that I may not have included in my personal journals over the years.

What are my memories of school lunch?
I attended elementary school at El Roble Elementary in Gilroy, California, from 1st through 4th grade. I think I remember generally bringing a lunch with me from home most of the time.  I do recall a few special occasions when the school served a McDonald's hamburger or cheeseburger and those were the days I really wanted to buy lunch.  I only remember the little McD's cheeseburger--not a happy meal or having fries with it.  Just the little burger, wrapped in the the same old yellow paper they still come in, and a carton of chocolate milk. I'm sure it was less than a dollar for that at the time.  I only remember ever having coins to pay for it.  But it was a special treat when I got to do that.

We'd eat our little lunches on benches that were along the outside of the classroom buildings. I recall playing jacks with friends after eating right there near our benches on the blacktop. Jessica Santana was my best friend in those years.  She was always very tall and willowy while I was pretty stumpy and rounder.  I remember people calling us "Green Giant and Little Sprout" after the advertisement characters for the frozen vegetable company.

In 5th and 6th grade I moved schools to Brownell Fundamental Elementary in town. It was a lot like charter schools are now.  It was supposed to focus on educational basics, but as a kid I didn't see much change from what I knew at El Roble. Just the kids thought the school was better than the other "regular" elementary schools. That attitude rubbed me wrong even then. 

I remember learning to play handball  during lunch there and slowly realizing that the boys who played handball weren't going to just "let the girls play" with them. I don't recall the lunch room or what I brought for lunch there beyond having to eat inside if there was rain. the lunch room had tall ceilings and was really loud with that many kids inside wishing they could play outdoors.

For junior high I moved schools again--even though Brownell had 7th & 8th grades.  the friends I had at Brownell told me that if I switched to South Valley Jr High I was going to get beat up every day and that the Mexican kids would hate me because I was white. But I missed my El Roble friends and was not as fond of the elitist feeling among the Brownell kids.  So I moved schools in Junior High.

South Valley was a little tougher looking, but I loved it.  Sure there were some tough "chicano" kids in the school, but if I didn't bother them, I learned that they really didn't go out of their way to bother me. In fact, once I go to know a few in my classes, I made friends with them just like I could with the student council kids, or the jocks, or the music kids.  They just had different interests and that was fine by me.

At SVJH we ate lunch outside, pretty much wherever we wanted. We didn't really have assigned spaces, but we ate with friends outside--again, unless it rained.  In the rain we ate in the "cafegymetorium"--part lunchroom, part gym, part auditorium. It was REALLY loud then, because we were all pubescent, hormonal, growing pre-teens.  I remember my favorite place to sit and eat outside was in the sunshine, just beyond the bus turn around toward the classrooms. A bunch of cute boys (some in our LDS ward) ate closer to the gym, but we could watch the boys from our spot in the sunshine. I'm quite sure the boys were clueless that we watched them everyday. But it was all part of the junior high fun.

In 9th grade we all moved to the high school. When I was in school, Gilroy High School had an open campus so if you had a car--or knew someone who did--you could go off campus to get lunch someplace.  By this time, I think my mom gave up on us taking lunch so she'd give us lunch money to get lunch all week long.  I had to ration it correctly or by Friday I wouldn't have money to eat. There were "junk trucks" that parked along the street side of campus and sold everything from hamburgers and hot dogs on the grill to soda and candy bars.  I very regularly had a Snickers bar and a Diet 7Up for lunch and called it good.  Once in a while I remember walking to my friend Steve Howlett's house, just a few blocks away from GHS, and having lunch with friends there. I loved his mom, Diane, and I especially loved it when she was there and I could chat her up about whatever was on my mind.  

Usually the LDS kids and other friends hung out in Mr. Merrill's room.  He was an old world history & geography teacher that didn't seem to mind the "crazy Mormon" kids invading his space. As I got older in high school, I'd sometimes have lunch in the theater--we had Mime Troupe meetings then.  Or out on the quad with the "popular" and "cool" kids if there was a lunchtime activity. Once I could drive, I would sometimes take friends to Wendy's down 10th Street closer to the freeway.  I remember thinking then that we never had enough time to get there, get our food, get back and eat all in the lunch period.  

Once memorable lunch time as a Senior, I road in the bed of Brenda Scariot's truck with several other girls, who were much cooler and popular than I was, and we drive all the way to 1st Street's Senior Froggy's.  David Manson had a truck full of senior boys and did the same thing. We grabbed our lunch as fast as we could and then high tailed it back to campus.  Somewhere along the way, a chocolate shake got throw from David's truck over the cab of Brenda's--she was driving right behind Dave--and the spray of chocolate shake went all over many of us. At the time it was just funny.  No one was angry or upset. Just another fun, crazy high school memory made.

 

Generational Links

Friday night, Genius golfer's siblings and mom (plus the spouses, and one niece and her husband) met together at our temple for an evening of family sealings.  GG's mom had never been sealed to her parents, and she had prepared her brother and sister's work to be sealed to the parents as well. 

Since we were going for her own family stuff, GG and I brought along the one couple and one son that needed to be sealed yet from his dad's family and his sister Lori brought along a stack of family names that she has tracked down in Holland that we could finally link up to what we knew once they got to America.

I think we worked for about an hour and still only got half way though the stack Lori had.  It was pretty cool.  We have never done anything like that before and it was rewarding to be there together as family working on their family's connections.  Afterward we went to our favorite burger joint and just enjoyed the evening together. 

Sometimes, living close to family IS very cool.

If I Ever Had a "Dream" Guest Blogger, This Would Be Him

I know my parents will see this if I post it here, even though I swiped it from Facebook.  I loved this.  I even read it out loud this morning to The Boy.  My parents' 50th anniversary is fast approaching.  And Mr. And Mrs. Rowe sure would have been "our kind of people" growing up--and still today, for that matter.  For whatever reason, I see a lot of my parents' wisdom in the Rowes' parenting style.  Or maybe I just think their son, Mike, is hysterical and so smart!

As of today, John and Peggy Rowe have been married for exactly 53 years.

If you ask them how they did it, they’ll credit an uncompromising honesty with one another. If you press them, though, you’ll learn their commitment to the truth did not extend to their children. Indeed, when it came to raising three boys on the salary of a public-school teacher, my parents lied like rugs.

I remember a television commercial that used to air during the Baltimore Orioles home games. It was for an amusement park in Ocean City, Md., and according to the announcer, a visit there would afford me “the time of my life.” At that particular moment, my life had amounted to nine years, and for the most part, I was satisfied with the way things were going. Then I saw The Wild Mouse.

The Wild Mouse was a giant roller-coaster that threatened to leap from our black-and-white television and smash through the wall of our tiny den. It shared the boardwalk with the Round-Up, the Tilt-a-Whirl, and several other mysterious contraptions that plunged and spun this way and that. I had never seen anything like them – a parade of machines devised for no other purpose than pure enjoyment. I remember the camera zooming in on a kid about my age. He was strapped into The Wild Mouse next to a pretty girl, his excitement teetering on the verge of rapture. I was transfixed.

“Hey, Peggy, get a load of these ding-a-lings on the TV. I think they’re gonna puke on each other.”

My parents sat on the sofa behind me. They spoke very casually, but loud enough for me to hear. “Oh, those poor children. Why would anyone stand in line all day just to get vomited on?”

“Obviously, Peggy, those kids are deranged. Look at ‘em.” I searched the sea of jubilant faces for signs of idiocy or nausea.

“Isn’t it sad, John, how some children need machines to have fun?”

“It sure is, Peg. It sure is.”

Later in the game another commercial appeared, this one for a new movie called Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. It was playing at The Senator, and according to the announcer, it was “a thrilling film for the whole family … a must-see event!” I had never been to The Senator before, or any other movie theater. I was captivated.

“Tell me something, Peg. Why would anyone want to see the movie, when they could read the book instead? Books are so much more interesting.”

“Well, John, as I understand it, movies are for children who can’t read very well. Isn’t that sad?”

“It sure is, Peg. It sure is.”

In 1971, there was no money for amusement parks or “must-see” events. But I never felt bad about missing such things. I was too busy feeling sorry for people who had to endure them.

“Hey, Dad, can we order a pizza tonight?”

“A what?” We had never eaten a pizza before, much less ordered one. The concept of food delivery was completely foreign.

“Bobby Price says his mother has a pizza pie delivered right to their house every Friday night," I said. "And Chinese food every Wednesday.”

My father sighed, and spoke with a hint of sadness. “Look, son, Bobby’s mother doesn’t know how to cook. It’s not her fault they can’t have normal food.” Then, quietly to my mother. “Peg, maybe you should call Mrs. Price and give her the recipe for your meatloaf casserole.”

“Of course, John. That poor boy deserves a home-cooked meal.”

“He sure does, Peg. He sure does.”

It was a strange sort of snobbery to develop at such an early age – this sympathy for the fortunate – but that’s precisely what my parents engendered. With duplicity and guile, they turned envy to pity. By the time I was 11, I felt nothing but compassion for my classmates who were forced to wear the latest fashion. Sadly, they had no older cousins to provide them with a superior wardrobe of “softer, studier, broken-in alternatives.”

My parents' subterfuge was second-nature, as it had to be, for temptations were everywhere.

One Sunday after church, our neighbors came by with a slideshow from their most recent family vacation - hundreds of photos from Yellowstone and Yosemite. The Brannigans stayed for hours and told stories about Indians and geysers and wild bears. My brothers and I were spellbound. When they left, my dad smiled and waved as they pulled out of the driveway, but when he turned around, his expression said it all. “Oh, those poor bastards.”

Like a Greek chorus, my mother was right there, dabbing at her eyes with a Kleenex. “Gosh, John, can you imagine flying all the way across the country just to take a walk in the woods?”

“No, honey, I sure can’t. But then again, not everyone has a forest in their own backyard!”

“That’s a good point, John. That’s a very good point.”

My parents shifted their gaze toward the large tract of woods just beyond our pasture, and looked with satisfaction at the epicenter of affordable and sensible amusement that kept me occupied on a daily basis. A swift running creek, a swamp of frogs and cattails, an old wooden bridge, and a maze of hidden trails that might lead anywhere.

Later, when I was less gullible (and TV commercials more persuasive), a new parenting style would evolve, one that included phrases like, “No!” and “Because I said so!” But when I entered the sixth grade, I did so with a firm understanding that that movie theaters were for the illiterate, vacations for the unimaginative, and home delivery for lazy housewives that couldn’t cook. As for amusement parks, they were probably OK, if you didn’t mind waiting in line all day for a chance to vomit on your friend.

Anyway, my parents celebrated their 53rd anniversary with a cruise. They sailed down through the Panama Canal and saw the rain forests of Costa Rica. They assure me they had a great time. But I’m gonna need to see some pictures.

Happy Anniversary.

Mike

Family Ties

As we prepare as a family for our weekend Youth Trek experience, we were asked to find a story from our family history to share.  I asked the kids if they remembered one they like and would like to take with them.  (We are all going, but won't be together, as the kids are in different "trek families" and Genius Golfer and I are 'grandparents" in yet another group.)

The Girl quickly responded that she wanted to take the story of her long-ago-grandma who came from Finland as a 'mail order bride".  Great!  That is one of my favorites too.  I have that written down and even on the computer, so I printed it up fro her, adding how many "greats" Grandma Mary was to The Girl.

The Boy said he wasn't sure.  So I asked him if he remembered me telling the story of the Grandpa (a few greats back) that was nearly washed overboard on the ship to America and how he was saved by the woman who eventually wold be his mother in law?  "Sure!" he said, "I don't remember that story."  So I retold him and found it on the computer as well.  I printed it out for him and helped him pronounce the names--they are German--as best as we could.

I have a couple of stories that I love from my family history to share with our Trek-kids.  Of course, my experience with my great-grandparents and their sauna when I was about 8 years old.  That is a family classic! 

And then I started thinking about the LDS pioneer stories.  They weren't always big miracles that build their faith, but regular small patterns repeated to become habits.  So I recalled another story about a great-great-grandmother and her wisdom shared with her grand daughter about keeping her house clean in case anyone comes over so she wouldn't worry about a dirty house, but could just enjoy their company.  Considering me post yesterday, I could use more reflection on that philosophy.


Then I asked GG what story from his family he'd like to share.  He said he didn't have any.  I disagreed, and told him he even has pioneer stories from one branch of his family.  He still didn't think of anything.  In fact, he told me that since I had so many in my family that I should share more and he will listen to them quietly.

I guess that just goes to show that family stories and traditions only last when they are shared.  And writing a book, as GG's Grandpa Woolley did about his family's genealogy, doesn't make your stories any more heart warming or tender.  For family traditions and stories to become beloved, you have to love them yourself first.  Then you share them with children, nieces and nephews and grandchildren because you love THEM.  I never once hear any of Grandpa Woolley's stories from him directly.  But he gave us four copies of his genealogy book.  And they are still sitting in the "safe place" I first put them when they were given to us. 

Thinking of that made me sad for GG, and our kids.  Maybe they won't ever come to know their family history from their Dad's side.  And GG won't know his own history either.  I guess I have more work to do there.

Family History Activity

Over the weekend, my niece told me that she as having a hard time scanning the old family photos she had borrowed from Grandmama.  She has two little girls now and I remember well the constant needs little people have when you are the care giver.  She had brought them hoping I could help her with this project of scanning all the old photos she had borrowed.  She had brought four boxes with her and --secretly, as Grandmama wasn't thrilled with loaning out these old family photos in the first place--I brought them home and started scanning.

Lucky for me Monday was a holiday from school and my primary job was to get everyone's laundry done because it gave me the while day, pretty much, to work on this.  I did it.  These  are the kind of photos I was scanning:

They are pretty great, aren't they?  So many are from Johannesburg or Cape Town and they show the "black" side of the family.  I think it is fascinating.  I think the photos are lovely as just old pictures too, but these people are somehow connected to us--at least to my husband and kids.  Now the real work starts as we try to piece together the lines that take us there on paper to what the photos already show us.

Family History Unites Geneations

I had a speaking assignment in another ward yesterday...this is what I ended up sharing.  MANY thanks to my mom who rushed me her family history notes so I could share from our own ancestral stories. Thought you'd like to see.

In the dining room of my parent’s home there is a wooden chest.  It is made of heavy, dark, aged wood.  It sits on short legs and is lined with a distinctly patterned fabric.  As a kid I thought it smelled funny. 

I remember hearing my mom tell me about this strange piece of furniture.  She shared that it had been her Grandma Blanche’s cedar chest and had a place in her grandparent’s home when she was girl.  But the connection it had to my mom was more than that.  She told me that when she was about 6 months old, she was left in the care of her grandparents for a few hours while her parents went out together.  Her grandmother placed her in that chest, on a couple of pillows, to sleep that evening—a makeshift crib at her grandparent’s home.  Some time that night, Grandma Blanche died suddenly.   To my mom that old cedar chest was a tangible tie to her grandmother.  It is a treasure to her and a keepsake in our family.

Elder Dennis B. Neuenschwander, of the Quorum of the Seventy, spoke about Bridges and Eternal Keepsakes in his General Conference talk in April of 1999. He said “Every family has keepsakes.  Families collect furniture, books, porcelain, and other valuable things, then, pass them on to their posterity.  Such beautiful keepsakes remind us of loved ones now gone and turn our minds to loved ones unborn.  They form a bridge between family past and family future. 

“Every family has other, more valuable keepsakes. These include genealogies, family stories, historical accounts, and traditions.  These eternal keepsakes also form a bridge between past and future and bind generations together in ways no other keepsake can.”

Elder Neuenschwander noted that “Bridges between generations are not built by accident. Each member of this church has the personal responsibility to be an eternal architect of this bridge for his or her own family.”

We are taught in the Member’s Guide to Temple and Family History Work: “As you participate in temple and family history work, you will be blessed with a stronger testimony of its importance, a greater appreciation of the Lord’s love for His children, and a motivating desire to do temple work for your ancestors.  You will have a better understanding of your family origins and an increased love for your ancestors.”

“Family history and temple work have a great power,” Elder Neuenschwander taught, “Which lies in their scriptural and divine promise that the hearts of the fathers will turn to the children and these children will turn to their fathers.”

President Eyring has said “If you learn stories about their lives, write them down and keep them.  You are not just gathering names.  Those you never met in life will become friends you love.  Your heart will be bound to theirs forever.”

I have been delighted to learn more of the lives of my ancestors from both sides of my family.  They may have lived in very different times than I do, but I feel a connection to them as I learn of their characteristics and choices.

Mary was waiting tables in Finland in July 1914 when, as she recalled, an “old man from America came in”.  John Jarvi was looking for a wife for his 30 year old son Alexander.  Mary longed for the adventure and the promised success to be found in America and convinced him to take her as the bride-to-be.  She had to work for one year to pay the family back for the cost of her passage across the ocean.  She was supposed to marry Alexander, but while she worked that year she got to know Alex’s youngest brother, Jacob.  She preferred him much more and once her passage was paid off, she and Jacob married.  They had 6 children together and raised cows, chickens, pigs, horses, wheat and corn along with a large garden in the little town of Frederick, South Dakota.  She was a member of local Savo-Lutheran church which was the center of their social and religious activities.

Okke and Elizabeth Boomgaarden were passengers on a two-masted sailing vessel, one of the few ships to carry emigrants from the North Sea harbor of Emden, in northern Germany.  The voyage to New York would take 13 weeks.  Young Jacob was less than three years old at the time.  The little family had left a village called Campen.  On board was another young family called the Freerks.  They were leaving their village of Rysum—only a few miles from Campen, but the families hadn’t ever met before traveling the Atlantic on the same ship with a similar dream of success and prosperity in America.

During the passage, a heavy sea washed little Jacob along the deck and would have swept him overboard had not Evertje  Freerks flung her body at him and seized him by the leg.  In heartfelt gratitude, the Boomgaardens voiced the hope that in time their little boy might marry a future Freerks daughter.  The two families went their separate ways upon arriving in Illinois but some years later the Freerks family, including their daughter Harmanna, moved to Grundy County where they discovered their shipboard friends had also moved.  The thankful vow made on the stormy deck of the ship was fulfilled twenty years later when Jacob married young Harmanna Freerks.

Elder Neuenschwander continued “Family history and temple work are one work….  Family history research provides the emotional bridge between the generations.  Temple ordinances provide the priesthood bridge.  Temple ordinances are the priesthood ratification of the connection that we have already established in our hearts.”

My ancestors were not the Mormon pioneers that we honor each July 24^th.  But my ancestors brought our family to America years before my parents would eventually find the Gospel of Jesus Christ.  And, subsequently, it blesses us to do the temple work for these long ago generations of my family.

President Erying once said “It is not surprising that Wilford Woodruff said, while he lived, that he believed few, if any of the ancestors of the Latter Day Saints in the spirit world would choose to reject the message of salvation when they heard it.” 

Because of the eternal nature of the family, and the glorious restoration of the Gospel in its fullness, I believe the words in D&C 110 “that in us and our seed all generations after us should be blessed….Behold the time has fully come, which was spoken of by the mouth of Malachi—testifying that he [Elijah] should be sent…to turn the hearts of the fathers to the children and the children to the fathers. Lest the whole earth be smitten with a curse….”

May I share once more from my family history?  I recorded this in my journal, and then shared it in answer to one of my cousins after a question about my Great Grandmother Mary—the mail order bride from Finland—came up. 

As a child of about 8 I remember driving nearly across the country to meet my great grandparents.  My mom and her sister, my own sister, then about 5, and our two cousins–T, about 6, and M, about 3, all rode from California to South Dakota to see them.

Grandma and Grandpa Jarvi were Finnish and so was their whole side of town.  To my 8 year old girl self, Grandma seemed a bit cold to me and a bit severe too.  My thought then was that she just had 4 little kids invade her space.  She didn’t speak to us much, as I recall, but with a grown up perspective now I think she just probably felt uneasy speaking in English.  Her community was Finnish and they spoke in their native tongue daily.

One night, however, as mom was getting my sister and me into bed, we heard Grandma’s one phone of the house ring.   It was in the hallway, just outside our bedroom door.  After a slightly reserved “Hello”, Grandma’s voice burst into energy and excitement.  But it was not in English.  One of her Finnish friends had called and this little grandma that I had thought so severe and cold was gurgle-ling on and on with her friend in a sing-songy language that I couldn’t even recognize.  As I laid on the bed listening, I realized that this lady was friendly and apparently funny too.  After hearing the difference the shared language made, I felt different about her somehow.  She was kind and sweet and a little funny.

But perhaps the most vivid memory of that trip and the stay with Grandma Jarvi in particular was also fairly traumatic.  The four of us kids were trotted out back with Grandma and Grandpa.  We were headed to a shed-like building sitting toward the back part of their back garden.  I remember thinking to myself, “Why are we going to mow the lawn?  It is getting late.”  I assumed the shed looking building was a storage building for gardening equipment.  

Grandpa opened the outside door and herded us in to a small entryway–somewhat like an indoor porch.  There was a seat on one side and a huge dipper hanging on the wall.  Grandma followed us in, bringing with her a big bucket of water.  “This is weird,” I thought to myself.”  Just then in her broken English, Grandma told us to take off our clothes.  In her other arm she carried a pile of our pajamas.  “This is only getting weirder,” I thought again.  

Instead of getting our PJs on, she shepherded us into the adjoining room through an interior door.  This room was rectangular shaped and in one corner was a pile of rocks sitting on what looked to be a tiny fireplace with a subtle glow of heat.  She indicated for us to sit on the bench that lined the whole room.  The room felt like it was made of very smooth wood paneling.  The four of us sat on the bench looking at each other and wondering just what was going on and beginning to feel very warm.  All of a sudden the door opened again and in walks Grandma Jarvi with her bucket of water–buck naked!  This WAS weird.  And more bizarre yet, Grandpa Jarvi followed her in and took a seat near my cousin T–again NAKED!  

This was not normal! 

Grandma dipped the huge ladle into the water bucket and slowly and careful poured the water, over and over again, covering these strange rocks in the pile.  The steam erupted into the air and filled the room.  Soon it was so dense that we couldn’t see our naked, wrinkly grandparents at all.  The heat permeated our bodies and soon we felt like we’d just been thrown into a hot tub, but without ever feeling the water.

Of course, this was a Finnish Sauna and was a regular part of their culture and heritage.  They bathed this way.  For a nearly 8 year old girl this was not a memory that could fade easily.  You just can’t see Great Grandparents NAKED and ever forget it.  However, as the years have gone by I look back on that experience and am grateful for it.  I saw–more than I wanted to then–a glimpse into their home country, their private, yet daily, life together.  They invited us–their great grandchildren–into a regular part of their day.  Now I feel blessed to have known them so personally.

Many years later, my sister and I visited the Pioneer Village in SLC with our own kids and stopped to look at a Swedish home that had been reproduced to represent what the Scandinavian saints had built when they joined the other members of the church in Utah.  A distinct Scandinavian design I saw in the front of the home reminded me of these sweet great-grandparents, now long ago passed away.  I asked to my sister, “Remember when we visited Grandma and Grandpa Jarvi in South Dakota and they took us out to the sauna with them?”  She didn’t remember the experience.  Perhaps she had “blocked it out”–seeing naked, old people as a child might do that.  Or perhaps, more certainly, she was too young to hold on to that memory.  I retold her of the experience we had with our great-grandparents as little girls.

The volunteer ladies “hosting” at this pioneer home had been sitting on the porch doing some quilting when we went along inside.  As we got back to the doorway, one sister asked about the story I was relating–“not meaning to eavesdrop,” she said, “but that memory sounds very distinct and quite interesting.”  I explained it to her and both these volunteer sisters remarked that the memory, though funny now, is certainly an important part of how my own feelings of our heritage have been shaped.

Knowing some of the people personally who have the names on my family group sheet makes all of the genealogy work we do real.  They belong to me, as I belong to them.  We are family.  And time and place and differences won’t ever change that.  The gospel and the revealed truth it provides about temple work and the importance of families makes it possible to link generations as far as we can find them.  These real people will be there in heaven to greet us–just as they met four little grandchildren in South Dakota years and years ago.  Just next time, I hope without any sign of a sauna nearby!               

Not Total Recall

I've not been diagnosed, but I think there really is something wrong.  I can't remember things.  I mean, I am unable to remember things that I should know.  Things that I knew before.  Things that a good, rational, responsible adult just knows.  And I recognize that I cannot.

I have always worried about mental illness, as it runs in my family.  But I really thought that I had my run-in with it after The Boy's birth and I dealt with post-partum depression for about two years.  Now I can't remember much from that period of my life, sadly.  But I have always thought that was based more on the meds and the depression than the simple inability to recall memories.

Now I am worried that there might be more to this.

How early can they determine you could have Alzheimer's?  Can they really tell without an autopsy?  Do things just progressively get worse until I die and they slice my brain and see it under the microscope and then tell for sure that is what this was?  Because that really doesn't help me now.

So far as I remember, I have had issue with remembering for awhile but I have always chalked it up to being busy--you know too many things to keep straight in my head.  But maybe that was my justification.  What if this is just the beginning?  What if I am slowing losing my mind? Not facetiously, but for real?  That scares me.

For as long as we have been married, I have created scrapbook to memorialize the events of our lives.  What if that is the best I'll ever have? What if the memories I still retain slowly drift away and I get to the point that I can't even remember who the people are int he pictures in the albums I have made?  What will my life be like then?

And how will I be able to take care of my family if that happens?  I won't.  I know it.  I will be the one who need caring for, and I'll become a burden on my family.  And what if Genius Golfer realizes that it is just too much for him?  Or what if the kids don't want to bother with their "sick, old mom"?  Then what?

I'm not ashamed to tell you that I am terrified of this happening.  I sit here thinking of it, all the while tears running down my face at the thought of burdening my family.  Especially when it gets so bad that I don't recognize them as my family anymore.

GG's grandmother had Alzheimer's.  Worse than that, she became a mean, nasty old woman.  Now I know, intellectually, that she wasn't herself.  Her mind was under attack and she would say things that she never would have thought before she got ill.  It wasn't pretty.  And it was pretty dang uncomfortable to be with her.  And it was more than a little scary. I don't ever want to be that to my family.

My own grandma was off her nut from before I was born.  But it wasn't Alzheimer's.  My theory is she had a similar post-partum depression after one of her babies, and she never pulled out of it.  Then, because it was the 50s, her treatment method options were few.  Hers included shock treatment.  Her included heavy medication.  Hers left her unwell for the rest of her life.  But she was happy.  She just didn't always know what was going on around her.  As a child, I sensed that Grandma just wasn't there all the time.  But I felt she loved me. And I wasn't ever afraid of her.

I am 42 years old.  I don't think it is too early to see the possibility of this terrible illness beginning to sink it's ugly claws into my mind.  At least that would make sense of what I am experiencing.  Because this isn't normal.  And unlike the hearing loss or visual impairment that GG keeping accusing me of, this cannot really be tested thoroughly enough to evaluate whether or not I am getting sick.  But I'm just losing my mind.

And that scares me.

Reunion Season Is Here

I am very happy (happier than you could possibly know) that this is NOT my family.  Though it does have a bit of "from Finnish ancestry" look about them.  But it must be someone's family.  And that is sad.  But funny too.  I know I shouldn't laugh, but it is hard not to laugh when I look at this one.

My Uncle and Aunt called this past weekend and invited us to Idaho one weekend in August to come visit and BBQ and catch up with their family.  Their daughters who live back East will be out and I can't even recall the last time I saw them all.  It might have been my grandpa's funeral, and that was 1991.  It has been a good long time, not matter.

So far it is looking good that we can make it, but we are waiting to see what The Boy's football schedule will bring.  The fact that they have started working out together as a team already--for the whole of summer--makes me think they will have to do something.  And somehow football coaches have the ability to really put fear into the hearts of their players like nothing else I have known (or tried, for that matter).

If we do make it, I'm sure we'll be taking pictures together.  And I promise NONE will look like this one.

In Mid-Avoidance

I am finding all sorts of things to do today to avoid getting out all the paraphernalia that it takes to work on scrapbooks.  It was on my radar to work on the scrapbooks today--the yucky weather helps that project--but I keep finding things to do to avoid it.

There was a time when the scrapbooking was a therapeutic and relaxing things to do on a rainy, or snowy day.  But I have two banker's boxes full of the scraps, plus all the photos from the last two years for our family book; and each of the kids have a banker's box of their stuff, along with photos for the past year or so.  I try to keep theirs up, as they do occasionally look at their books.

I know that scrapbooks are just a nice thing--and not necessary to my eternal happiness, not even the idea of happy for the weekend.  But I would feel much less guilt and have fewer "bad-mom" vibes if I could get it caught up.

I have discovered that as the kids get busier with their own friends, the scouts, work, teams, etc. I am not taking as many photos of them as I did when they were little and we are together all the time.  I guess I miss that on one hand, but on the other I am relieved that I don't have more to put into their books.  Pretty sad commentary, right?

It is amazing how many other "undone" things are getting my attention, however, as I avoid the supposedly "fun" way to spend my day.

Unexpected Family Discovery

Thursday morning I am meeting with my niece to help her figure out how to put the pieces of our family's history together. She is interested in finding a great grand uncle she knew as a child and hooking him into the family tree properly.

In preparation for that, I got online and started hunting around, refreshing my memory for what info we actually have and what we are missing. I discovered something fantastic.

Genius Golfer's great-great-grandmother was the end of the line as I had it. She was born in 1874. I hadn't given much more thought to that line, as I've been worried more about the folks that emigrated from Holland, where we are also stumped.

Yesterday, I got curious and started clicking away at G-G-Grandma Sarah's dead end. Low and behold...it wasn't dead at all. Since I last looked, there was a set of parents. And beyond that, another pair of parental sets. As I clicked excitedly, I found many generations back to Robert Pierce, born in England in 1570. Holy Cow! What a wonder.

Now, none of these people are famous--like Sarah Jessica Parker's discovery in the show Who Do You Think You Are? that I have blogged about before. But this line follows closely, time wise, behind the earlier Plymouth colonists in Massachusetts. And the idea that a dead end can be detoured and corrected?! That is priceless.

The line looks to have been linked to our information due to name extraction work done in Massachusetts parish records. I can't even fathom how long it would have taken me to research that out myself. Especially since we had no idea what came next, per the family information, or even where to look.

Miracles happen when you seek out your family. I believe Malachi told us that sort of thing would happen. I just never expected it from this family.