Just Listen to Those Beautiful High Tones

 

Just Listen to Those Beautiful High Tones

I share this story to illustrate how impactful our words can be on others.  When I was in high school, I was in the Madrigal choir.  I was in the choir as an alto.  One day I was singing for my teacher, Mr. Condon.  He had me sing higher and higher.  He stopped me and said, “I think you might be a soprano, Kay.”  He tested me further and seemed delighted with his discovery.  Shortly thereafter he gave me a soprano solo in one of our songs (Crescent Noon.)  As I sang it for the first time in rehearsal, he said to the group, “Just listen to those beautiful high tones.”  My spirit soared.

Those seven words have made a huge difference in my life.  From then on, I started singing soprano.  His words gave me courage to audition for parts and choirs, and to continue singing.  Singing still brings me so much joy.  It didn’t take much effort for him to say those words, but, to me they have made all the difference.

Use your words to build others.  You may make all the difference in their lives.

Madrigals

 

Madrigals

I loved to sing.  It was my “thing” in high school.  I looked forward to being in the elite choir, Madrigals.  You could try out at the end of your sophomore year to be part of the group in your junior year, but most people didn’t get in until their senior year.  I had tried out for all-state choir in my sophomore year and was so happy when I got in.  It gave me courage and hope to try out for Madrigals.  I auditioned in front of the teacher and the madrigal officers.  I did really well.  I knew I had done really well.

A few days later, Mrs. Schmidt called me into the Madrigal room.  She told me I was very qualified to be in the group, but that there wasn’t room for another alto in the group, so I wouldn’t be in.  I was devastated.  Right there, in front of her, I burst into tears.  I was so sad.  She felt horrible.  She said I was qualified and that she would talk to the rest of the committee and let me in.  I wasn’t trying to manipulate her.  I honestly was just sad and so cried. I was so happy.  But then, the next day she called me in again.  She handed me a tissue and said she had talked to the others and they said no.  I didn’t cry that time.  I just told her thank you for trying and left with a heavy heart. 

It was a long year to wait until I could try out again at the end of my junior year.  This time I made it.  Being in Madrigals was such a joy in my life and worth the wait.  I made many friends and really loved singing with the group.  It was during that senior year in Madrigals that I discovered that I was really a soprano.  My teacher listened to me sing.  He then gave me a soprano solo in a Carpenters song, “Crescent Noon. “The words I sang: “Green September burned to October brown.  Bare November led to December’s frozen ground. “I remember while I was singing it at rehearsal one day, he said, “Just listen to those high tones.” (It was written in a higher key in our SATB arrangement.)  I have never forgotten the joy of him saying those words.  They built my confidence so much.  Our words are powerful and can make a big difference in someone’s life. 

We performed often in Madrigals.  People would hire us to sing at their private parties, so we went in homes and halls and restaurants.  It was such a fun year.  I loved every minute of it.  It gave me a love for what I do now with the Keynotes.   Being in Madrigals was truly one of the joys of my life.

My sister, Patty, is a mover and shaker.  In 1997, she organized a Madrigal reunion.  We all gathered and practiced songs for a couple of days, directed by our directors through the years.  It was so fun to be together and to, again, join our voices in song.  It was so fun to see old friends and sing with them again.  I am so grateful for the experience of being in Caldwell High School Madrigals.

The program from the Madrigal reunion

 

 

 

 

 

Grandma's Job

 

Cipher in the Snow

 

Cipher in the Snow

This is a very sad story. 

Cipher in the Snow is a true story, by Jean Mizer.  I copied the following off the Internet.  After it, I will tell you my own “cipher in the snow” story.

 It started with tragedy on a biting cold February morning. I was driving behind the Milford Corners bus as I did most snowy mornings on my way to school. It veered and stopped short at the hotel, which it had no business doing, and I was annoyed as I had to come to an unexpected stop. A boy lurched out of the bus, reeled, stumbled, and collapsed on the snow-bank at the curb. The bus driver and I reached him at the same moment. His thin, hollow face was white even against the snow. "He's dead," the driver whispered. It didn't register for a minute. I glanced quickly at the scared young faces staring down at us from the school bus. "A doctor! Quick! I'll phone from the hotel ... " "No use, I tell you, he's dead." The driver looked down at the boy's still form. "He never even said he felt bad," he muttered. "Just tapped my on the shoulder and said, real quiet, 'I'm sorry. I have to get off at the hotel.' That's all. Polite and apologizing like." At school the giggling, shuffling morning noise quieted as news went down the halls. I passed a huddle of girls. "Who was it? Who dropped dead on the way to school?" I heard one of them half-whisper. "Don't know his name. Some kid from Milford Corners," was the reply. It was like that in the faculty room and the principal's office. "I'd appreciate your going out to tell the parents," the principal told me. "They haven't a phone, and anyway, somebody from the school should go there in person. I'll cover your classes." "Why me?" I asked. "Wouldn't it be better if you did it?" "I didn't know the boy," the principal admitted levelly. "And in last year's sophomore personalities column I noted that you were listed as his favorite teacher." I drove through the snow and cold down the bad canyon road to the Evans' place and thought about the boy, Cliff Evans. His favorite teacher! I thought. He hasn't spoken two words to me in two years! I could see him in my mind's eye all right, sitting back there in the last seat in my afternoon literature class. He came in the room by himself and left by himself. "Cliff Evans, " I muttered to myself, "a boy who never talked." I thought a minute. "A boy who never smiled. I never saw him smile once." The big ranch kitchen was clean and warm. I blurted out my news somehow. Mrs. Evans reached blindly toward a chair. "He never said anything about bein' ailing." His stepfather snorted. "He ain't said nothin' about anything since we moved in here." Mrs. Evans pushed a pan to the back of the stove and began to untie her apron. "Now hold on," her husband snapped. "I got to have breakfast before I go to town. Nothin' we can do now, anyway. If Cliff hadn't been so dumb, he'd have told us he didn't feel good." After school I sat in the office and stared blankly at the records spread out before me. I was to read the file and write the obituary for the school paper. The almost bare sheets mocked the effort. Cliff Evans, white, never legally adopted by stepfather, five young half-brothers and sisters. These meager strands of information and the list of "D" grades were all the records had to offer. Cliff Evans had silently come in the school door in the mornings and gone out the school door in the evenings, and that was all. He had never belonged to a club. He had never played on a team. He had never held an office. As far as I could tell, he had never done one happy, noisy kid thing. He had never been anybody at all. How do you go about making a boy into a zero? The grade-school records showed me. The first and second grade teachers' annotations read, "Sweet, shy child," "timid but eager." Then the third-grade note had opened the attack. Some teacher had written in a good, firm hand, "Cliff won't talk. Uncooperative. Slow learner." The other academic sheep followed with "dull," "slow-witted," "low LQ." They became correct. The boy's LQ. score in the ninth grade was listed at 83. But his LQ. in the third grade had been 106. The score didn't go under 100 until the seventh grade. Even the shy, timid, sweet children have resilience. It takes time to break them. I stomped to the typewriter and wrote a savage report pointing out what education had done to Cliff Evans. I slapped a copy on the principal's desk and another in the sad, dog-eared file. I banged the typewriter and slammed the file and crashed the door shut, but I didn't feel much better. A little boy kept walking after me, a little boy with a peaked, pale face; a skinny body in faded jeans; and big eyes that had looked and searched for a long time and then had become veiled. I could guess how many times he had been chosen last to play sides in a game, how many whispered child conversations had excluded him, how many times he hadn't been asked. I could see and hear the faces that said over and over, "You're nothing, Cliff Evans." A child is a believing creature. Cliff undoubtedly believed them. Suddenly it seemed clear to me: When finally, there was nothing left at all for Cliff Evans, he collapsed on a snow-bank and went away. The doctor might list "heart failure" as the cause of death, but that wouldn't change my mind. We couldn't find ten students in the school who had known Cliff well enough to attend the funeral as his friends. So, the student body officers and a committee from the junior class went as a group to the church, being politely sad. I attended the services with them, and sat through it with a lump of cold lead in my chest and a big resolve growing through me. I've never forgotten Cliff Evans, nor that resolve. He has been my challenge year after year, class after class. I look for veiled eyes or bodies scrounged into a seat in an alien world. "Look, kids," I say silently. "I may not do anything else for you this year, but not one of you is going to come out of here as a nobody. I'll work or fight to the bitter end doing battle with society and the school board, but I won't have one of you coming out of there thinking himself a zero." •• Most of the time -- not always, but most of the time -- I've succeeded.

Jean Mizer

Here is a picture of my Cipher in the snow.  He died one day in October.  Just fell over dead.

I don’t know where he came from.  He was just suddenly in my early morning Seminary class.  He would come in late, always very red in the face.  I heard he rode his bike from Canyon Hill- quite a long ride, especially at 7:00 in the morning.  Especially in the winter.  I didn’t think much of it at the time, but now I admire his tenacity to ride that far that early so he could attend Seminary.   He must have ridden to high school after that.  That’s quite a long way, too.  I don’t know how he could make it on time.  He probably didn’t.

I don’t remember seeing him at school, but my most vivid memory of him was at the stake dances.  He would come early.  He would ask the girls to dance.  Many would turn him down.  He was different.  He wasn’t popular.   I can remember dancing with him.  I thought he was nice.  Some of the other girls would dance with him, too.

Then, one day, I got a call from Margo Jensen.  She told me quite brusquely that Wesley had died and they wanted her, me, and Patti Miles to sing at the funeral.  What?  I couldn’t process it for a few minutes.

We did sing at the funeral.  It was a very emotional experience.  Many of my classmates and peers attended, though none of us knew him well.

We then all drove out to the cemetery where he was buried.

That night, I couldn’t sleep.  I got very anxious and upset.  I went upstairs and woke up my mom and told her I thought I was going to die.  I remember her saying, “Oh, the boy in your class dying has upset you.”  That was honestly the first time I realized that is why I was afraid I was going to die.  I had not related the two.  She made a bed for me on the couch so I would be near her.

I think of Wesley every so often.  A lot at first, but less and less as the years go by.  But when I do, I resolve that no one I know will feel unloved or unimportant.  I hope I have lived that resolve.

 

Heath Full of Love

While we were visiting Camerons, we started talking about candy bars.  Everyone was naming their favorite kinds.  Hannah asked me, "Grandma, do you like Heath bars?"  I said I did.  A few minutes later she disappeared into her bedroom and soon came out and presented me with a Heath bar, obviously one she had been saving for herself.  I felt so loved.  Sweet Hannah!

 

Are We Ready?

 

I enjoyed being on the speech team in high school.  I don’t remember all of the events that I entered as we participated in speech tournaments with other schools.  I know there was a limit as to how many each student could enter in each tournament and I remember trying my hand at several different categories.  But I do remember well that, as a junior, I entered the original oratory category with a speech called, “Are We Ready?”  I can remember feeling the spirit help me write the speech, feeling that sense of “joy” as the ideas flowed in my head.  I recently found a copy of the speech when I was going through some memorabilia.  I was actually a little embarrassed when I read it.  I remembered it being so good.  But then I remembered that I was just fifteen years old.  I think what I found is the first draft as my teacher had written some notes on it.  I’m sure I made some changes before I presented it.  Here is what I found:

ARE WE READY?

We are America’s “younger generation.”  We are going to be the leaders of this country before too long.  But are we ready?  Do we know enough about our country and its laws to defend, to our death, it’s cause?  Do we know enough about our country to be the leaders of it?

I feel that we, as America’s “younger generation” are very apathetic to our country’s problems.  We hear about the problems on the 5:00 news, and maybe think about them a little bit, but then we just turn off the television and go about our daily activities, without ever giving a second thought to it.  I feel that this is especially true with the girls.  They aren’t the ones who are going to have to die for their country, so why care?  For instance, which do you think is more important to the average American girl?

Racial problems or facial problems?

Foreign care or what to wear?

Battle of pollution or battle of the bulge?

How money inflates or getting dates?

Most of you would probably choose the latter in each of these cases, for these are considered the teenage problems.  The first mentioned in each case is the adult problem.  Most of us think, let them take care of it.  They always have before.  Besides, I have enough problems of my own to solve.  Well, isn’t it true?  Don’t most of the girls you know care more about they look and how they are going to get that certain guy to notice them, than our country and its problems?

One of the main problems today in America, I feel, is that we have always depended on the “other guy” to get things done.  The only problem is, there is no “other guy,” there never has been any “other guy.”  A great man once said, “The success of our country has depended upon people who have done more than their share.”

I like the way CH Spurgeon put it when he said, “You have the right to be apathetic to our country’s problems.  But when that right is taken away, you can blame no one but yourself.  I never really thought about it in this light before, until I read that quote.  To me, it means that I have the right to not care about my country and its problems, but when our country’s freedom is taken away, and I no longer have that right, for I am forced to care, I can blame no one but myself.  There is no longer any other guy to put the blame on.

I feel that America today is in a deep run.  We have so many problems to solve that we are in a constant turmoil in trying to solve these problems.  This might be compared to a car stuck in the snow.  The more you put on the gas, therefore spinning the tires, the deeper into the run you get.  I do feel that is the adults, the establishment, which have got us into this rut, but I also feel that it will be up to us, the younger generation, to get us out.

Maybe it won’t be us, though.  Maybe it will be the generation that follows us, the ones that are ten-years-old and younger now.  They are still fresh in life and haven’t set their lifestyle yet.  Maybe some of you have seen the poster entitled, “We’ve Only Just Begun.”  As you know “We’ve Only Just Begun” is the title of a popular song which talks about a couple and how they have just begun in life and love.  Maybe this is the meaning that you get from the poster, too, but when I look at the poster, I get a new and different meaning, maybe even one that the photographer didn’t know was there.  It is a picture of a little, American, white girl sitting on a rock with a little American black boy on her lap.  They are smiling at each other with a kind of innocent, maybe even naïve look on their faces.  To me, this represents their entire generation.  Things might be different with them for they have not yet been taught to hate each other or to be prejudiced against each other.  It is going to be up to us, their parents and teachers, to teach them to not be prejudiced, but let them make up their own minds and set their own lifestyle.  In the bible, it says that “a little child shall lead them.”  Maybe this is what it means.

I am waiting for the day when my generation, the younger generation, will put racial problems before facial problems; foreign care before what to wear; battle of pollution before battle of the bulge; how cost inflates before dates.  But I am afraid that this will never come.  We have set our life style and will probably stick to it.  I’m afraid that on our 30^th birthday, we won’t just suddenly change over from caring about ourselves to caring about our country.  But we can help by teaching our children in the right way so that they can be better leaders.

We have a lot of preparing to do.  We are America’s younger generation.  We are going to be the leaders of this great land.  But are we ready?  Are you ready?

Like I said, I know I made improvements in it because I remember some parts differently.  I think this was the first draft I turned in to my teacher.  But I feel lucky to have found this copy.  I am so glad I saved it. It was given by memory and I worked hard on the presentation.

I gave it at several speech competitions and, as I remember, I placed 1^st or 2^nd at all of them.  I was invited to present it at the American Legion Oral competition in Caldwell.  The American Legion competition was held at the American Legion Hall in downtown Caldwell.  There were three from our school participating: Me, our student body president, and another girl.  We waited in a room and when it was our turn, went into the big hall which was filled with veterans and their spouses.  We presented our speech.  I took 2^nd place.  Our student body president, Mike Melea, took first.  Several of the veterans and their wives told me my speech was better, but they wanted to give it to the senior.  They encouraged me to come back next year, hinting that I would win if I did.  I was so disappointed.  I felt I had earned the win and they were just playing politics.  At the end of the year, some of the American Legion came to our high school’s awards assembly and presented us our medals. 

My senior year, my speech teacher came to me and said that the American Legion had called to specifically invite me to participate again.  But I was still disappointed and chose not to.  I probably should have.

I also used that same speech to participate in a church speech competition and was chosen to represent our stake in a regional festival. The festival was held in a church I had never been to; far from home.   I remember being so nervous to stand and give it in front of all those people in a packed church. I did well and received many compliments.

I am so grateful for the experiences I had in speech.  I learned to stand in front of people and express myself, which has been a blessing throughout my life- especially in church service.  I learned that I could compete and do well, and that built my confidence.  I learned that our voices and words can be instruments for good in our communities, churches, and in the world.

 

Following are pictures of the speech team. 

This one from the yearbook Our eccentric teacher, Mrs. Hooban is on the left. And this one from our city newspaper:

 

 

Choir President

 

Choir President

At the end of each high school year, elections were held in choir for the next year’s officers in choir.  It was an exciting time.  The elections took a couple of days in choir class.  People were nominated for the different positions and then we voted.  There were several offices, and I had no thought that I would be nominated or elected.  The election process started with treasurer, I think, and worked their way to vice president and then president.  I was surprised when I was nominated for treasurer.  After the nominations, the candidates were sent out of the room, the candidates were discussed and the vote took place.  When I came back in, I found I did not get treasurer.  That was okay.  I was just pleased to be nominated.  I was then nominated for the next office and sent out again.  I didn’t get that one, either.  I guess while we were out, people could say what they wanted for the different candidates.  I was nominated for every single office.  Really.  Every, single one.  When I came back in after the vice president vote, a cute girl that I sat by in choir, Renee (a cheerleader and popular girl) whispered that they were saving me for president, and that is why I wasn’t winning any of the other offices.  Really?  Me?  I was so surprised and so very pleased. 

Sure enough, I was next nominated for president.  Margo Jensen was also nominated.  The class period was just about over.  Mrs. Schmidt, the choir teacher, suggested that we hold the election for president the next day and that each of the candidates should give a short speech before we voted.  I walked out of there so happy and so pleased that my fellow choir students thought that much of me. 

I went home and prepared my speech.   I liked to give speeches and I thought I prepared a pretty good one.  I carefully chose my outfit for the next day: my favorite lavender empire-waist knit dress and my white clogs.  I practiced my speech.  I was ready.

The next day I gave my speech and, I thought, did it well.  Then Margo gave her speech.  It was really good.  Really good. It just seemed more mature than mine.  We were sent out while the choir members voted.  I was so nervous, I was shaking.  When called back in, it was announced that Margo was our new choir president.  I put a smile on my face, but I was so sad.  I was so disappointed.  Renee whispered to me that the vote had been very close.  They had actually taken the vote twice to be sure.  That was a bit comforting.  I have to admit that Margo did a great job as president the next year.  I still really enjoyed being in the choir.  But there is still a little ache in my heart that I didn’t win that election. 

 

I’m not sure of the value of this story.  It is a sad story.  But maybe it is good to know that not every story has a happy ending.  Life is full of disappointments.  But the good always follows the bad.  That’s an important life lesson to learn.  There are ups and downs.  We need to survive the downs, knowing the ups are next.

 

This is a picture of the choir.  I am on the front row and Renee is to my left.  Margo, the one who won Choir president is on the top row.  She signed “Marge.”

 

America's Youth in Concert

 

America’s Youth in Concert

In the state of Idaho when I was growing up, choir students had the opportunity to audition for All- state and All-region music festivals.  Each festival included a choir, a band, and an orchestra. Students auditioned to participate on cassette or reel-to-reel tape.  All who wished to audition signed up and were given an audition time.  You went to the choir room and sang (or played) the proscribed music.  Then the teacher mailed the tape with all of the students’ auditions.   All-state was held every other year, with all-region (the state was divided into regions) choir being held in the in- between years.   I was lucky in that All-state was held my sophomore and senior year.  I auditioned (by tape) for all-state as a sophomore and made it.  It was really pretty rare for a sophomore to make it in all-state and I was so pleased. 

 It was held in Moscow, Idaho at the University of Idaho campus.  Well-known and talented adjudicators directed each group. I roomed with a senior violin player, Katie Gabbard.  It was a wonderful and fun experience.  I have a recording of our concert.  That recording thrills me as, in one of our choir numbers, you can actually hear an overtone.  An overtone is a musical phenomenon where, if a chord is in perfect pitch, a note one or two octaves above the highest note will sound on its own. 

My junior year, I auditioned for and got in the All-region choir.  Many from my school made it into that choir, as it just included our region.  I don’t remember where that was held, but I remember traveling there by bus.  I have a very happy memory about that. About halfway to our destination, the bus stopped at a little elementary school.  The school lunch workers had stayed after lunchtime to prepare a lunch for us.  By the time we got there, it was one or two in the afternoon, and I was starving.  They served the most delicious macaroni and cheese I have ever tasted.  Obviously, I will never forget that creamy, delicious macaroni and cheese.  Oh my, it was good!

But, back to the subject.  Because I was in all-state and all-region choirs, I was invited to audition for an all-nation choir called “America’s Youth in Concert” during my junior year.  It was to include students from every state in the union and would include a band, orchestra, and choir.  I sent in my audition tape and was so surprised and pleased to get an acceptance letter.  I talked about it with my parents, and they were so pleased and willing to pay for it.  I can remember the cost was $1,050 or something like that-a steal by today’s standards.  I signed up.  The trip was to originate in New Jersey.

I left a week before we had to meet in New Jersey to spend a week in Chicago with Patty and Hal.  Hal was in dental school in Chicago.  I had such a fun week with them.  They took me to Nauvoo on the weekend.  They just had Evan then.  He was the cutest little boy.  It was a special time with my sister who I love so much. 

From Chicago, I flew to Newark, New Jersey to start the tour.

 Over 1,000 students convened there to rehearse and start the tour.  Besides rehearsals, we had uniform fittings, and social experiences.  After three days, we went, by bus, to New York City and put on a concert at Carnegie Hall.  It was a thrill of a lifetime to sing in the beautiful hall.   The concluding number was The Battle Hymn of the Republic. It is hard to put into words that spiritual, magnificent experience, singing that gorgeous ballad with the huge choir, band, and orchestra.  We then went by bus to Washington DC and put on the same concert at the Kennedy Center.  It, too, was thrilling to sing in that famous venue. 

We then were divided into two equal groups to fly to and travel Europe.  One group, my group, traveled first to London, England, then Brussells, Belgium, then Paris, France, then Salzburg, Austria, then Germany (by mistake- the bus got lost), then three cities in Italy.  The other group started in Italy and met us in Salzburg for another combined concert, then they reversed our order of cities. 

I loved visiting the sites in all of the famous cities in Europe.  I wished I had spent more time preparing for my trip- learning about what I was going to see.  Also, my camera quit working, so I didn’t have a camera for some of the trip.  Then a nice girl from New Jersey loaned me an extra camera she had.  I still feel horrible guilt that I never sent her camera back to her after we got home.  I intended to; I just didn’t ever get it done.

For the first time in my life on this tour, I was away from conservative Idaho.  I was on my own.  It was 1972, a time of civil unrest.  I didn’t know it when I signed up, but the head of the whole thing- the organizer was a member of my church, a Mormon as we were called.  Rumors started to fly that he was prejudiced against black people and that a white and black person should not be seen together.  The rumors grew and turmoil was brewing.  We were divided into smaller groups with a couple at the head of each group.  Our group leaders called us together for a discussion.  There were probably 50-60 people in this lounge area of the dormitory in which we were staying.  The atmosphere was tense as they discussed the prejudiced issue.  The head of the tour was discussed and it was mentioned that he was a Mormon.  Then one of the students turned to me and said, “Kay, you’re a Mormon.  What do you believe about the blacks?”  Wow!  I was on the spot.  My heart started beating faster and I said a silent prayer for help.  I opened my mouth and out came the words, “I don’t know (the leader; I can’t remember his name now.  Maybe Mr. Geddes?) and I don’t know what he believes, but I do know that our church does not teach us to be prejudiced.  We are taught to love all people as Jesus does.”

 I have often looked back on that moment and wish I had had more maturity and knowledge, but I do believe the Lord filled my open mouth with words He wanted said at that moment.

I am so grateful for the opportunity to be part of America’s Youth in Concert- to represent my country and my religion. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Schooled By My Brother John

 

Schooled By My Brother John

My brother, John is five years older than me.  He was very athletic and often wanted me to play ping pong or catch with him.  He pitched for our ward’s church fast pitch team, so he needed someone to play catcher for him.  He really burned the ball in there fast.  He chided me if I backed away from it at all.   I learned to catch his fast balls, though they made my hand sting in my inadequate glove.  I remember one day when we were playing catch especially.   He was burning the fast balls in, and I was catching most of them.  But one bounced off my glove and into the rose bushes.  My dad had a beautiful rose garden with maybe twenty rose bushes.  They were beautiful, but scary.  You didn’t want to go in there as roses have thorns and you almost could not avoid those thorns.  I remember my dad would go in and prune, fertilize, and spray them, but I didn’t want to. When the ball bounced in there, I was reluctant to go after it.  John encouraged me to go in and get it.  I finally did and got a deep scratch on my leg.  I was wearing shorts, and the bush reached out and badly scratched my leg.  It hurt and I cried out.   John wasn’t very sympathetic and said it was just a scratch and would heal right up.  I have often wanted to remind him of this and show him my still-scarred leg. 

But it was fun to be John’s companion and play with him.  We also played ping pong a lot downstairs.  John was very good.  Really no one in the family offered him any competition.  But I was the closest to that.  He would play left-handed, giving me a chance, but I never came even close to beating him, despite his left-handed play.

John also liked to play the board game, RISK.  He always had to be black.  He was very aggressive in this game, and that aggression paid off.  He nearly always won.  As he would take over a country with his little black cubes, he would sing a kind of victory song.  It was really pretty obnoxious.  But it was fun to have someone who enjoyed playing.  Again, I don’t think I ever beat him.

John was a drummer.  He had a full drum set downstairs in his room.  My sister Joan and I loved when he would practice.  We would go down there and jump on the bed to his drumming.  Those are happy memories.  Being a drummer, he would often drum out rhythms with his hands on the table, the seat back in the car, etc.  I learned these rhythms by listening to him and can still play some of the sets he would do. 

John served a mission in Germany.  My dad was so excited about his service.  He signed up the whole family to take German lessons from a man of German descent in our ward, Brother Petzinger.  We attended weekly classes to learn German.  Brother Petzinger also spoke fluent Russian, so we learned a bit of that, as well.  Though I don’t remember much of the German or Russian I learned, it is a happy memory for me.  My dad was so excited about it and was so pleased that we were doing it together. 

John came home, married Cindy and has lived a good life.  He served as a counselor in the stake presidency, as stake president, as a missionary to the Philippines with his wife, and now as a stake patriarch.  All my life, I have been schooled by my brother John. 

Disappointing My Dad

 

This is a hard story to write.  It is about the time I disappointed my dad.  I loved my dad and I did not want to disappoint him. 

We didn’t have release- time seminary in Caldwell, where I grew up.  We had “early morning” seminary each school morning at 7:00am at the old, white church.  That church was across the street from the junior high school, so it was convenient for the ninth graders.  The high school was across town, so we had to drive or get rides over there when in 10^th-12^th grade.

We also had to be driven to seminary at 7:00am. My freshman year, my next-door neighbor, Janis Blacker, drove me each day.  My sophomore year was a rocky one in seminary.  A seminary teacher was not a paid position.  And it was a commitment to be there that early every single day.  That year, we didn’t have a teacher that was responsible.  Many days, the teacher just didn’t show up. 
She was replaced, but the next guy also wasn’t responsible and didn’t last long.  I don’t remember how many teachers we had, but no one stayed long.  So, instead of just sitting in the classroom, a bunch of us girls would go sit in the bathroom.  There was a big, soft couch in there.  We would talk and do each other’s’ hair.  It was a fun time. 

Then came Brother Norman.  He was called to come in and be our teacher and fix the problems in the sophomore class.  Brother Norman was solid and faithful (he later served as bishop and then as stake president.)  But we had our bad habits and continued to hang out in the bathroom rather than go to class.  One evening, my dad got a call from Brother Norman.  He told my dad that if I missed many more days, I would not graduate from seminary. 

My dad called me in to talk to him.  He told me about the phone call.  He said the chilling words that I will never, ever, ever forget, “You mean I take you to seminary and then you don’t go to class?”  I could see the disappointment in his eyes.  I started crying.  Just as now, as I write this, I am crying.  I was devastated.  Stupid teenager!  I was so sad to see this from his point of view.  I promised him I would start going to class.  And I did.  I don’t think I missed a day after that. 

I learned a lot from Brother Norman, once I started attending.  I am grateful to him for coming in and changing a bad situation into a very good one.  And I am grateful to my dad for caring and giving me another chance.

 

Running Away

I ran away from home twice when I was growing up.  I was gone less than an hour both times.  I am not sure that qualifies for “running away.”  First, I must say that it was a different world back then.  A child could go outside by themselves and be safe.  Not true today.  Do not try running away.  It is not safe.  Running Away.

I can’t remember what upset me the first time.  I just remember I was mad and sad and decided to run away.  As I headed out the door, I realized I would need some food if I was going to survive for very long, so I went to the fridge.  I opened it and grabbed the first thing I saw- a big handful of iceberg lettuce.  First of all, iceberg lettuce has very little nutritional value or calories, and second of all, I didn’t even like it.  I mean, it’s okay on sandwiches and tacos and in salads, but not just to eat by itself.  Not a great choice! 

I marched out the front door.   Shermy, my mean next-door neighbor caught on to what was going on and started teasing me. “Oh look, she’s running away.”  “Look she’s leaving a Hansel and Gretel trail of lettuce so she can find her way home.”  I turned around and saw that I, indeed, was dropping lettuce every few feet.  This was not going well.  This was not how running away was supposed to be.  As I remember, I walked around the block.  I was tired and the lettuce was stupid, so I just went back home.  That ended my first running away episode.

The second was just before my 14^th birthday.  I was WAY too old to be running away.  I am so embarrassed by this story that I probably shouldn’t tell it, but here goes. 

Back then, Avon was a large cosmetics company.  Representatives would come to your home and show you a catalog from which you could order.  It took a couple of weeks to get the products you ordered. They would give samples, too.  I loved the smell of roses.  Our Avon lady, as they were called, gave us samples of their “Roses, Roses” perfume.  I fell in absolute love with that perfume.  My mom said she would order me some.  I was so excited.  I couldn’t wait for it to come.  Finally, the Avon lady came and delivered the order.  I asked my mom for my perfume.  She, in the meantime, had decided she would give it to me for my birthday and she told me I had to wait for my birthday.  I was devastated.  I was so sad and so mad.  We had a fight about it.  But she stood firm that I had to wait.  Oh, I was mad.  I decided to run away. 

This time, I didn’t do any preparing.  I just went out and got on my bike.  My sister, Joan was very upset that I was leaving and was crying and begging me not to go.  I just ignored her.  She rode her bike along with me, crying.  Her best friend, Cheryl Hart was there, too.   She turned into a news reporter.  “Girl, age 14 runs away from home.  Last seen on her blue bike wearing pink shorts and a white top.  . .” 

I had discovered a tree up on the College of Idaho campus in my wanderings that seemed like the perfect place to go when one wanted to run away.  It was a large pine tree that had grown very tall and the branches reached downward, forming a “tent” underneath.

I thought it would be the perfect place to hide and think.   I headed for “my” tree.  I parked my bike and climbed inside.  I sat on the cold, hard dirt.  I sat.  I sat some more.  I was wearing shorts and my legs started to get very cold.  I sat. I sat some more.  I was cold.  I was hungry.  I decided running away was stupid.  I climbed out, got on my bike and rode the five blocks home.  No one, except Joan, had even missed me.  Running away is stupid and overrated.

Oh, by the way, I did get the perfume on my birthday and enjoyed it for many months after.  I found this picture of the exact set I got.  I kept the box for many years after, storing things in it.

 

 

This Place is So Fancy!

 We drove up to SLC on William's 8th birthday.  He immediately got his grandpa to go with him on a bike ride. He chattered the whole time.  He had so much saved up to tell his grandpa.  They came home after about an hour and William immediately wanted to go again.  Grandpa said he needed to take a nap first.  William said, "Okay ten minutes."  Unbeknownst to Grandpa, William had Alexa set an alarm for 10 minutes. Michelle and I were visiting in the living room.  We heard Alexa's alarm.  Then Michelle saw William headed to Grandpa's room to wake him.  She terminated that approach!  When Grandpa woke up, they took Fred for a walk and found a little free library.

He got lots of fun things for his birthday.  Have you seen these dragon eggs.  There is a dragon inside.

A new Cougar hat.  Go Cougars!

Heavy heavy hang over thy poor head.

That evening we went out to dinner. He wanted to go to the Pizza Pie Cafe.

His favorite was the cinnamon pizza

  The kid was in heaven.  It is a pizza/salad/pasta buffet- all you can eat.  He could go and get all he wanted of any kind.  He was SO Happy!  We all decided that the quote of the day was when he exclaimed, "This place is so fancy!"  He is normally not a big eater, but he started eating before anyone and we were all done and waiting while he finished his last three pieces.

That was Saturday.  The celebration continued the next day on Sunday.  Stay tuned.