:Family Matters

There is the dearest lady that I often sit by in Relief Society on Sunday. (She is such a favorite with all of us that the chair on either side of her is quickly occupied.) She is about my height with beautiful short white hair. She carries herself well, her thin body still moves gracefully even though she is very old. A beautiful smile lights up her face as she greets her friends. Her name is Maza Mozely. She is 92 years old. She came to live with her daughter several years ago after the death of her husband Ben. Sunday, Ginger Jensen, who was teaching, mentioned how important prayer (which was the topic of the lesson) had been to her as she was courted by her husband. She mentioned that they had just celebrated their 33rd wedding anniversary. (They bought themselves motorcycles and she told us that as soon as they can figure out how to make them work they anticipate many happy hours together. Just as an aside, if the price of gas keeps going up will we all end up on one to save money—at least when the weather is good? Perish the thought if that should ever occur. The last time I tried riding a bike was when I was a student attending BYU and I ran into a parked car as I attempted to get my balance. Fortunately, no damage was done to either of us but it did dampen my enthusiasm for that mode of transportation. When I learned to ride a bike the brakes were operated by pushing back on the pedals. The new-fangled ones that everyone rides now have their brakes somewhere else and as the operation of said brake requires a mind that can do more than one thing at a time as in balance/change gears/brake I fear that I would find myself severely handicapped and if that is what happens to me on a bike well then ‘Katie bar the door’ should I ever find it necessary to ride a bike’s motorized cousin.

When the lesson was over I noticed that Maza was dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. Leaning over I quietly asked her what was the matter. She replied, “I miss my Ben so much. We were married for 66 years you know. We used to play together when we were children. I don’t know why I am left here without him.” All I could offer was a gentle hug and murmured sympathy as we went on to our next meeting. I couldn’t help thinking if my mother was alive this is how old she would be and what a treasure it would be to have her in my life.

August 25th has come and gone for another year. I remember this day because it is mother’s birthday. She was born in 1916 which, if she were alive would make her 91 years old. I miss her still after all these many years even though there was a period of estrangement caused by mother’s fury at my marrying a man twelve years older than me that also gave me a ready made family of 6 children. Our choice to return to Utah so that I could finish my senior year at BYU further infuriated her and she let me know in no uncertain terms what a mistake she felt I was making. Hindsight shows me that she only wanted to help me bear my ‘burden’, but she knew that would be impossible if I was so far away. Mother, being mother, expressed her feelings with great force which I misinterpreted as a complete dislike of me and my new husband and so I left home with little desire to communicate with the family I had been reared in. Having mellowed a little over the years and perhaps grown a little wiser I wish now that I could have taken advantage of the strength and wisdom she was so willing to offer. I would dearly love to visit with her as an adult and ask her all kinds of questions that I never thought to when I was younger. I would ask her to tell the stories of her growing up years in Nebraska. Stories of her extended family that only she knew and which are now gone. Stories of what it was like to go to school and elope and did her babies come as quickly as her daughter’s have. I would ask her how she was able to find so much information on her genealogy that allowed her to put together a fantastic pedigree chart, which I think Barbara now has, that took her family line back to the 15th century. I would like to hear again her stories of teaching the mentally handicapped where she was a pioneer in the field where her creative methods were able to help so many children at such a great cost to her physically. Her death at such a young age in 1965 left a gaping hole in our family structure that was never filled. It would take years for us to reestablish our relationship as sisters. I don’t know why this should have been so. Perhaps it was because we were so far away from each other as we married and moved on with our lives. Perhaps it was the press of children to raise that fully occupied our time. Perhaps we didn’t quite know how to reach out to each other and say, “I love you” as our parents were from a quite different generation when affection was not as freely shown to children and expectations were very high, at least as far as behavior was concerned. It was almost as if they were afraid that if they praised us we would get a ‘big head’ which is something we were often cautioned against.

I can remember Dad telling us in his stern, no nonsense voice, at the beginning of each school year when we were little, not so much as we got older probably since we never gave our parents cause for concern they felt we could dispense with this particular caution which was that if we got in trouble with our teachers for misbehavior of any kind we could expect them to back the teacher without question and any punishment handed out at school would be doubled at home. Perhaps, because we were so well brought up or more likely that we knew they meant what they said, we always received the highest marks possible in citizenship which fact was always duly noted along with the grades we received for our school work. I know this sounds strange in today’s world but when I was in grade school the principal, who was always a man, had a wooden paddle prominently displayed in his office as a warning to all who might be sent to him if the need to correct misbehavior was beyond the classroom teacher’s efforts. This paddle was a reminder of the fate that awaited those sent for correction. I can remember some of the boys describing what happened to them as the rest of us listened in awe to them debate which paddle hurt the worst—the one with holes or without. This of course was after ‘sting’ of their punishment had faded as well as their tears.

While reading the cards from family and friends expressing their sympathy for mother’s death I was quite startled to come across a sentence that stated that the writer knew how much mother loved her girls. I almost dropped the card in my shock and surprise as I always felt that mother was never pleased with anything I did. I can’t remember ever hearing her say that she loved me. She was impossible to please and very quick with corrections and criticism which I found easy to interpret as dislike of me personally. Silly me. If I had only seen the love for us that went into everything she did in our behalf. We might not have had hugs or praise but she sewed beautiful dresses for us. What was it if not love that sparked her interest in seeing that we took part in extra-curricular activities that often meant long drives in order for her to attend competitions at the various schools in our area. I can remember her sitting on many a folding chair in some drafty school hall waiting for my event to begin where she would then enter the room where she would sit and listen attentively as I competed in Interpretive Reading. She was my biggest fan and supporter often talking to the drama teacher or judge afterwards as she tried to find out just what it was that I needed to do to improve, (needless to say, I found this very embarrassing).

I never appreciated the careful meals that she prepared making sure that she followed the advice of Adelle Davis. Because this woman and her ideas had such an impact on mother and therefore on us as well I looked her up in Wikipedia; “Daisie Adelle Davis (1904-1974), popularly known as Adelle Davis, was an American pioneer in the fledgling field of nutrition during the mid-20th century. She was an outspoken advocate of the superior value of whole unprocessed foods, the dangers of food additives, and dominant role that all nutrients play in maintaining health, preventing disease, and restoring health after the onset of disease.”

That mother loved her children dearly is beyond question. That she was a stern task-mistress is also beyond question. That she was human with very real faults she struggled with as well as dreams/hopes/ambitions that were unique to her is something I didn’t realize as a child at home. Like most children I regarded my parents as all knowing and all powerful. It wasn’t until I became a parent myself that I was able to give them back their humanity. I only wish that it hadn’t taken me so long to realize this; there is so much I could have learned from her if only I had had eyes to see.

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August 17, 2007

This week has found me with one foot in New Orleans, LA and one foot in Cedar City, UT as I made the transition from our youngest daughter Joy’s home back to my own. I was with Joy for three months almost to the day as I left on May 12, 2007 returning on August 10, 2007. As I search the cupboards/refrigerator for food I remember purchasing and not finding it dawns on me that, of course it isn’t here because I bought that particular item at the Winn Dixie which was about two miles, as Kendra puts it, “from Mama’s little house”. Or I reach to put something away and discover that what I thought went there, didn’t as Joy’s kitchen is set up differently from mine. Sigh. Of course, these incidents occur less and less as I get reoriented into my own home again for which I am greatly relieved. While a ‘senior moment’ every so often is allowable (I’ve been having those since I made the switch from child to adult so there is nothing new there). However, it becomes worrisome when they occur on a more frequent basis as one gets older which Mark Twain most eloquently captured in this poignant quote “. . . of all the things I’ve lost, I miss my mind the most.

What will I miss about the New Orleans area? The grandchildren and Joy, of course, who were my delight as well as bane at different times depending on whether I was completely on my own with them or if their mother was there as well. (The week she was gone with the band was probably twice as long as any other week of my stay. As everyone knows, the reason being a grandparent is so enjoyable is that you can play with your grandchildren and then send them home to their parents when you get tired, who then take care of the ‘real’ work of raising them.)

I’ll miss the soft southern drawl of the people I visited with that so completely charmed me that a call of “how‘re ‘ya all doin’ ” to the across the road neighbors seemed perfectly natural by the time I left. (Just as an aside—Joy treated me to a haircut just before I went to Michigan to visit Brooks and Nancy and be with MGH(my good husband) who was also visiting them. The stylist who was cutting my hair wanted to know where I was from as she was having a hard time placing my accent which comment greatly interested me as I have always thought that it was other people who had accents—never me. I had to think a little on that one as I started life in Arizona and lived there for thirteen years and then I lived in Iowa for the next six years before going to school in Utah but then I lived in Iowa/Michigan/Wisconsin for most of my adult life and so I figured that if I had an accent it was probably mid-western.

I’ll miss the soft water that leaves freshly washed hair feeling like it is squeaky clean because the shampoo actually rinses off. Skin that stays smooth and itch free although the mosquitoes and no-see-ums make up for that in spades—I haven’t had so many bites since I left the farm! The humidity that makes one feel like being wrapped in velvet which is good as long as there is air-conditioning close by when too much velvet begins to cause heat stroke/exhaustion which Joy tells me can be avoided by keeping well hydrated so taking along lots of water becomes just as important where there is lots of moisture in the air just as you must do in the dry old desert—go figure.

Fireworks seen from the levy with the muddy water of the Mississippi River rolling by alongside as we found a place to spread our blanket and set up our chairs with just enough time not to make the wait for total darkness unbearable for the two children whose attention span, at best, is not very long. The kindness of the family next to us who used up the rest of their can of bug spray to clear out the mosquitoes around us so that we were free to enjoy the booms and crackles as the fireworks (there were actually two of them going on at the same time which made it somewhat like trying to watch all the action when there are three rings at a circus) lit up the sky down river from us.

Joy who was about five days away from delivering her baby, although we didn’t know it then, taking us to the French Quarter (founded originally in 1718) after work where we saw the old buildings with their pastel colors complete with wrought iron balconies with plants dangling gracefully along the sides. She gamely walked from the parking lot the distance necessary for us to find the Café De Monde where she bought us Beignets which are dough squares fried much like you do scones and then drowned with powdered sugar which guarantees that you will look like you’ve just taken a walk in a blizzard by the time you finish only you will be really sticky and warm.

I will miss Jordan, who is a real fan of computer/video games, and would do nothing else if he didn’t have time limits that force him into doing other things like eating or taking a bath. How he always picked ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star’ for his bed time song and liked to read about tornados and scorpions for his story. His intense interest in bugs and how it made him almost late for school on more than one occasion as he would take off after a dragon fly that was flying away from our goal. How thoughtful and caring he could be with Kendra when she needed help or wanted to borrow his toys. How he is now tall enough that he just barely misses being able to look me straight in the eye. The delight he takes in holding his baby brother. All the stuffed toys he surrounds himself with at night with his favorite clasped in his arms as he falls asleep.

I’ll miss Kendra whose fine blond hair has now grown long enough that her mother can give her little ‘tails’ complete with ribbons and clips that make her, as my dad used to say of us when we were small children, ‘you’re cute as a bug’s ear’ and which we loved to here him tell us, although now that I think of it—has anyone ever seen what a bug’s ear looks like? She loves playing in the bath tub and having me play with her as I sit on the side of the tub and make my piece of blue foam with its image of Nemo chase hers around and around in the water. Her mantra, as she plays seems to be, “Let’s be friends”. “ Color with me”, she will plead and so I sit beside her as she hands me a colored pencil with the instruction, “you do that page”, while she does the page next to mine never giving me time to finish anything before she gives me a different color to work with, trading her page for mine back and forth. She always picked “Little Bunny Foo Foo” for her good night song and how she loved her story books often falling asleep with one perched on her lap. She would invariably decide she was hungry and thirsty which, of course, delayed the inevitable end to her day a few more minutes as her demands were met by her indulgent mother/ grandma.

I will miss Lincoln who I got to hold in his first baby week, his warm little body with its sweet baby smell such a delight, such a privilege to marvel at new life nestling in my arms.

I will miss the neighbors across the road who welcomed me as they sat in front of their home of an evening, a mother and her daughter along with their ten year old grand/great-grand daughter who also lived with them, enjoying the slightly cooler temperature as they watched the day fade into night staying until the mosquitoes drove them inside. They graciously answered my many questions about the area and told me that if another ‘big one’ came along they didn’t know that they would return as they had after Katrina.

I will miss Mike with his unfailing kindness. It was he who brought over his beloved lap-top so that I could have access to a computer after Joy’s crashed assuring me that “he hardly ever used it” which I later discovered to be not true at all. He and Jordan waited with me in the airport after the flight I was scheduled to fly out on August 9th was canceled which left me standing in line at the ticket area waiting my turn to see when I could get rescheduled and then brought me back to the airport early the next morning to catch the flight that would eventually see me home.

These are just some of the things I will miss. It was hard to say good-bye but life goes on, paths come together for awhile and then diverge and so I wish them all God-speed until we meet again.

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We found a mushroom growing behind the faucet of our basement sink yesterday. Kind of goes with the saplings growing in our rain gutters. (Wendell Joe cleaned the gutters out when he visited this spring. That tree was at least 18 inches tall.)

LOL, Sylvia

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