:Family Matters

February 4, 2008

Have your ever seen the bumper sticker that says, “I stop for garage sales? That was me in the early 90’s when I had a paper route which put money in my pocket in return for getting up at 4 a.m. to deliver the Wisconsin State Journal to my neighbors. An interesting experience to have had, to say the least, but out of consideration for your patience I will not at this time regale you with the story of my trials and adventures. Suffice it to say that they were many and varied but well worth it to me as I enjoyed having ‘uncommitted’ funds at my disposal which allowed me to wile away many a happy hour in the pursuit of finding items being disposed of by others that I considered to be great treasures. Not that I ever did but in the back of my mind I certainly hoped I would find something of the ‘woman finds item (name what you will) valued at thousands of dollars’ which she purchased for a quarter’ variety that one occasionally hears about. Hasn’t happened yet but then, “Hope springs eternal” doesn’t it? If not, “What’s a Heaven for?”

Of latterly years I content myself with poking around stores that sell second hand items that have been donated to them such as the local Ye Olde Catholic Thrift Shoppe. No kidding that is the actual name and it comes complete with a placard in the store that states “Shop lifters will be prosecuted here and in the hereafter.” (This is a welcome sign to me as it reassures me that people are people no matter what flavor their religion.)

Why, you might ask, do I ‘shop’ there as I have a house full of items that at some time in the future will need to be sorted and returned to their point of origin as I seriously doubt that my offspring, not having my ‘keen’ eye for the intrinsic value that I found in my selections will appreciate the fruits of my labor. Keep in mind that I do have the good and noble purpose of finding items of apparel that I can purchase for a pittance of their original cost and thereby keep my wardrobe, such as it is, fresh and attractive with items new to me albeit old to their previous owner which gives me the excuse, as if I needed any, to enter the premises. I know that finding beautiful outfits is possible because we have a sister in our ward who does so on a regular basis which gives me hope that some day I will be similarly blessed and can then stand up in front of the ladies in Relief Society and ask as she once did before beginning to teach the lesson, “Does anyone recognize the dress I am wearing?” When no one answered in the affirmative she gave one of her trademark big grins and said, “I just bought it at the D.I. and I wanted to thank you if you had donated it because I just love it.”

The point of all this, in case you were beginning to wonder if I did, indeed, have one is to explain how I came across the following little ditty which I liked so much that I bought the counted cross stitch pattern that came with it. I purchased the pattern because I didn’t have a piece of paper with me to copy the poem right there in the store which I didn’t think was really an ethical thing to do anyway, I mean, when I ask myself WWJD(What Would Jesus Do) I doubt that he would. Besides the item in question was marked down to only half of the original price, said reasoning having gotten me into trouble more than once in my life but this time I really did have uncommitted money in my wallet to spend how I wanted and anyway I figured the thirteen cents wouldn’t be missed.

Here then, is the verse that so intrigued me that I actually paid hard, cold cash for it:

To Mom and Dad

Dandelion days and firefly nights,
Rainbow dreams and Christmas lights,
A magic time to grow and learn,
Your guiding hand at every turn.
I thank you for those special years
Of laughter, love, and even tears;
You gave to me a legacy,
A part of you is part of me.

I will have to give credit to ‘anonymous, as there is no name attached, for catching the spirit of what it means to grow up in a family. For me it was the sharing of a place in time with my parents and sisters who laughed (mostly) and loved (always although there were times when we had to take that on faith, but then one’s teen years are infamous for melodrama) and taught each other as we traveled together along life’s highway, learning and growing in the process. My sisters and I will always remember mother’s dedication to her children, church, community as she sewed, served, baked, taught her way into the lives of all she came in contact with–we find ourselves doing many of the same things now. She was a force for good in the lives of her daughters as well as many others for her arms were large and her heart willing not to mention the fact that she passed on her beautiful dark brown eyes to Darlene.

Dad gave three of us our blue eyes and Rh-negative blood type not to mention his infamous football nose. He was absolutely unbending in doing what was ‘right’. A consummate story teller, who we loved to listen to when we could get him to reminisce, which usually occurred around the dinner table, about his growing up years as a boy in Arizona or his adventures with the animals who shared our lives on the farm. Active in community affairs spending many hours to insure that his far reaching ideas would come to fruition. A hard working, intelligent man his daughters have had their work cut out for them to live up to his high expectations.

Who else but my sisters and I remember them now and the home they made for their daughters? They are both gone and we are getting to be ‘old’ ladies but still it is comforting to remember the many good things that came from growing up in their home–the legacy of lives well lived that encircled us and continue on through us as we do the same for our children.

No Comments

January 27, 2008

Northwest Iowa, where we were living in 1968 in the small town of Greenville, Clay County, Iowa (the 2000 census recorded a population of 93 which means it hasn’t changed much since we lived there), is infamous for its vicious winter blizzards which can bring the whole region to its knees as snow drifts easily reach the tops of the fence posts. Power is often lost; roads as well as schools are closed, and life as we know it in this modern age is often brought to a screeching halt as the puny humans who have made this area their home are kept humble by the awesome power of nature can marshal against them. Temperatures can and do drop well below zero in the winter and often stay there for days at a time with furnaces running at full ka-tilt day and night in a desperate attempt to keep ahead of the cold bearing down so fiercely.

MGH, with his indomitable spirit, refused to give in to the weather which often left him bloody (see Invictus) but never bowed. He insisted on getting where he needed to be no matter what the weather was like. This sometimes led to some rather ‘interesting’, for want of a better word, situations which often tried his family dearly. One such occasion took place on a clear/cold January morning as he mustered his family along with our cream colored Welsh pony Ginger Too in an effort to get our red car started.

We had been enduring a real cold spell with the temperature at night plunging to around 30 degrees below zero and then not getting much warmer during the day even when the sun was shining. This meant that special care had to be taken to keep anything mechanical running which MGH did for us by going out and starting our car and then running it long enough to warm the engine up every 3 hours throughout the night. This usually worked, at least as long as we were able to keep the car in the little shed we used for a garage. The problem arose when the lane to our house filled up with snow and we had to leave the car parked up by the road leading into town.

Early that morning he had gone out to start the car and wasn’t really surprised when the engine refused to turn over. Plan A having failed he proceeded to go to Plan B which involved getting his wife and children (except for the very youngest who at that time was Ford and the sibling lucky enough to stay in the house to watch him) to come out with the hope that said help could get the car moving fast enough to allow it to be shifted while moving which would result in the engine jump starting itself.

Looking at the size of his ‘crew’ whose combined effort would have a hard time reaching one horse power let alone the actual amount needed to get the job done, he decided to bring along the real thing. With this idea in mind he scrounged around and found enough of the old bits of harness that had belonged to his dad, which he had salvaged on one of his trips home, for sentimental reasons, and managed to cobble together a rig for our pony. This equipment was meant to fit a full size work horse and when put on Ginger’s slender frame we had a hard time seeing the pony under all the harness. Never-the-less the cobbled up pieces were finally in place with our patient little pony looking at us like she thought we had gone crazy as first one piece of strange equipment after another was added to her back/head/shoulders. Being a fairly docile creature by nature she allowed all this to take place without a great deal of fuss but became totally confused as to what was expected of her when she was hitched up to the car

Now mind you, it was so cold that it only took a few minutes before rigor mortise began to set in with the bare skin on ones face going first freezing into a mask much like Han Solo’s when Jabba the Hut caught up with him at the end of the second Star Wars movie. It was, therefore, he knew, very important to get this operation over as soon as possible if the life and limb of his family were to be preserved. The challenge for my MGH then was to quickly get his crew in motion as well as Ginger and hopefully, both at the same time and direction. Let me add here that it wasn’t that we weren’t willing its just that along with the cold the ground was slippery which made the problem of movement somewhat uncertain for the two-legged carbon based units among us. So getting us all up and running together was proving to be a bit of a challenge but to give him credit, MGH, with his ‘never say die’ approach to problem solving, kept us going even though progress was proving to be in the slim to none range.

About the time things were beginning to seem really bleak a car pulled along side us. A window was rolled down and the question was asked by one of the men riding inside, “Could you use a little help”? MGH who would rather be drown’ded than done (See Little Albert) replied, “No thank you, we have everything under control.”

This, as anyone could see, was plainly not the case and even if it ever had been it was no longer as our kids had abandoned ship as soon as the car stopped and they heard the word ‘help’ with all that remained being their footprints in the snow and the sound of their voices calling to each other as they raced back to the warmth of the house. These good Samaritans were no dummies. After conferring together on the best way to get the car up and running they began maneuvering their car into position behind ours while MGH unhitched a much relieved Ginger from the front turning her over to me to take back to her shed.

We were, of course, quite curious when he got home that afternoon and bombarded him with questions about what it had taken to get the car started. MGH husband told us that it wasn’t an easy process requiring almost the whole distance (about a mile) before reaching the main highway to get the car going fast enough to start. He said that at first it felt like the wheels were square making the ride quite bumpy. This sensation was caused by the fact that the tires had flattened, because of the cold, where they touched the ground. Eventually enough speed was generated, square tires and all, to get the motor to turn over and he was able to move on his own by the time they reached Highway 71 which led into Spencer where he arrived safely at his office, albeit a little late.

Somewhere along the line we had a block heater installed in the engine of the car which allowed MGH husband a full night’s sleep when temperatures dipped as long as we had an extension cord and an electrical outlet to plug into.

So, there you have it, a success story, thanks to the help of strangers who saw our predicament and came to our aid, which is, after all, what Iowans are known for. This in turn allowed MGH to get to work that bitterly cold morning as he proved once again that when the ‘going gets tough, the tough get going’.

p.s. MGH upon reading the above asked me if I remembered the blizzard that left snow drifts so high that the older boys were able to climb and touch the top of the light pole. Robyn remembered how often school was canceled that winter.

No Comments

During the heart of the winter of 1968-69, while I was serving as Area Livestock Specialist for Iowa State University Extension Service, I had the opportunity of testing the drift bucking properties of our red Dodge car.

One of Iowa’s noted Registered Holstein Breeders had scheduled the Classifier from the Holstein Association to come and classify his cattle for type. Part of my job was to maintain a good relationship with breeders and important organizations, such as the Holstein Association. This breeder was well known to me and invited me to attend the classification. Accordingly, I set out early in the morning for the farm which was located in Osceola County north of Hartley and Sanborn and near Melvin.

When I started out it was clear and bitter cold and threatening snow. By the time I reached Highway US 14 a typical Northwestern Iowa blizzard was raging. About half way between Hartley and Sanborn I turned north on a paved County road. Visibility was very limited and caused me to turn east on a section road, one mile too soon. The snow was drifting rapidly and I bucked through three or four large drifts and covered more than half a mile before I realized I was on the wrong road.

As soon as I discovered my error I turned into the first farm lane, which happened to be on the right or south side of the road, to turn around. I got stuck in the lane and couldn’t get back on the road. Seeing the farmer, who was late with his chores on account of the weather, in his barn yard, I went and asked him if I could borrow a shovel. He was cheerful enough and let me use a large scoop shovel. I dug the car out and got it back onto the road facing in the right direction, west, and returned the shovel.

By now the drifts were considerably bigger than they had been when I was coming east. I made it through the first one successfully, but came to a screeching halt about half way through the second one. I returned to the farm to borrow the shovel a second time. The farmer loaned it to me again, but it seemed like it was a little grudgingly. I had to work hard for half an hour to get through this second drift, but did manage it. When I returned the shovel I offered to pay the farmer for its use, but he declined.

It was still snowing and drifting deeper all the time. The next drift caught me again and now I was more than a quarter of a mile from the farm. I walked back and told the old farmer how badly I was stuck. His face was lined with pain and foreboding, but he “rounded up his shoulders” as my dad would say and, grudgingly, went to the shed to start up his tractor. A lot of people would be surprised at how easily it started, but these Iowa farmers are very aware of the elements and keep their machinery in top condition, knowing it might be a matter of life and death, if not for them or a family member then for a valuable animal, when a tractor must be started in severe weather.
The tractor did not have a cab, but was totally open to the weather. It had chains on, so was able to buck through the drifts, although with some difficulty. They were very deep now. The drift that stopped me was almost as high as the hood on the car. Of course, we brought along the scoop shovel as well. When we got to the car I set about digging a path in front of it while the farmer studied where to position the tractor and how to attach the tow chain he brought along. When everything was ready to his satisfaction, I crawled under and fastened the chain to the frame of the car.

With me utilizing the car to help he was able to pull me on through the rest of the drift and position my car on a clear portion of the road. The entire road did not drift in, but only irregular sections. The area in front of the man’s farm was in a relatively low spot and several drifts had developed near it. The place we had managed to get my car to was in and area where the road was high and the wind carried the snow on across it to drift somewhere else further south.

I rode back with the old gentleman on his tractor and it was a good thing I did because the snow had drifted deep enough by now in front of his lane that we actually had to dig the tractor back in. When it was finally safely back in the shed with the snow cleaned off from it, I thanked the man again and offered to pay him $ 20 for the trouble I had caused him. He absolutely and very crossly refused to accept anything but did tell me very pointedly, “Just don’t come back again!”

I had no intention of doing so, but feel he would have helped again if necessary even though he have done so very reluctantly. When I got back to the car I had about a quarter of a mile of clear road ahead of me before the next drift and managed to get up enough speed to buck through it. There was only one more drift before the County road and it wasn’t that big. It hadn’t been there when I went through the other way earlier. The County road, running north and south did not have any drifts and when I got back to Highway 14 it had been drifting quite badly, but the Iowa State Highway Department had its plows working and kept it open.

I arrived home safely after spending most of the day shoveling snow and bucking drifts. As it turned out I didn’t even miss the classification because the Holstein Classifier was snowed in and didn’t make it out to the farm. I don’t know for sure, but I am guessing he flew into Sioux Falls, South Dakota and didn’t even try driving out to the farm.

DeVon F. Andrus
Cedar City, Utah
14 January 2008

Note: I know I wrote this up years ago, but I cannot find the copy now. DFA.

No Comments

January 20, 2008

By the time we got to Michigan State in the Fall of 1969 where MGH husband had been admitted to the graduate degree program in Dairy Science our red car had been around the block a few times. Besides being the vehicle that carried us as a family when we went to church and on family outings not to mention vacations (mostly back to Utah to visit family) it had garnered countless miles as MGH covered a 10 county area in north west Iowa while working as a live stock specialist for Iowa State University Extension Service. It still managed to get us where we needed to go in a reliable manner but we knew that if we were to keep it running there would need to be some major repairs in the not too distant future. We, of course, were hoping that the word ‘future’ was the operative one.

As usual, we were woefully under financed but as that had never stopped us in the past we plunged head long into this new adventure willing to face what might come in regard to the car when/if the need arose. As church and schools were within a few miles of where we lived we hoped that this fact would relieve some pressure on our car and its potential for developing serious problems. We had not, however, reckoned on the fact that we now had teen-age drivers in the family who had their own needs and agendas that didn’t always fit in with their parental units desire to prolong the life of the family car.

While it was good to be able to turn the driving over to our teenagers when it came to getting to and from their weekly church activities we had not counted on or realized that Kyle had become the chauffeur for many of his friends often running them to their homes after the meeting was over. As our church ward covered a large geographic area this could and did result in many extra miles that we could ill afford to have put on our old car. We just assumed that he understood the need to treat our ‘wheels’ with great tenderness if he wished to avoid being left afoot.

Our focus zeroed in on him and his extra curricular service project when he got into a fender-bender close to the church which fortunately did not do much damage to anyone other than the sheer terror that occurs when cars bang into each other but by then the extra miles had taken their toll. (I am not telling this story to criticize Kyle who was just doing what he always does/did and that was to look after the needs of others.) The car, at this point, was so near to breaking down that it is a moot point about who did what when as the real question was who would be the person unlucky enough to be driving when she went over the edge. Her collapse was inevitable no matter who put on the miles as the handwriting was already on the wall when we moved. The wonder is that she continued running as long as she did.

Christmas break at the university meant at least two weeks away from school which gave ample time for most students to go home and visit family and friends. For us this wasn’t the case as we had moved lock, stock and barrel to Michigan and so for us Michigan was ‘home’. There was also the little problem of financing a trip which wasn’t going to happen for us no matter how much we might have wanted to be elsewhere. I mention this not because we felt sorry for ourselves but rather because we just accepted what ‘was’ in our present circumstance and lived with it.

MGH had found a kindred spirit in Bryant W________. This led to Bryant asking if he could park his car in front of our apartment where we could keep an eye on it while they flew home to be with family. Part of the arrangement was that we could drive their car if the need arose. Of course, MGH agreed never dreaming that we would need to use the W________’s car in their absence but that is just what happened. MGH had no sooner returned from the airport than our car died on us which led to an immediate emergency consultation at our friendly neighborhood garage where the mechanic sat us down, after a careful examination of our vehicle, and told us that our old friend was at death’s door as the rings on the cylinders had become completely worn down and the cylinder walls were scored and the valves almost non functional. The mechanic further stated that there was no compression left and marveled that the car had still been able to function. He further stated that the cylinders were worn so badly that he didn’t see how they could be re-bored which meant that the engine would have to be replaced or the car junked. The amazing thing to us, of course, was that forever a lady she had waited to collapse until we had another car in place to take us where we needed to go. (The interesting thing to me is that there had never been any indication of trouble until the car quit on us during that Christmas vacation.)

We now had a choice to make. We either had to buy what is referred to today as ‘a pre-owned’ vehicle or replace the engine. We went with the later choice as it seemed to be the one we could most easily afford as well as allowing us to continue the relationship with an old friend we had come to rely on. With that decided upon, the mechanic sent out an SOS to all the junk-yards in a six state area which resulted in his locating an engine from the same model car as ours that had come to an early/unfortunate demise in a collision which had totaled the car but had not damaged the part we needed. Said engine only had 45,000 miles on it so it was deemed to be an acceptable choice for a replacement. (Our friend Boyd H. always said that a car engine wasn’t fully ‘broken in’ until it had 60,000 miles on it and he would know as he sold paint for a living and was given a company car to drive which he would often buy for family use when it was put up for sale after the odometer reached 100,000 miles and then would continue to drive it for another 100,000.)

Arrangements were made for the work to be done which, thankfully was completed just before the W_______ family returned to Michigan. We had ‘wheels’ again and just in time! We continued to drive the red car until shortly after we purchased the 1971 Ford pick-up when we gave it to Dawn who was living in Provo and needed a ‘beater’ to drive. She then passed it on to a friend who continued to drive it for many more years.

Coincidence that it kept running until a replacement came our way? I think not—once more the tender mercy of the Lord had reached down to us.

No Comments

January 13, 2008

The ‘old’ red car that we were driving in Loa wasn’t always that way, but then, neither was I, for that matter. We both started out brand spankin’ new and it took a few years before wear and tear took their toll. While that car has been long gone from the scene I am still here getting creakier and creakier and I suppose if I were to look hard enough I would find a ‘great truth’ in this fact but at the moment, just what that would be escapes me.

The story of how we acquired this car is an interesting one in the annals of our family vehicles. It happened this way. The year was 1965 and the red Ford pick-up MGH was driving when I married him was our only transportation. While its glory days were long past it was still quite dependable as long as trips of great distance were not required of it. It was however a wee bit chilly during the winter for the children who rode in the back on our weekly trips to Sioux City, Iowa to attend church meetings. Sioux City was about 40 miles away from our home just outside Onawa, Iowa requiring an hour’s drive to and from sometimes traveling in sub-zero temperatures. While it is true that they had the home made ‘hoochie’ (think camper shell) to protect them from the wind it did nothing to keep them warm. They did this by putting on every coat/jacket/hat/ they could find including their dad’s red/elegantly embroidered/ padded silk robe which was a souvenir from his visit to Japan while in the service. Said robe was much sought after because it was large enough to fit over multiple outer garments and covered the wearer from top to bottom with enough left over to tuck under for extra protection from the cold floor of the pick-up bed while the wide sleeves allowed room for hands to be slipped up them. They were also well supplied with numerous blankets dragged off their beds which kept them warm as well. The kids were good sports about this and rarely complained with the older ones making sure that the younger ones stayed wrapped up, often holding them on their laps to protect them from the cold that seeped up through the metal flooring. Now before you start thinking, “why that is absolutely awful” please remember that before the advent of our modern times everyone traveled while being exposed to the cold-–if it helps, think sleigh rides which has a romantic sound to it. (At least we were never chased by wolves while traveling as sometimes happened in Mother Russia during the long cold winter months as recounted in Tolstoy’s War and Peace which is what I would define as truly terrifying, I mean let’s keep things in perspective here, okay?) Upon arriving at church all that was required to get them going again was being placed in a warm spot and as soon as they thawed out they were just fine much like the gecko’s and iguana’s were that fell out of the trees in Florida last week when the temperature fell below freezing. (You do know I am kidding about the thawing out part don’t you?)

As always, we were struggling to clear the housekeeping, which was made difficult by the fact that we were still paying for Mary’s hospital bill as well as the addition to the little house in Draper, Utah which meant that there was absolutely nothing left over after the bills were paid to put toward the niceties of life let alone another vehicle. We were determined to get out of debt and willing to live in sub-standard housing, at least temporarily, to help us achieve this goal so the $35.00 a month rent we paid our land lord was a budget saver even though the house was so poorly insulated that when the wind blew, which was often, you could see the furniture shake as the house and its inhabitants shivered in the icy blasts out of the north.

As part of the continuing education program of the extension service MGH taught a class for the farmer’s of the community on how to increase their cash flow (and no, he did not suggest that they should sell their farms and get a job in town). One of the options he presented was dairy farming, a subject close to his heart, and which he presented with great enthusiasm to those in attendance. So persuasive was he that one couple who heard him came to him several weeks later and asked for his help in starting up a dairy operation. He counseled with them about their options and then suggested that they might like to come look at the 7 head of cows that made up our small herd, which were up for sale at that time. (MGH had decided to go back to school to obtain his masters degree.) This invitation resulted in their decision to purchase the cows and a price was negotiated that pleased both parties. So just like that our cows found a good home and we had cash in our hands to buy a car.

Much excited about the prospect of a new car we headed off to Sioux City to see what we could find. Needless to say the car dealership we stopped at was not impressed with either the vehicle we were driving or the fact that we had three of the children with us for this outing. In a rather condescending manner they allowed us to test drive one of their vehicles and then basically blew us off as potential buyers inviting us to come back anytime which translated into, “when you actually have some money. We went home quite discouraged about finding a car we could afford and someone to sell it to us.

Not long after that MGH loaded up the three market pigs we had raised and took them to the sale barn located at Denison, Iowa. While there he stopped in at the local car dealership. The upshot was that an immediate trade was made and he came home driving a new paid for, fire-engine red, six cylinder, 1965 Dodge Cornet, two door, standard transmission with gear shift lever on the steering column, car. This car had been special ordered for a young man who decided he didn’t want it once it arrived. No one else was interested in this vehicle which left it sitting on the lot losing money every day as the model year ran out, so when MGH showed up with his pick-up even though the smell of pig was quite rank, the dealer saw his chance and we had our new car. Granted it would be a bit of a squeeze as there were eight children and two adults that would need to be fitted in but the good Lord made laps for a purpose and so we just ‘layered up’ and went on our way.

Once more the windows of Heaven had opened.

No Comments

January 8, 2008

I couldn’t leave the Loa era without mentioning one of my favorite memories. While attending Ricks College in Rexburg, Idaho Marie met a young man who fell head over heels in love with her. A farm boy from Pingree, Idaho he was dark haired/slim/athletic and quite intense in the pursuit his goals, one of which it turns out was Marie. When she came home from school for Christmas break of 1971 she was being courted by Dan Scott. I remember that one day they went for a hike in Capitol Reef which was a pleasant drive away from us. The weather, while chilly, was not impossibly cold and with the sun shining down on them for added warmth, for two young people in love it promised to be a fun outing.

I remember them coming back into the house bringing the feel of fresh outdoor air with them, chattering and laughing as they shed their coats and mittens. Then Marie came into the kitchen where I was with her arm outstretched in what I thought was a most unusual angle until I caught the twinkle on the ring finger of her left hand and realized that what she was doing was announcing her acceptance of Dan’s proposal of marriage. Of course there were immediate squeals and shouts as I realized what had happened and she was immediately surrounded by the rest of the family who appeared almost as if by magic to share in the excitement and offer their congratulations.

The death of her mother was, without a doubt, extremely hard on Marie. While Mark could, and did make known his unhappiness with tears and a real dislike of being away from his dad, Doreen Flake Hendrickson bore the brunt of this as she watched over him while MGHTB was teaching school in Keosauqua and it would have been hard to find a kinder/more loving individual than she, this malaise was soon put to rest but it did show how troubled he was as his temperament was normally quite sunny.) While the older children understood the concept that being in Heaven meant that she would not return to their lives they achingly missed her physical presence. Marie, as first born, had always been her mother’s “little lambie”. Furthermore she became her mother’s’ chief helper in the care of the younger children as her mother went through rough pregnancies and bouts of ill-health forcing her to assume a level of maturity and responsibility that many children never have to face. She explores her feelings in a poem which I came across as I have been rummaging through assorted boxes and bookcases trying to find something else. It was written in 1981 and goes like this:

THESE OF YOUR CROWN

Mama, you’re gone to your home up above,
And here left behind you are traces of love.
Six tiny children, your husband, your home,
A perfume, a lipstick, a hanky hand-sewn.
Your dear friends, your heart-aches, the pain that you hid.

What cruel stroke of fate took you in your prime?
How could you leave, we ask many-a-time?
How could they need you more than we do?
What mission in heaven is there for you?
Are there answers to questions like these, can we know?
Were provisions made for us, freeing you then, to go?

The answer has come, yes, Mama’s not far.
She left us a plan, the gospel, our star.
She left an example worthy of our emulation,
A real reason to try, not a better persuasion!
And also some choice ones, the strong, great, and wise;
She gave us each other, our chances, our lives.

Together we stand in hard times, deep, forlorn,
With our arms ‘round each other, our hardships are bourn.
Tears are shed as we travel the long pit-filled road,
Flesh is torn, shoulders bent, as we carry our load.
If anyone drops, there’s no need to worry,
The others will be there to help in a hurry.

The things that you fought for will not be in vain,
For you fought for the truth, and your teachings remain.
We won’t ‘ere give in ‘till the battle is won.
Each one of us, Mama, be waiting, we’ll come!
We’re striving, we’re shining, your children, your own,
To fit in your crown, in heaven, our home.

I have long been one of Marie’s biggest fans for many reasons one of which is her ’never say die’ approach to life. She captures this in another poem also written in 1981:

HOW TO WIN

I remember running a very hard race
I got pains in my sides and a wind-burned face
My lungs ached so, I felt they would burst
I had no breath left and was suffering from thirst

My limbs were spent and my wits seemed gone
All I could do was push on and on
Something inside of me just couldn’t quit
I’d rather have died than give in the least bit.

It wasn’t a matter of pride or fame
It was closer to principle, guts. . . .or shame
After starting a race, reasons diminish
I only could think that I just had to finish.

Many are the races I’ve lost and I’ve won
But I can tell you when all’s said and done
That I never did quit, rules I never did bend
I ran ’till I got through the tape at the end.

There are all types of races in life we must run
And they aren’t very easy nor very much fun
But learning to stick to a job you’ve begun
Is learning it’s THEN when you really have won.

Over 30 years have passed since those long ago days in Loa. Marie and Dan have gone on to raise six children all of whom are hard working/caring/ responsible adults just like their parents. Her mother’s death left an indelible imprint on Marie. Hard as it has been for her she has gone on to become the woman she knew her mother wanted her to be.

1 Comment