:Family Matters

June 22, 2008

Well, at least now I know why I have been staggering around like some drunk at the end of a bender. I obtained this knowledge by actually setting foot in a doctor’s office a few days ago, me, my dad’s daughter who learned at his knee that ‘being ’sick’ is all in the head—so get over it”. Which has worked for me up to this point and so in all fairness I suppose I should give credit to his Christian Science background as well as his mother who was a devout member of that faith for my good health, but then it could just be that I have been lucky and managed to escape serious illness for most of my life—up to this point anyway that is if you don’t count a few broken bones here and there. Rather then keeping you in suspense here is the name of my unfortunate malady, Benign Paroxysmal Positional Vertigo or BPPV which the doctor told me is also known as rocks in your head. The cause is thought to be ‘old’ age and the remedy is to sit down immediately when dizzy. There is no cure other than losing 20 years or so which, as near as I can tell from this perspective isn’t going to happen anytime soon.

Friday June 20th marked the end of an era for Dan and Marie as their last daughter bit the dust with Hillary’s sealing/marriage in the Salt Lake temple to Jaret L. It was a lovely day made even better with all six siblings in attendance which added an extra bit of delight for all. The bride was beautiful as all bride’s are and the groom was handsome. I predict a long and happy relationship full of love and laughter if their entrance into the ‘President’s Room’ at the Joseph Smith building, where their respective Dad’s treated family and friends to a lovely dinner ofter the marriage, was any indication. The bride in her beautiful white gown entered the room carrying her husband in her arms where she then carefully set him on his feet much to our great amusement.

Having accomplished the goal of providing their 5 daughter’s (and a few other miscellaneous strays) with receptions that have been the envy of their friends and done at a minimal cost if you don’t count the labor involved or the cost of the materials, they can now retire all the paraphernalia that has been so carefully acquired and added to over the years as they performed this labor of love. Marie said the word is being quietly put out that they are seeking ‘a good home’ for said equipment in the hopes that its removal would allow them to be able to reclaim their garage as a parking spot for their cars which have endured many years as outcasts outside the very walls that were meant to protect them. I think this whole life altering procedure must be gone about quite carefully as it could lead to a ‘break down’ of cars unused to being pampered not to mention the stress caused to their owners when they can get into their vehicles on a snowy morning without having to endure the discomfort of cleaning off the windshields before they can drive off—I mean the shock of not having to suffer before doing something might prove fatal to those who have done so all their lives. So maybe they will need to reconsider as the cars have managed to survive all these years on the outside and after all there are many good uses a garage can be put to other than parking a car and if you don’t believe me just come look at ours. (MGH, who grew up on a farm and firmly believes that cats and dogs belong outdoors, becomes quite distraught when an animal takes up residence ‘inside’, which has happened more often than not and continuing until the pet grows old and dies which usually takes awhile which probably explains a lot of things concerning his general state of mind and health at this stage of his life. So there is precedent for keeping some things outside in the cold and heat rather than inside, but then maybe I am trying to compare apples to oranges.

As a case in point I can remember when Joy wanted a dog and talked MGH into saying that she could on the condition that it was to be an outside pet. The whole thing turned into quite an event as they carefully studied different breeds resulting in the acquisition of an adorable Dalmatian puppy which she named Jackson. They worked together to carefully build a pen out of cardboard, please note here that cardboard is not known for its ability to withstand wear and tear which to the discerning eye would seem to indicate a lack of permanency, in the garage so that the small puppy could be kept warm and safe while becoming used to his new family after which time he was to reside in a dog run outside. I can’t say that Joy was thrilled with not being able to bring the puppy inside the house but she was willing keep her part of the bargain and stayed with him for hours that first day before coming back inside to attend to some other things. Brooks, however, had made no promises. Upon arriving home he immediately fell in love with the puppy. The next thing we knew he had the puppy in his arms and was headed downstairs to his room where the puppy immediately took up residence much to the dismay of both Joy, who felt that she had just had an end run pulled on her, and MGH, who knew one when he saw it. Please note here that I was a neutral bystander as this was an area where MGH and I were not in agreement as I had grown up with pets in the house. The upshot was that Jackson and I became very good friends as we spent many hours together while everyone else was at work or school. I was even successful in housebreaking him even if it meant that our lawn died as a result, which I regretted, but it was that or the carpet.

For the wedding we stayed with Mark and Bonnie, who took us in and spoiled us with their love and attention, which we greatly enjoyed. It was good to see them and get a chance to catch up on what is going on in their world. They are both very good story tellers and regaled us with tales of their adventures. Brooke and her husband Tim came down from Logan where he is attending Utah State and stayed as well so we got to see them and get a little better acquainted with Tim who we found to be delightful. We had no trouble seeing why Brooke fell in love with him. Jessica is growing into a lovely young woman who graciously gave up her room so grandpa wouldn’t have to climb any stairs which he greatly appreciated. Amy was working but still managed to find time to give us her trademark big smile and hug— by the way have we ever mentioned that our grandkids are the greatest? Robb, who had been on the road for 60 days came home to pick up his vehicle, took time to visit for several hours before he had to head back to Provo where he is trying to set the Guinness Book of World Records for the longest length of time to earn a degree. (Actually, Jay holds that record in our family but if I remember correctly it was the tortoise who won the race.)

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June 15, 2008

It isn’t easy being a parent which, if you had suggested that fact to me when I was a teen would have sent me into such a paroxysm of laughter I could easily never have lived to become one. Now, after yea these many years, I have to ask myself why God sends his precious spirit children to us without an owner’s manual? And yes, I know that there are a few who fit into the category of natural born parents who seem gifted with the ability to know what to do in all situations and raise exemplary families with seeming ease—but that wasn’t me, or most of the families I have observed, to be perfectly honest as most of us muddle along as best we can. As time goes on I find myself thinking more about my dad. My respect and appreciation for him grows with each passing year much like the little poem Ann Landers printed in one of her columns years ago that went like this:

When I was 4 years old—my daddy can do anything. 5 years old my daddy knows a lot. 6 years old—my dad is smarter than your dad. 8 years old—my dad doesn’t exactly know everything. 10 years old—in the olden days when my dad grew up things were sure different! 12 years old—oh well, he doesn’t know anything about that. He’s to old to remember his childhood. 14 years old—don’t pay any attention to my dad he’s so old fashioned! 21 years old—Him? My Lord he’s hopelessly out of date. 25 years old—Dad knows a little bit about it but then he should he’s been around so long. 30 years old—Maybe we should ask Dad what he thinks. After all he’s had a lot of experience. 35 years old—I’m not doing a single thing until I talk to Dad. 40 years old—I wonder how Dad would have handled it. He was so wise and had a world of experience. 5O years old—I’d give anything if Dad were here now so I could talk this over with him. Too bad I didn’t appreciate how smart he was. I could have learned a lot from him. I sure do miss him.

I miss my Dad too. I miss not being able to pick out a card for him on Father’s Day where it ’s okay to tell him how much I love him which may sound strange but the family I grew up in was quite reserved when it came to telling each other how much we cared.

I miss him because he never stopped loving me or worrying about how I was doing. Somewhere I got the idea that once you left home your parents were done with their part in your life which allowed them to proceed onto the next step of involvement i.e being a grandparent where all they had to do was spoil their grandchildren. Imagine my surprise then, while living for almost two years In Saudi Arabia with MGH and Joy, to receive a letter from him where he expressed his concern for my safety and was looking forward to the time when I/we were safely home once more. I remember thinking as I read, “Good grief, I’m almost 54, why on earth is he still worrying about me when I left home so many years ago?” I’m a few years wiser now than I was then and realize from my own experience that I have never stopped caring/ worrying/praying for the welfare of any of the children who have come into my arms no matter how long they’ve been gone from home.

I remember watching him wash dishes when we went on camping trips when we lived in Arizona. There he would be standing at the picnic table over a pan of steaming hot water fresh from heating over the campfire gingerly fishing for a glass with a fork as the water was, at that point scalding hot which sometimes led him to quickly let the item fall back into the dishwater as he would shake his hand and exclaim loudly, “Yoew, that’s hot”. (Where some might be tempted to use more ‘colorful’ language, dad never did.) Once he succeeded in getting the glass out he would gingerly hold on to the edge and use the fork to push a corner of the dish rag down into the glass in order to make sure the glass was clean. He and mother made a pretty good team in this regard as they worked together with him doing the clean up after she prepared the meal.

Both he and mother enjoyed the out of doors and took us on many trips up into the mountains of Arizona where we would picnic or camp out. At that time it was still safe to drink from the running streams and I can remember being shown how to use my hand to cup water for a clear cold drink if I didn’t think I could manage lying down full length as Dad did and putting my face right down to the water. I can remember his enjoyment at drinking this way and how when he was finished he would quickly shake the water off his face so he didn’t get all wet from water running down his neck. Mother was always on the watch for things that could be harvested and eaten and she always got excited when she found water cress growing in a stream which she would carefully pick and carry back to camp and use in a salad.

He was a hard worker rising early and going late into the night if necessary but he always took a nap after lunch during the hottest part of the day. He would sit in his recliner with the newspaper which once he finished reading he would unfold and place over his face as he napped. That same newspaper could be folded and turned into a lethal weapon if there was a fly making a nuisance of its self. Dad hated flies with a passion and was vigorous in his vendetta against them.

I miss his “Well, done lass” which was the highest compliment he gave when he was pleased with something I had done. Treasured all the more because they were so rare. I miss the example he set in caring for others, most of which will never be known as he did them so quietly and without any desire for recognition but I have heard of several instances and I when I do I marvel at his genuine goodness.

I miss his prayers and testimony concerning the truthfulness of the Gospel of Jesus Christ which formed the basis of his life and actions. He gave so much of himself in service to the church he loved as he served as a Branch President several times, as well as many years on the High Councils of the various stakes and Districts in the area, all done faithfully and well.
He had his faults, yes, we all do, but he was a very good man and I miss him.

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June 8, 2008

Remember that slippery slope I was telling you about and how hard it is to pull up once fully engaged? Well, here I am and since a hard landing is already a given because of my four previous entries on the subject I may as well go out in style and finish the trip by telling you about the birth of my first daughter, Sylvia Joanne.

It all began with my very earnestly telling MGH that because of the ‘ready-made’ family I had married into and the fact that, with his encouragement and support, I planned on finishing my senior year as an elementary education major at Brigham Young University I thought it would be wise to wait before attempting to add a new baby to the list of things I was trying to deal with at the time. This resolve lasted until my first Sunday in Draper, Utah where there were numerous mothers holding tiny infants in their arms which when I saw them wiped out any good sense that I may have had on the subject, which to be honest, many already thought I was seriously deficient in anyway, needing only to point out my recent acquisition of a husband twelve years older than myself and his six children as proof. But baby hunger is contagious and to this day when I see a sweet little new baby nestling in his/her mother’s arms I still find myself thinking how nice it would be to have another one of my own. Of course, now I know what is involved, not to mention the fact that I have long passed the stage where such a thing would be possible or that MGH is in the ranks of the unemployed and has been for many years, or perhaps the biggest stopper is my still reluctant knowledge that while the spirit is willing the flesh could not begin to keep up physically with the demands of child rearing, so I sigh and remember that once I too held sweet little ones in my arms.

At any rate, MGH, having told me that it was my call as to when, or even if there were to be any children, provided me the means which allowed Sylvia to be born 10 months after we were married. This meant that I attended BYU Fall semester and then dropped out for a semester before returning and finishing my degree work which allowed me to graduate in the summer of 1962. My parents and sisters were able to attend my graduation which allowed them a chance to see their new grandchild along with the rest of the children who they had learned to love while they were living in Iowa. They then went on to the World’s Fair which was held in Seattle. This was a rare thing for dad as he rarely left the farm because of the press of work and for him to take the time off, especially in the summer, made our reunion even more joyful for me as my marriage had been the cause of much criticism toward me especially from mother—not that I blame her now after all these years have passed and I have the perspective of being a mother myself as I have to admit that my choice was, dare I actually say this, unusual. But done is done and all that is long ago with the worst case scenario that mother had pictured happening now proven to have been wrong as MGH and I have been married now for 47 years and while there have been a few rough patches here and there we have learned from them and continued on our way together.

I remember that one of the first things I did after learning that I was pregnant was to go to a fabric store and pick out a maternity pattern and some material to sew myself several outfits. In those days a maternity skirt was simply a skirt that tied so that it could be adjusted to fit an expanding waist line with the front panel cut out for the same reason. This interesting arrangement was covered by a tent like top which hung down to mid hip level and worked just fine as long as there wasn’t a stiff breeze blowing. The styles these days are much cuter in my opinion but fashion is what it is and since I have rarely been on the same page anyway I shall leave all regrets behind.

There wasn’t really anyone I felt close enough to in Utah, other than MGH who while willing to give his perspective as the father of 6 with an extensive experience in the care of milk cows, I didn’t have anyone I felt comfortable asking about the various things I was experiencing as my pregnancy continued. I never knew what to expect next even though I read the literature on the subject and was fairly conversant on the theory—but as to how I was doing was a mystery to me and I could have used some female reassurance and encouragement. Mother would have been a good resource here but she had been dismayed when she discovered I was pregnant and we never got beyond that point in our discussion. To begin with I hadn’t intended to let her know that I was until I was much further along, fearing her reaction to the news, which was every bit as bad as I feared, but the cat was let out of the bag when MGH and I along with Barbara took advantage of Thanksgiving vacation to go back and pick up two registered heifers who were called “Rumpus and Bumpus” by Kyle and Mark although they actually had names that were quite a bit more formal as they were registered with the National Holstein Association, that belonged to MGH.

Returning home we hit a patch of black ice which sent us off into the borrow pit along the side of the road. Barbara, who was driving at the time and fortunately was being very cautious as the shifting of the heifers in the back of the pick-up was somewhat disconcerting to an inexperienced driver, didn’t know what to do and so we ever so gently did a 180 and went over the edge where the pickup landed on the driver’s side and the three of us landed on on each other but with no physical harm. Even the half grown heifers in the back survived without any damage. We lost the white cat we were taking back with us who was so frightened that she escaped and ran off into the Wyoming wilds. The bowl containing the guppies tipped over and we lost them as well but other than that we all, including Sylvia, survived the experience. Someone was watching over us that early Sunday morning as a road crew, headed by the Bishop of one of the local LDS wards, in Rawlings, WY was out checking the curing concrete (the interstate was just being put in at that time) came to our aid. They quickly righted our truck, helped get the heifers loaded and had us on our way within the hour. (We did have to replace the rear view mirror on the driver’s side as well as the small vent window glass which cracked and I believe a tire went flat as well but considering what might have happened these were hardly worth noticing although we were given a warning citation by a Utah Highway patrolman who stopped us about the rear view mirror as we were in violation of the law.)

Sylvia was born five months later while we were listening to General Conference on a Sunday afternoon. We left for Cottonwood Maternity Hospital as Ezra Taft Benson was speaking (we had been listening on the radio) during the afternoon session. She arrived around six p.m. aided by a very new doctor who was covering that day, and had his hands full with six deliveries, for my doctor who I had just seen earlier in the week and who had assured me that I didn’t need to worry about his being gone for her birth as I was still three weeks away from my due date. Ah well, such is life and well laid plans. . . . and yes it felt very, veriy good to have a baby in my arms.

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June 4, 1968

Today is my 68th birthday. This morning MGH asked me if I felt any different than I did the day before. To which I immediately replied, as if it were a matter that would take a great deal of thought, “That no, no I don’t”, but then I told him that if he were to ask me if I felt different than I did a year ago then I would have to tell him, “Yes”. The physical part of me definitely is saying/noticing that the years are beginning to take their toll which doesn’t bode well for the future which I see modeled before my eyes every day as I follow MGH husband, twelve years my senior, down the primrose path that we euphemistically call our ‘Golden Years’. Considering the alternative, I am not complaining as I like being here where I can watch, albeit it from a distance, the lives of the those nearest and dearest to me.

My sister Barbara and her husband along with one of their grandchildren stayed overnight with us last week on their way to Bryce Canyon where they will camp and enjoy the magnificent scenery of the area. I much appreciated their taking the time to stop and renew our ‘ties’, as it were, as these chances have occurred but rarely in our adult lives. Barbara and I found ourselves staying up and visiting long after everyone else had gone to bed. Catching up, as it were, with what had been going on in our lives since the last time we visited face to face. As I sat there with her in MGH’s office which was a quiet place away from the noise of the TV which MGH watches in lieu of being physically active, not because that is what he wants to be doing but because that is where he is now with the physical restraints his body is imposing one him. I couldn’t help but notice how we have come, more than I like to admit, to resemble our Grandmother Waddington who was the oldest person that I had contact with in my growing up years and I must admit, at the time that I thought of her as being older than the proverbial hills with her wrinkly face and carefully permed white hair that had a slightly bluish tint to it which she told me, when I asked her, was put on to keep it from yellowing—go figure the logic on that one but then we are always trying to change what nature and gravity do to us as we age, or so it seems.

I can remember Miss Randell, who never having married herself, took on the responsibility of training the young women who passed through her class room as if they were her daughters on how to apply the art of ‘domestic science’ in their lives so that they and their families might enjoy the benefits of modern education in nutrition/sanitation/child rearing/ sewing/food preparation—you name it, she taught it. When I started at BYU I majored in Home Economics for my first two years and discovered that many of the text books that were used in the classes I took were the ones I had studied in high school under her tutelage. I can remember being quite amused when she was teaching us how to fit sewing patterns to our own personal measurements as she cautioned us on the proper placement of darts, which are V-shaped folds taken in fabric which allows material which is flat be fitted over the human form, which is not. Just as an aside she remarked to us that most ‘older’ women failed to wear the support necessary to keep their bosom’s in the proper location so that their clothes would fit properly. Ah, I, in the innocence of my youth, vowed that I would never allow such a thing to occur to me as I got ‘older’. Which just shows you that I had absolutely no appreciation of the power of gravity and my subsequent inability to find support powerful enough to reverse its effect. I have never understood the empowerment that some women seem to feel from going bra-less as the resultant look is, to my mind far from empowering but rather just the opposite. Oh well, there’s a lot of things I don’t understand in this life, most of which I can’t do anything about.

But back to my thoughts as I sat there with my sister, who without a doubt, was my best friend as I grew up. This grandmotherly looking woman bears little resemblance to the little girl who used to go with me to collect polliwogs with their wiggly comma shaped bodies which we would scoop up in a glass jar from the muddy water that collected in puddles after a rain storm. We always hoped to keep them alive long enough to see them turn into frogs but that never happened—probably because mother made us return them back where they came from as she wasn’t particularly fond of the idea of a house full of frogs had we been successful. We spent such happy hours in the spring time when the large empty lot next to our house grew full of tall grass that allowed us to play hide and seek until our trails flattened the grass but by then we would be off with our wagon where with a stout stick through the handle we could pretend we were horses pulling a stage coach with Darlene the passenger which was the easiest part, speaking as the horse, which I usually was because I was biggest, if you didn’t count the unexpected spills from turning the wagon too sharply which we tried not to do as Darlene could cry really loud which would bring mother out to comfort her and scold us for not being more careful. Even so I would try to get to ‘ride’ now and then but as I was the biggest it was not an easy task and never for as long as I wanted no matter how I tried to cajole or threaten my ‘horses’. One of the downsides for being a passenger was that the ‘horses’ would often abandon their task leaving the wagon and rider stranded in mid field as they become cowboys chasing away Indians complete with much firing of cap guns which we each had complete with belt and holster. This again would bring howls of out rage from Darlene who didn’t enjoy being left behind by her two older sisters.

There were also hours played with our dolls as we dressed and undressed (mother would sew clothes for us to dress them in) them and fed them endless cups of ‘tea’ (water) and bread crumbs as we seated them on the little black chairs that matched the table that had been a Christmas gift one year before tucking them into their beds.

As we visited I was reminded of this quote: “Oh, the comfort, the inexpressible comfort, of feeling safe with a person, having neither to weigh thoughts nor measure words, but pouring them all right out, just as they are, chaff and grain together, certain that a faithful hand will take and sift them, keeping what is worth keeping, and with the breath of kindness blow the rest away” for that is how I felt with her.

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May 10, 2008

This rummaging around could become addictive if I gave it half a chance which I am not likely to as it might result in something productive occurring which would then give lie to my oft repeated statement that ‘nothing’ is all that ever happens in our retirement home, which is obviously stretching the truth a wee bit as we are involved in many things all the time—the question of course, is do they matter to anyone except the inhabitants of said RH? Having asked that rhetorical question I can now present for your enlightenment and amusement my latest finding which goes back more than forty years to 1964.

“Battle fatigue was beginning to set in. All the classic signs were present, sleeplessness, irritability for no reason, upset stomach and so on. We knew a change would have to be made and so it was decided to seek different employment. The resignation was turned in and as of June 1964 we were among the ranks of the unemployed—temporarily we hoped.

Never one’s to let a little thing like not having any money bother us we decided that a part of the summer should be spent seeing the 1964 Worlds Fair in New York City. Or, as it came to be known in the family, we would take a “grand tour” which led to our camping along the way in order to keep our expenses to a minimum—we never traveled first class, so to speak, but we still managed to see everything that those who did, just the same. We actually went as far north as Niagara Falls which are truly a magnificent sight proving to be well worth the drive to get there not to mention the church historical sites as well.

As always, the bank account had little in it. The money from a school teachers salary passing quickly from paycheck to creditor with never any extra left over which led to many a discussion on how to pay for said trip which always came up against the same hard fact that there was apparently no way, we prayed for help and continued on with our plans. We built a “hoochie” for the back of the red Ford pickup, out of plywood. It even had sliding windows in the sides to allow air to circulate. Painted a red that didn’t quite match the pickup inspite of our best efforts at matching colors we had a forerunner of the camper shell seen so commonly today.

Two or three days before our scheduled departure, in response to a knock, I went to the back door of the old farm house. A man introduced himself and said that he milked a herd of dairy cows over by Stockport and had heard that we might have a registered bull of breeding age to sell. I sent him to the barn to talk to Father who was doing chores at the time. Then, mentally, ran quickly through the list of bulls on hand that might meet the necessary requirements. This didn’t take long as the only one I could think of was a non-discript animal with the rather unlikely name of “Googly Eyes” because of his somewhat prominent/protuberant eyes. He was mostly white with a constitution of iron. We nearly lost him as a calf to several severe bouts of scours. By some miraculous means he always managed to recover. He was one of two bull calves we brought with us from Utah and of course was the one who survived the icy blasts of an Iowa winter night when a barn door was left open, while the registered bull calf who was our pride and joy died.

Googly Eyes was eligible for registration, the paper work had never been submitted because his frequent brushes with the grim reaper led us to believe that his future was uncertain, to the say the very least. But then, that was our take on him, which we did not share with the farmer, who liking his breeding and look bought him. He paid us two hundred dollars, an amazing amount, and there was the money for our trip.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Just in case you might be wondering we hadn’t been totally irresponsible in seeking employment as MGH had sent out numerous resumes` to various agri-business companies before we left, we just hadn’t heard back from any of them. His contract with the school district would result in his being paid through August and he was still milking cows for dad which meant that we had a place to live so housing wasn’t an issue. Truth to tell we would have preferred to stay on and enter a formal partnership in the dairy/farming operation with my parents but after carefully considering the reality of the situation we had come to the reluctant conclusion that it would not be possible to generate enough money to support two families which was a big disappointment for all concerned.

When we returned from our ‘grand tour’ we found that Iowa State was interested in hiring MGH to work in their extension service. This required a trip to Ames for an interview which resulted in an offer of employment as a youth specialist in Monona County, Iowa where we moved in August of 1964.

Mother was concerned about the trip being too hard on Sylvia, who was then two years old, and volunteered to care for her while we were gone. We accepted her kind offer which meant that Sylvia was thoroughly spoiled all the while we were away. Mother laughingly told us that Sylvia wasn’t all that thrilled about not being with her family and one day decided to take off down the gravel road in front of the house as fast as she could run with her black patent leather shoes twinkling and the skirt of her pink gingham dress flying up as her little legs pumped up and down so fast that mother had a real challenge to catch up with her before she reached the stop sign at the cross road. I am glad she had the opportunity to spend time with Sylvia—she loved being a grandmother but sadly never got a chance to play the part for very long as she was gone by May of the next year.

I didn’t realize until I wrote up this last bit that mother was gone so soon afterwards. What a gaping hole she left in our lives although her death led to the addition of a new sister in our family—strange how things work out, isn’t it.

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April 27, 2008

Having committed herself to the LDS church mother was determined that her daughters should marry in that religion. Having reached this decision she told us long before we were even close to graduating from high school that we were expected to go on to college. At this time a college education was a treasured experience that not everyone was fortunate enough to attain and therefore highly valued. There was, however, one condition placed on her daughters and that was that we were to attend Brigham Young University or Ricks College if we wished to receive any help from our parents as far as paying for our advanced schooling. Her reasoning was that the best place for eligible young women to meet eligible young men was at a church school and for many that was indeed so. In fact, this happened so often that BYU was laughingly known as BYWoo. What then was the fate of her four daughters in the romance department?

My sister Barbara met her young man in Iowa. Bob was not a member of the church at the time but did join at a later date. This, of course, is their story and one that she needs to write up. Barbara, by the way, graduated from BYU so while she didn’t find her young man there she did get a fine education. Barbara and Bob were married in the Oakland Temple in 196_.

Darlene and Hollis began dating in high school and continued their relationship by correspondence after he went on to attend school at Iowa State University in Ames, Iowa. A local boy, he also was not a member of the church but gained a testimony and was baptized and they were married in the Mesa Temple. They had three children together before he was killed in a traffic accident. One of the things I remember about Hollis was a comment he made in a church meeting although I can’t now remember if it was a talk or just what and that is, “a life in the church is a job in the church”. He was a living example of this as he faithfully served in many callings in his all too brief time as a member. Darlene then married another fine man who also converted to the church with whom she had three more children. She had a year at BYU.

Kathy and her husband, who also joined the church, were high school sweethearts. She graduated from Northeastern State College located in Kirksville, MO which is about 80 miles from Keosauqua, IA as the crow flies which being interpreted means that I am guessing about how far it is from Keo. I believe that she attended at least one semester at BYU before returning to finish up at NSC where she and Gary were married in a lovely garden wedding after their graduation. It isn’t easy to marry out of one’s faith and Gary, who had always had a good relationship with his family, found himself at odds with them over his conversion. Not that it was any easier for Kathy as she was under great pressure to marry someone who could take her to the temple and be sealed to her partner for time and eternity and dad, being dad, let her know in no uncertain terms that he was not happy and when dad wasn’t happy no one was happy! So Kathy and Gary simply took it out of the hands of both families and planned their wedding at a ‘neutral’ spot. They were later ’sealed’ in the Washington D.C. Temple in January of 1974.

While I am on this subject there is a delightful story that Barbara and Bob Lansingh love to tell that goes more or less like this. It seems that the Lansingh’s were at the farm visiting when Gary came to talk to Dad. They stated their willingness to leave the room so that the conversation could be a private one. Gary assured them that there was no need for them to leave and then proceeded to ask Dad for Kathy’s hand in marriage. Dad replied that he was not surprised with the request and had, in fact, been expecting it and gave his approval in a rather low key manner. Then Gary said, “Oh, by the way, I’m getting baptized”. Dad’s response to this was to jump up from his recliner without even bothering to put the foot rest down and rush to Gary where he gave him a big handshake and enthusiastically told him how pleased he was—a totally different response than the one he gave Gary’s request for marriage to his youngest daughter.

This really shouldn’t have been so surprising to anyone as Dad loved the Gospel with all his heart. He had done so from the time he first became acquainted with it in Snowflake, Arizona in 1940. He was ready to join immediately but waited until mother was convinced that it was the right thing to do as well. There was absolutely nothing that delighted him more than to see others gain the same knowledge and blessings that church membership had brought into his life. For as long as he lived he devoted his considerable time and talents to church service. The move to a strange land to take up farming was not easily made as it meant leaving a state he loved as well an area where the church was strong. Barbara recently pointed out to me that the biggest reason for their choosing to farm in southeastern Iowa was the fact that there was a small branch of the church there built around old friends from Snowflake. Both mother and dad were anxious to keep up their activity in their new church which they were able to do. The group was small but active consisting of about seven families that established a beach head for the church in that area, so for him, the news that his future son-in-law was about to become a member brought him great joy.

In one respect mother and dad were successful in seeing that their daughters were well educated as three of us received a college degree while Darlene went on to become a registered nurse. However, none of us met our future mates at BYU as the Lord, who provided a ‘ram in a thicket’ for Abraham also provided husbands for the Gano girls closer to home who were, as in the case of MGH, or became so, active members of the church with all the resultant blessings that come from full activity. Prayers, that their daughters would have temple marriages, were answered for my parents—just not in the way they expected—but then life is often like that isn’t it.

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