:Family Matters

February 22, 2009

I have found it fascinating to revisit the past through Mother’s eyes. I have felt a strong need to record her thoughts and send them to family members. This excerpt from her ‘little black book’ is the outline of a talk she gave entitled “My Testimony”

Gospel is true
a. true church
b. knowledge comes from within
c. knew I was a true convert when I came to this conclusion
–every member should be a convert
–every member should have a testimony
–most do
–makes the church strong

Not easy to gain a testimony
a. first acquaintances (family)
–no desire
—-personal notions of Christianity
—-quarrels with husband over church
—-tea
—-searched for answers in wrong places
(anti Mormon literature)
—-lives of some neighbors

Class Bee Hive
a. wise Bishop
b. work interesting
c. program sound for youth

Left Snowflake
a. seed planted
–overlook faults
b. constant encouragement from Ford
c. church shouldn’t be judged by mistakes of members
—Truth
—Organized for perfecting members
d. attended church at Gilbert for test
e. began to have desire for life known at Snowflake with L.D.S people

Study
a. no missionaries
b. asked a friend for books
—Discourses of Brigham Young
—Joseph Smith American Prophet
c.Yuma experience
—further study
—participation

Prayer
a. God answers prayers
—have feeling within
—-If sincere
—-earnest
—-faith develops

Practice
a. grateful for opportunities
—-Primary
—-Mutual
—-Relief Society
—-Family (Genealogy, Temple)
b. power of Priesthood
–Patriarchal Blessings

Testimony

I learned several things from this outline that I hadn’t known before. One was that Mother was called to teach the Bee Hive class in Mutual (today we call it Young Women’s) even though she wasn’t a member of the church although she was a devout follower of Christ holding a membership in one of the Protestant Churches at that time. I can’t remember just which one now . (Was it Disciples of Christ ?) What better way to learn Gospel principles than by teaching them. I believe that Dad worked with the Scouts while living in Snowflake. I remember hearing Dad say that he was ready to join the church as soon as he became acquainted with its principles but did not because Mother found the idea so upsetting which says a lot about his commitment to her. I can remember hearing Mother say that one of the hardest things she had to accept was that the LDS church was the only ‘true’ church. For some reason this idea really irritated her but then it also irritates every other Christian church as well so it is understandable that she might balk at this concept.

I hadn’t realized that they went to church while living in Gilbert. I thought that they became reconnected with the LDS people when they moved to Yuma. As I remember Mother telling it she said that she was doing some shopping on the day they moved there and ran into some friends from Snowflake in the grocery store who invited her to attend church with them which she did. Mother and Dad were baptized soon after.

Gaining a testimony did not come easy to Mother but once she did she never looked back. She was called to many positions of responsibility which she carried out with her whole heart, mind and soul. I was privileged to serve with her as one of her counselors in Relief Society when MGH and I lived in Keosauqua early in our marriage. It was under her tutelage that I learned what was expected when called to a leadership position and Mother, being Mother, did not mince any words in teaching me.

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February 15, 2009

Just a few more things from Mother’s little black book and then I will go on to other topics but for now I feel it important to let her voice speak to us. This time I am posting a talk she gave on The Joy of Friendship (no date or place given although I am guessing it was in the early 1950’s). This is not in finished form but more like notes she wrote that she wished to expound on. I hope you can follow it.

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Jesus said, “The first of all the commandments is, ‘Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart and with all thy soul and with all thy mind and with all thy strength’.” This is the first commandment. The second is this, ‘Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thy self’.

Second closely related to friendship. It is to love others—which we do by first becoming their friend. How important is friendship? Montaigne has said, “Friendship is the highest degree of perfection in society?”

Because I felt the friendship of the L.D.S. People in Snowflake I became interested in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. This friendship influenced or created a desire to want to become a member.

At a recent Conference David O. McKay in reporting highlights of his trip to Europe said that all peoples seemed more tolerant of the church than 50 years ago. I think the peoples of the world are accepting the church because the missionaries are making friends. The Latter Day Saint people are making friends.

They are letting their light shine and, others seeing their good works are interested. If not interested are tolerant. It is necessary to make friends in order to make converts.

Two summers ago my husband visited Vernon Flake District President of the Nauvoo area where the saints are few and scattered. I realized the importance of friendship when he said, “We haven’t made many converts yet but we have made lots of friends”.

It is my prayer that we may realize the importance of our friends to us and that we might feel the Joy of Friendship.

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In betwixt the poems and outlines for talks are a couple of recipes. I am guessing that these came to be included in her little black book because as she was visiting somewhere and tasted something that caught her fancy she obtained the recipe using the closest piece of paper that she had available to write it down. To be honest I don’t remember her using these but then how often have you seen a recipe that looked good and clipped it from a magazine or newspaper for future reference and then completely forgotten about it? I know I do that consistently, in fact, I have whole cookbooks that are full of yummy recipes, which is why, I suppose, I bought them in the first place but are still as pristine as the wind driven snow because I basically prepare the same meals week after week. ( This is one of the reasons why I love potlucks.) Here, then, is one of them:

5 MINUTE FUDGE IN PRESSURE COOKER

1 can Eagle brand milk
1 ½ pkg chocolate chips
Put into bowl,
Cover with tin foil then place in pressure cooker.
Bring up steam 15 pounds pressure for 5 minutes
Take out of pressure cooker
Salt
Add ½ C nuts
Drop on foil or wax paper

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I will admit that I don’t quite understand how to do this, at least from the instructions given here so I am guessing that she knew/understood more than she wrote down. At any rate making fudge was a regular occurrence when I was at home as we quite often enjoyed this treat along with grilled cheese sandwiches on a Sunday evening. Mother’s policy for feeding us on Sunday was that we were on our own after the big dinner she prepared for the family when we go home from church. In other words it was her evening off and we could fend for ourselves. This is a concept I heartily approve and have practiced in my own family.

To this day I love grilled cheese sandwiches although I just use a frying pan to prepare them now. At home we had a small grill we used. It had a lid that allowed the sandwich to cook on both sides at once which made the best sandwiches you can ever imagine. (The thought of them is making my mouth water as I sit here typing this.) Another favorite of ours was fudge which we enjoyed often because it was such a favorite of mother’s. We would make it in the 5 quart aluminum pressure cooker pan because a heavy pan helps keep the mixture from scorching, that and constant stirring over low heat. The hardest part was determining just when the proper point was reached in the cooking process that would allow the fudge to set up properly (harden). We got it right most of the time but every so often, no matter how hard or long we beat the mixture after removing it from the heat it just remained glossy as it stubbornly resisted to our efforts get it to lose its gloss and thicken to the point where it could be placed in a pan to set up. On these occasions, Barbara, ever the practical one of the sisters would just shrug and reach for a spoon.

Those far away days are fun to remember but I have to be careful about how much I do as now even the thought of the calorie rich foods from those bygone days is enough to add an extra pound. I marvel now at how much we were able to eat then and still stay as thin as we did. I had a 21 inch waist and Barbara’s was even smaller. As for my current measurement, I absolutely refuse to go there as do most of my waistbands. Life is not fair. Someone once said that by the time he got so he could afford steak he’d lost his teeth. Ah well, it’s good we have our memories isn’t it!

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February 8, 2009

One of the saddest things about the time we live in is the almost complete lack of involvement of our nation in the wars we have fought since World War II. We have sent our troops off to fight for us with many of them killed or wounded while we at home go about our lives as usual. This wasn’t the case for my parent’s generation. Perhaps this was because so many men were drafted that almost every family had a loved one involved in the war one way or another. Dad, who like most men of his era, was willing to serve, was given a 4-F rating because of his blind eye. I think he probably consoled himself by becoming heavily involved in agriculture first as a vocational education teacher and then in agri-business both of which were vital in providing food for the military as well as those at home.

I was a baby during the war years but I do remember being at the Burris ranch as a small girl and listening to the women try to figure out how to get enough sugar, which was rationed, to bake a cake. They managed to get this coveted ingredient by Mother contributing one of her sugar coupons which allowed them to make the necessary purchase. Gas was rationed as were tires as both were needed for the military. A new car was not to be thought of as all the auto manufactures were turning out trucks and tanks. The speed limit was set at 35 mph in order to conserve fuel and these were but a few of the many sacrifices asked of the nation as a whole to support the war effort with the greatest being her sons and daughters.

Mother’s collection of poems reflects her feelings about the young men who were called up to fight. Here are a few of them:

PRAYER FOR THE WAR—SCARRED

G___ R_____

Dear Lord, extend your hand and make them whole,
These who must bear the maims and scars of war!
They have paid to Mars, extortionate toll,
And now they pause in throngs about the door
That leads to you, the God of love and peace
To plead, not for themselves, for other men
Who battle on and must till strife shall cease,
They have returned to gather up again
Strands left of life to weave a pattern new,
Yet one as old as time, Each tangled thread
Help them to smooth and ply, for only You,
Who heal the sick and raised the dead
Can raise them from their agony of soul.
Touch them, dear Lord, touch them and make them whole.

LETTER TO MY SON

Dear Son, South Pacific

“You’re walking now,” Mother writes to me. You’re as proud and tickled as you can be. Sturdy legs trudging from morning till night, checking to see that things are done right. In each chubby hand you hold a toy and squeal as you walk, to express your joy; while your eyes glow with a starlight gleam That son of mine I’ve never seen.)
I wasn’t there the day you were born early one frosty winter morn. I missed your first tooth and your first real smile (though in spirit I’ve been with you all the while). Your snapshots are tacked on the barracks wall. I know what you weigh and just how tall you stand—but to hold you—you know what I mean, (that son of mine I have never seen.)
We have another life to look forward to, after we see this conflict through. If I am lucky enough to be homeward bound there is one little guy I want around; to buy you a pup, a train, a bike, to teach you to fish and enjoy a good hike. I will give you a life that is free and clean (That son of mine that I have never seen.)
With all my love,
Dad

Pfc. D_______ C. S_______

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WHERE BRAVE MEN KNEEL

There are no atheists where brave men kneel
In foxholes or behind low dunes of sand,
No anti-Christs, where lonely hunters steal
Through fetid jungles, pointed knife in hand.
When strong men find their lives are caught between
Two enemies, the sea and men at war,
They reach for greater strength on which to lean
And feel a Presence never felt before.
And they who cleave the dark on lifted wing,
Whose homing hour can never be foreknown,
Can hear a Voice above the thundering,
And through their loneliness are not alone.
So near are they to God, they surmount death,
Aware of life, not limited by breath.

E__ W. W_________

JERRY

Sure, we know Jerry, the neighborhood tease
(Aunt Nell remembers who picked her sweet peas
And remembering now wipes a tear from her eye
For Jerry no longer goes whistling by).
Away down in Texas in a big army camp
He’s being taught discipline, the mischievous
scamp—-Jerry.
Tall and good-natured; ever ready to dare,
Quick in his anger when a cause is unfair,
Abhorring deceit, trickery, lies
With quiet scorn for all that true soldiers despise,
Willing to give his life’s blood if he must
In the fight for the right—for a cause that
is just—Jerry
With faith in his Maker and a song on his lips,
A lift to his shoulders and a swing to his hips.
There isn’t a neighbor but would think it a treat
To see Jerry Wilkins stride down the street.
Just our neighborhood kid, but on his last leave
Jerry the tease hod stripes on his sleeve—-
Jerry
His letters how brief, with message so short,
His mother’s engraved each one on her heart
“Hope I’m seeing you soon.” How she longs for just that,
To hear him teasingly call her, “Old Mrs Fat.”
He’s learning to fight the Focke-Wolfe and Zero,
For Jerry the tease is our neighborhood hero
—-our Jerry
N___ C__

DEPOT

In shapeless, dark felt hat
And faded coat—when did
One wear a style like that?
She stood, nonentity,
Beneath, the station clock
And twisted nervously
Bare, knobby hands, the strain
Of waiting on her face—
Burned red with sun.
The train was coming in.
I saw the tall young sergeant
Run into her arms.
In awe I watched a miracle—
A ‘mom’ grow beautiful.

O__ L__P_________

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February 1, 2009

One of the themes in Mother’s collection of poems captures her love of children. I was delighted by some and amused by others. I hope you will be too. This first poem, especially in the first verses captures the belief, currently held in the 1940’s, that a child’s life needed to be carefully regulated following the advice and knowledge that was being collected at the nation’s college’s and universities at the time. I know mother tried hard to follow this advice in raising her children. I don’t believe her daughters were ever as naughty as the little boy described here but I can think of a couple of her great-grandson’s who are just as described by this frustrated mother.

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ODE TO CHILD PSYCHOLOGY

I filled my head with a store of great knowledge
From doctors, pamphlets hospitals and then college.
I studied eugenics, genetics, and zoo,
I’ve reaped information wherever I go.
I delved through psychology and child care, vitamins, diet, clothing and hair.
Punishment, teething and education, Corrective guidance and sanitation.

My schedule told me just what to do,
I fed him at six, at ten and at two.
A bath at nine-forty then sleep ’till eleven
And his cod liver oil came strictly at seven.
He was in bed by six—although he might shout,
The door was closed tight and the lights were turned out.
With such competent training, I can’t comprehend
Why it’s all forgotten before he turns ten.

He’s the subject, the object and source of my wrath.
It’s a full day’s job to give him a bath.
He crawls through the windows and slides down the stairs.
His falsetto soprano rends the air.
He bangs the door and swings on the gate,
He kicks up the flowers and comes to meals late,
He teases, he kisses, he stumbles, he shouts,
He questions, he answers, he argues, he doubts.
I’ve finally concluded that it’s useless complaining,
For boys will be boys in spite of their training.
M______ R. S____

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I was quite touched by this next one as I feel it catches the love/hopes/dreams that Mother had for her daughters. As near as I can tell most of these were collected soon after she joined the church which would put me at three years old and Barbara two with Darlene probably on the way.

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TO A LITTLE GIRL

Joy fills my heart, sweet, when I see
The precious promises in thee.
Thou art to me the soft perfume
That sleeps within a summer’s bloom.

Thou art a song as masters sing
Of love and youth and stars and spring;
Thou art the bubbling of a fount,
The cap of snow upon the mount.

Thou art the gentleness of rain;
Thou art the sweetness after pain;
O thou’rt laughter after sorrow,
Promise of the new tomorrow.

Thou art dawning after dark,
And the carol which a lark
Showers down like unto leaven,
On its way to God and heaven.
A. S____
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I saw in this poem a description of Mother as a girl in her beloved Nebraska. I’m betting she saw this too and that is why it caught her eye.

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PORTRAIT OF A YOUNG GIRL

I wish I might have seen her then,
This pensive country maiden,
When she was scarcely four-and-ten,
With great brown eyes dream-laden;
With slim brown fingers curled around
Gold lilies no less freckled,
Or parting rushes where they found
Marsh-birds eggs, plain or speckled!
When she caressed the meadow lamb
I wish I might have known her!
But most of all how glad I am
You never have outgrown her!
I____ S______

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In Mother’s day folks believed that ’sparing the rod’ would ’spoil the child’. Most of us grew up knowing the bite of a switch or the sting of a hair brush, (Mother’s favorite), on our little bare legs or behinds, when we had been naughty. Time-outs were still many years in the future but strange to say we survived in spite of the barbarity of it all with, I might add, a pretty healthy understanding of the relationship between crime and punishment paid for fair and squarely.

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REBEL

Crayon hid behind her back,
Scarcely three feet tall—
Caught in the act of drawing
On my freshly painted wall;
Brown eyes glaring up at me,
Downy eyebrows bristle
Young defiance, as she stands
Like a prickly thistle;
Feet as firm as tiny rocks;
Bravery outranking any soldier,
She awaits
The expected spanking!
E___ B. W_____

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We always had responsibilities at home. One of mine was to help Mother by watching the younger children This was especially so when Kathy was born as Mother was recovering from her bout with tuberculosis. I was nine years old when Kathy arrived on the scene and therefore big enough to do most things for her that needed doing including changing diapers which at that time meant rinsing the soiled ones out in the toilet which we did in the days before disposable diapers. While not the most pleasant of tasks it was doable and with running water and soap available at the sink I learned that most things wash off if scrubbed hard enough. I also spent many hours keeping her happy while Mother rested. That changed once we moved to the farm in 1953 when Mother resumed many of her customary household duties. For a little while I resented the fact that I was no longer #1 in my little sisters life but I got over that although I must admit to being secretly pleased when mother would call to me while Kathy was throwing one of her tantrums, “Joanne, come see if you can do something with her”.

We were to keep our beds made and see that the sheets came off on Saturday so they could be washed. I don’t remember being neglectful of this chore but there must have been a failure on our part somewhere along the line because soon after we moved to the farm Mother told Barbara and I that she would no longer remind us to take care of our beds. From that moment on we were in charge come what may and if we chose to lay in unmade beds with dirty sheets that was to be our problem not hers as she was growing tired of reminding us. I might add here that I always admired how neat Mother kept her bed even though I could never quite figure out how she managed to give her bed a pillow ‘bosom.

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THE HELPER

When Mama’s busy, every day,
I help—and make believe it’s play.
I’ve learned at last to dress myself;
I put my books up on their shelf;
I pick my toys up from the floor
And always close the cupboard door.
Although this work is lots of fun I’m always glad when it is done.
A____ C. F______

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Now as I watch my grandchildren pick up their toys while singing “Clean up, clean up everybody clean up”, I see how much things stay the same even if the methods of teaching are different.

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January 25, 2009

Cousin Mary wrote the following in response to last weeks letter:   “What a beautiful letter you have written and the beautiful memories of your Mother.  It makes me think of the legacy her Mother handed down to her as Aunt Sis also was a very talented lady.  The beautiful quilts she made and the sewing she accomplished, gardening, handwork all was handed down to your Mother.  I think of all the obstacles that they faced as children of depression times and all was a learning process of making due with what one had at hand.” 

Mary is two years older than I am which means we have shared almost 70 years together on this planet. While few of those years have been in the same area they do embrace similar family values/experiences/relatives, stories. Her father, Winn Burris is a brother of my grandmother Ara May Burris Waddington.) She is very generous in sharing her memories with others and is a much valued member of our extended family. She pointed out that mother was following in her mother’s footsteps and so it has been since the beginning–when you see the daughter you have seen the mother.

There is a much beloved song in the Primary Song Book that goes like this:

“I often go walking in meadows of clover, and I gather armfuls of blossoms of blue.
I gather the blossoms the whole meadow over; Dear mother, all flowers remind me of you.
O mother, I give you my love with each flower To give forth sweet fragrance a whole life time through;
For if I love blossoms and meadows and walking, I learned how to love them, dear mother, from you. P. L____h

In mother’s little black book are many poems about this beautiful world we live in carefully clipped from the pages of the Relief Society Magazine which was the magazine for the women of the church until the late 1960’s. (Many women, mother among them, deeply regretted its demise.) Here then is a sampling that I believe shows her love and enjoyment of the natural world:

THESE ARE THE THINGS OF DEAREST WORTH

These are the things I hold of dearest worth;
An evening sky of gold,
And rose, and blue,
The perfume of wooded hills,
Bird songs murmuring rills,
Green lace upon each April twig,
And after showers, The scent of good black earth,
Mingling with flowers,
And best of all as each day ends—-
Laughter and friends.

R. W___h
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FEBRUARY

Ghostlike February, in your tattered gown,
Hovering sad and lonely,
Trailing up and down.
I hear you at dawning,
Moaning sad and low,
Wandering like a lost soul,
Knows not where to go.
You drift in the hollow
‘Neath the moonlit hill,
You shriek around the corner,
Weep upon my sill.
You will follow winter
When the sun rides high,
And pussy willow unfold
To a clear blue sky.

L. E. McC___

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MEADOW LARK

Returning friend of early spring,
I hear Your call from low, green marsh and leafing tree,
A lilting song of joyous melody
Divinely sweet to each attentive ear.
And then my heart grows light,
I seem to know that His kind care, perhaps, had thought of me,
And of my need of just such ecstasy
When clouds obscured the way that I should go.
May I, like you, blithe messenger, renew In some despairing life the will to see
That lowly things send forth incessantly
A song of life that thrills one through.
Dear meadowlark, your floating notes of bliss
Are one rare treat I would not care to miss.

G. M. C_______

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NEXT SPRING

There’s little to see through the misty pane,
And nothing to hear but the winter rain—
Nothing at all, unless you share
The secret of gardens brown and bare,
The tremor of seed leaves thrust apart,
The quickening beat of a hidden heart.
O stark black tree with your groping root,
Secretly dreaming of flowers and fruit,
And a nest for birds that are far a-wing—
My baby too will be born in spring!
Even now on his path there throng
Your unseen blossoms and unborn song.
The surge of spring and the child to be
Ride the selfsame tide of eternity,
Unknown beauty and power hurled
Towards the misty shores of this little world.
I, and the tree, and the quiet earth
Are bringing the planning of God to birth.

L. M. S______

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MOTHER NATURE’S WASHING

Mother Nature is so ambitious,
This fact you know is right,
She often hangs her washing out,
In the middle of the night.
She always hangs her snow-white sheets,
On housetops, barn and lawn,
And sprinkles them with glistening pearls,
To greet you with the dawn.
She starches trees so stiff with frost, Like doilies of still lace;
Designed so airy, so dainty and fine,
This silent world to grace.

G. J. W_______

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GIVE THANKS FOR ROOTS

Give thanks for quiet roots.
Unkissed by sun,
Deep in the earth, unseen,
Their work is done.
Spraying the breath of spring
With almond scent,
Sweetening crimson fruits
When bloom is spent.
Cooling the summer noon
With fragrant shade
Over a flowered rug
By grasses laid.
Making the autumn air
Mellow as musk
While curls of smoke unfold bluing the dusk,
Keeping the patterns true, Leaves, flowers fruits—-
Such is a mother’s work. Mothers are roots.

E. W. W_________

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Even though most of you have never met her, at least in this life—you know her through her daughters for they too love flowers and crafts and helping others and delicious meals and sharing from their abundance with those who have less. You see her in Barbara with her patient research of records for names as she fills in our family tree, her artists eye and hand and ingenious method of assembly line production of her watercolors although the assembly line thing is more like Dad. Darlene the story teller who shares her time and talents with the sick—how often has she sung a hymn of peace to those in need of comfort, probably too many to count. Kathy with her ability to organize/teach/garden/create beautiful arts and crafts. (Please be assured that this is just a partial listing with brevity made necessary by lack of space as I do, believe it or not have a limit as to how long I will go on.) As I said at the beginning ”. . . .for if we love blossoms and meadows and walking, we learned how to love them, dear mother, from you.”

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