56 YEARS AGO - A LIFETIME AGO

56 years ago on a cold winter's day Steve and I  were married in the Salt Lake Temple of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Although we were young and naive, Steve was 21 and I was 19,  we were full of faith in the Lord and love for each other. It was our desire to raise up a family to the Lord and to live so that our sealing in the temple would allow our family to be together forever.

We had no idea what the future would bring but felt confident that together we could make it. Our years were filled with many miracles but also many hard times. We were blessed with 10 beautiful, healthy children who have grown up to be amazing humans and who seem to have mostly forgiven us for all of our parenting mistakes. It is a joy when I am able to be with them and their families. I know that Steve would have enjoyed this time of continued association with our families. But it was not to be. The Lord had other plans for him.

It has now been 1 year and 7 months since Steve died and I miss him. This time of being alone, and especially as I have been recovering from this back surgery, has provided ample opportunity  to reflect and remember. I have been reading old journals from the 1980's. Steve was a great journal keeper and wrote almost every single day. His entries help me remember so much. We had so many adventures together. We lived in Utah, Illinois, Colorado, Arizona, Texas, Washington, before finally settling back in Utah. When Steve retired his co-workers asked if we would now travel and he said "likely not" and yet we did travel. We visited Hawaii, Australia, Denmark, Canada, Germany, Wales, Ireland, Scotland, England and many states in the US.

Steve was truly the 'wind beneath my wings' and my 'safe harbor'. He supported me and encouraged me as I ventured out of my comfort zone. He loved me unconditionally. His healing hugs often saved my sanity. I am  grateful for the 54 years, 4 months and 19 days we had together. Before he died I told him that he "was the best thing that every happened to me" and I meant it.

Now I rely on strengthening memories to sustain me as I move out of my comfort zone. Ironically one of the things that has been hard for me is driving. It is so weird because I was the primary driver for many years after Steve had his accident in 1998. I drove thousands of miles all over the US and Europe, plus on the "other side of the road" in Australia and the UK. But getting behind the wheel after he died was hard. It is becoming more natural now but I have yet to drive over 200 miles. I hope that will change as I would like to drive to see our granddaughter's family in Wyoming and to see our children in Denver.

So, I press forward, still trying to figure out just who I am now. Thankfully I have my family, my friends, a comfortable home in which to live, a good car and the means to do some traveling. I appreciate all Steve did to provide for me. On this anniversary I will begin a new journey by taking  a cruise with our oldest daughter. It seems that going during this anniversary time would be a comforting and diverting  experience. Steve had absolutely no desire to ever go on a cruise - so this is brand new experience for me.

I am grateful for our marriage in the temple those 56 years ago and for my testimony of the Gospel of Jesus Christ that provides the way for families to be together forever. Someday I will be with Steve again and feel his healing hugs.

            Oh how young we were! and this was in 1972  after 5 years of marriage and 3 children.

                                       On a trip to Ruegen, Germany in 2014

The day we moved into our single level  home in Syracuse, 13 June 2020 - one year to the day before Steve left us.

A LEGACY OF MUSIC

It's interesting how much time is spent just thinking while I am in recovery from this back surgery. After reading many unimportant books and watching lots of unimportant TV I also occasionally will just sit and ponder. I was listening to some Mozart the other day and remembering many hours of hearing my daughter practice her flute. I miss that.

I also miss the busyness of early morning practicing. There was a time when every morning would be filled with strains of piano, violin, flute, drum pad, trumpet and later saxophone and clarinet and more flute and more trumpet and more piano and guitar. Music filled our home for countless hours for many years. I loved it and I miss it.

My hope was that each of our 10 children would learn to play the piano well enough to be serviceable  and able to play hymns at church if needed.  We also wanted our children to have the opportunity of enjoying music. They almost all went through the school band or orchestra programs and we attended lots of concerts. Marching band was also a big deal when our children went to Mountain Crest High School in Hyrum. Utah. There was even Mariachi Band when we lived in Los Fresnos, Texas.

Moving from Utah to Texas changed the dynamics of music in our home. Piano lessons were so  much more expensive  and bartering for lessons became a thing of the past. Sadly our younger children were not able to take piano lessons and my efforts to teach them usually resulted in tears. But somehow through band they learned to love music and even played a little piano.

Our old upright piano, a gift from my mother, served us well for many years. I enjoyed hearing our children practice and I also enjoyed playing duets for flute, trumpet and violin with some of our children. We also sang around the piano. Of course as the children grew up and moved away the piano was often quiet.  Then when we prepared to serve our mission in Australia and needed to store our furniture we found a new home for the piano where other children could learn to play and enjoy it.

Reflecting on my own musical journey brings many, many memories.  I became the recipient of my mother's wish to play the piano. She never had that opportunity but wanted her children to have that privilege. As immigrants trying to find our way in the world, money was not plentiful. But my father was truly amazing! Going along with my mother's dream for us to play the piano, he used his ingenuity to provide a way. 

One day he procured an old ornate pump organ from an elderly woman who had no further use for it. He stripped out the keyboard and the pump mechanism and got rid of the wooden cover. I wish someone had had the foresight to take  photos of the process. But my mind remembers.  He built a plain wooden box with a place for the key board. Inside the box he arranged the bellows and all that was needed to allow the keys to be played. He found a small vacuum which he attached to the bellows. When we wanted to play the "piano" we had only to plug in the vacuum cord and the keys became alive. So, at the ripe old age of 9, I had my first "piano" and lessons to learn to play.

When I was 12 years old our family  actually got our first real piano. It was beautiful and a wonderful surprise when we moved to our new home. Then I could learn to play staccato notes and learn the touch of actual piano keys as opposed to the soft touch of the organ. I took lessons a few more years but never became really proficient. My father often requested that I play La Paloma which was a favorite of his. My sister and brother far surpassed my ability although I was always pretty good at sight reading. I have always loved music. It was a gift my parents gave me in a rather unorthodox manner.

Not all of our children have continued to use their musical talents but all have an enjoyment of music. One of our sons is a composer and a music engineer in his home studio. Several of our children and grandchildren are proficient in various aspects of music, the guitar, voice and various instruments. There is a continuous thread of the musical enjoyment running through our family. My children saw to it that I have a nice electric piano in my home which I do play from time to time; and the grandchildren take full advantage when they visit. It makes me happy.

And now when I want to listen to music I just have to say " Alexa, play Mozart" or whatever I am in the mood to hear and it plays throughout my home for my enjoyment. Grateful thanks to my mother and my innovative father for my  musical journey and the legacy they left their posterity.

A beautiful sky in Newfoundland in lieu of piano photos.

I USED TO BE A GOOD COOK!!!

Food and I have a strange relationship. Ofttimes I wish someone would just bring me my meals all prepared and ready to eat. Sometimes I don't even like food and often I end up eating things I shouldn't since I have type 2 diabetes.

Today one of my daughters called to get the doughnut recipe I had used many years ago. We used to have doughnut Fridays with videos on the rented VHS machine we got at the local service station. I remember the counter covered with waiting dough which was cut into doughnut shapes and then deep fried. But I have not made doughnuts for at least 3 decades now.

Years later we had pizza and root beer float video nights. Homemade pizza was a regular occurrence at our house. Every one could add their own toppings. But now it has been some time since I have made a homemade pizza.

When all 10 children were still home I became a master at stretching our budget. I could make one chicken serve 12 people. I created many casseroles usually based on mushroom soup and/or canned tomatoes. [I would bottle 10 bushels of tomatoes and they would be bottled the way I like them in quarters with no skins.] Our garden yielded bushes of green beans and I also canned them. Every summer/fall we canned what even we could find -beans, tomatoes  peaches, pears, applesauce, cherries, etc usually about 500 quarts. And we froze corn, broccoli, spinach etc.  We always ate our breakfasts and dinner together. One of my sons said I was "a good cooker". I loved to make soups whether from soup bones of turkey carcasses. I made homemade noodles which were so good. My mother could never figure out how I could pull together ingredients to provide  a meal. But I did.

Our children grew up on homemade bread. My first effort at bread baking was actually funny. The outside looked so beautiful but when I tried to slice the bread I discovered the inside to be totally doughy. Over the years I got better at handling and kneading the bread dough. I had often made good sweet roll variations when I was in high school and I finally mastered the art of bread baking. At one point Wednesdays were set aside for baking and I would produce 20 loaves of bread, various batches of cookies and desserts much of which went into the freezer. Each of the children learned how to bake bread on their own. One son actually baked his own bread and sold sandwiches at high school to earn his own income.

Our family dynamics gradually changed with university and marriage. At one point my fridge was so full of leftovers by Fridays that Friday became leftover day. About that time I discovered that previously our boys had enjoyed a 4th meal past midnight sneaking downstairs and helping themselves so there were no leftovers. I had to adjust how much food I prepared.

Sooner than I would have thought Steve and I were back to only 2 of us for our meals. It wasn't as much fun to cook for only 2 and my recipes served so many more. We found that Sam's and Costco had lots of options that did not require much cooking. I pretty much stopped baking bread or even many cookies. I learned I had diabetes so it was not a good idea to have lots of cookies in the house  because I would eat them.

I would have been happy to get by with a peanut butter sandwich but Steve still wanted a real meal so I tried.

After Steve retired we served out mission in Sydney Australia and we often were too busy for me to really cook. We got used to quick food and fast food. The only thing I really prepared were Morning Glory Muffins which I often prepared for the missionaries for meetings we had. Then on our 8 1/2 month family history trip to Wales and Europe there were few opportunities to cook and we learned to love  the soups and wonderful soda bread.

We arrived home and began  to settle into our new life when Steve had his first stroke. That changed everything because I could no longer cook for him when he was in the hospital and I just grabbed what ever was available. A short few weeks in our daughter's home when she tried to tempt him with various dishes. Then we were in our new one level home in Syracuse. But Steve pretty much liked mac and cheese, and other easy dishes. I ate whatever. As Steve declined food became less and less important. And then he died. And I didn't really care what I ate.

There are things that sound good but when I actually cook I don't much care for what I make. It is strange because  food prep used to be such a huge factor in my life. Now it is a nuisance.

Our children have been wonderful in that they have scheduled visits with me on Sundays and they bring dinner, often leaving me an extra meal of leftovers. 

I look at my old recipe box which is falling apart. It is stuffed  with so many recipes that used to be a part of  my life and there are many good memories there. I enjoy when some of my children ask for recipes they remember. But I think my cooking days are gone. Gone are the days when I cooked a huge Mexican food meal over Christmas, when I made dozens of pizzas for my children friends, when I made lots of good winter soups, when I had a lot of people over for Sunday dinners, when I set a pretty table and filled it with good food.  I am not sure I am even a 'good cooker' anymore.

Now that I am alone I guess it is time to find a new way to cook and prepare food and set my table. Occasionally I see a recipe or think of a certain food and feel a pull to cook again. But it seems there are other interests and time consumers that pull me away; the creative writing  class, my back surgery,  my travel plans, and my own laziness.

Food is definitely interesting. I think I have "love-hate" relationship with it.