Ghosts of Christmas past and other Ghostly tales

Here it is, the day after Christmas (Boxing Day) and I have ghosts on the brain--

Kelli told a ghost story on her blog, and said of it "I know what I saw." And I believe her. Now let me tell you what I saw once upon a Christmas past...I was about six years old, and the youngest child in the family. The older ones had long since convinced me that if I stood on the bed and looked out the north window, towards the North Pole, I could "wish to Santa" and he would hear me, and then on Christmas morning bring me whatever I wished for (if I was a good girl). So I had been doing that every year for as long as I could remember.

I loved to sing and dance, and during December, I would sing and dance along to Christmas records. One of my parents old LPs had my favorite secular Christmas song on it, "Santa Claus is flying through the sky"--
When the wintery wind is blowing
And the Christmas trees are glowing
Santa Claus is flying through the sky!
When you hear the carols singing
And the reindeer jingalinging,
You can almost see him passing by!
and so on...

Well, one night, when I was standing on the bed wishing with all the energy of my heart to Santa, as my siblings had taught me to do...I looked and I SAW Santa Claus flying through the sky! He was passing by, just like the song said, in his sleigh, and a bunch of reindeer were pulling it, just like that! They were far away, and looked kind of blue-ish against the night sky! I was astounded and just gazed open-mouthed in awe and amazement.

After that, I was a die-hard Santa believer. I KNEW he was real because I SAW him. I SAW him flying through the sky! I defended him against all nay-sayers at home, at school, at church, on the bus--I was indefatigable in my defense of him because I KNEW he was real.

And then came Grade Six. And the line in our language arts text book, in a unit on debate, that said, "Should you or should you not tell your younger brothers and sisters that Santa Claus is a hoax?" And all the other kids were treating that like a real debate question and not reacting by going "What!!! A hoax!!!" like I was doing inside...and I was disillusioned just like that, all the air out of my balloon at once.

Yet I still know what I saw. That image from that night, staring out of the north window of my bedroom on a farm in Alberta, is with me to this day. It was a very vivid image that I have not forgotten. But things that are imaginery can be just as real as things that are, for lack of a better word, real.

On to other ghostly tales...I thought I would share some of the tales about our Haunted MAD Library. Our library is called the Music and Dance Library, and we (the employees) lovingly call it the MAD for short.

When I first started working in the MAD, the building was having a lot of heating and cooling issues, and besides uncomfortable variations in temperature, the system made a lot of noises, which I guess could sound eerie, especially at night and if you were in an eerie kind of mood.

And then there was the chair. In the harp room, one day we found a chair that didn't really "go" with any of the chairs in the building. It had its own type of upholstery, and didn't come from any of our department's rooms. So we moved it into the hall...the next morning, it was back in the harp room...we moved it...it was back...etc. Until we gave up and let it stay in the harp room.

But as far as anyone knew--no ghosts were involved. But Jared, who was a fun guy to have around (since graduated, and now an optometrist) decided that it would be fun to write about the hot/cold, the noises, and the chair on a website about haunted places in Utah. And so he did.
I think this is the site: http://theshadowlands.net/places/utah.htm

So, which came first, the chicken or the egg? And was our MAD Library really haunted, or did Jared's joke start something?

Because now we have a whole bunch of stories, far beyond what is recorded on the website. Every Halloween, some newspaper or radio station will want to come and ask questions about our hauntings. And one year, I even had to make up song lyrics and do a powerpoint for us to sing at "town meeting" which is what we call our greater HBLL staff meeting. I'll have to look for that powerpoint at work, and if I didn't delete it, I'll add it. The song was to the tune of "There's something howling in the old oak tree..."

"There's something spooky in the music library"...all the way to "I'm not scared, but I think I'll hide." I'll find it and add it later...

But now for the stories...

Mike closed up at 10 PM. He went downstairs to use a printer, but they were out of order, so he decided to let himself back in to work and use our printer. He unlocked the door and went inside, but didn't turn the lights on because he didn't want patrons to think we were open. As he was getting his document ready to print, he glanced across the room, and saw through the glass of the door into the Reading Room a woman. He thought that was odd--he was sure he and his coworker had checked and that all people were out before he locked up. He supposed they had missed someone, so he got the key for that room, walked over and unlocked the door, saw the woman further on in the room closer to the outside windows, called out to her "We're closed," but no one was there anymore.

Link to pictures of the reading room: http://music.lib.byu.edu/FloorPlansFacilities/refroom.html

Jessi was working at night, and when it was time to close, she went to check the rooms down the hall, like the Harp room and the PIVA room. She keyed in the code for the PIVA room, and saw a woman standing in the dark at the back of the room. She felt cold chills, and quickly closed the door and walked back to where her coworker was, saying, "I'm not checking that room alone!"Brandon was working in the PIVA room. He was sitting at the computer near the window, entering data, when he looked up and noticed one of the red-bound scores slide its way off the shelf and fall to the floor. And then another one. "That's weird," he thought. So he walked over and picked them up. He went and sat back down and started working...and they did it again.

Nicki was really tired. She wanted to take a nap, but she didn't have time to go home. She decided that the Music Recordings Archive would be a great place to take a nap, because not very many people go in there. She went in, and settled herself down between the stacks, and was just about to doze off when she heard the door open. She heard footsteps. She thought it was one of her coworkers, so she decided to just pretend to be asleep, so they would go away and leave her alone. She heard the footsteps coming closer, and then stop just at her feet. She expected the person to say "Boo" or something...but nothing... She just lay there with her eyes shut, thinking, "go away." But they didn't go! She was getting annoyed, so snapped open her eyes and her mouth, ready to let fly a comment...but no one was there. Nicki decided to sleep somewhere else...

Link to MRA: http://music.lib.byu.edu/FloorPlansFacilities/mra.html

One day Annie, Tony and I noticed that all the clarinets in the clarinet display case were all wonky. One of the clarinets was even taken apart, in three pieces. But the case was locked and appeared to be exactly in the same place it had been the day before. We got the key and put the instruments back (this takes 2-3 people because the glass lid is extremely heavy) and then we tried ramming into it to see if the disturbance could have happened if the case was bumped into. We had to ram it really hard to get the clarinets to slip out of position, but there was no way we could ram it and get a clarinet to come apart.

And just the other day, one of the other librarians came in to where I was working at the desk and said, "Myrna, have you seen the chair from the harp room?" I said, "Which chair?" He said, "You know, the one with the patterned uphostery." I said, "You mean, the ghost chair?" He said, "Yes." And I just looked at him and said "Hmmm..."

Maybe the chair decided it was time to leave--I can't wait to go back to work and see if it has reappeared or if it is still gone.

What's in a name?

I have had names on my mind a lot. First, there was Abra's blog in which she quoted Malachi's question, "Is Jesus a dhost?" and when I read that, I thought, "Yes, he is!" because in Hindi "dost" means friend, and Jesus is a friend, a very good friend indeed.

We have an advent calendar that was in the Friend in 2002. We have been using it every Christmas for a long time. Every night, you read a scripture about Jesus, in which he is given a name, like "the bread of life" or "Alpha and Omega." The last one is "The Light of the World." Last year, we forgot to take the advent calendar down, so it has been up all year, and when December rolled around, it seemed like we had just quit doing that Advent calendar, so this year we didn't do it. We just left it up, all filled in with all the dates already.For FHE tonight, we talked about all our names, and then talked about the names that Jesus is known by. The kids thought it was interesting, and so I am posting about it.

Bruce is a Scottish surname of Norman origin. It doesn't really have a meaning, but is associated with a place in France, Brix. Robert the Bruce was probably the most important Bruce, known for bringing independence to Scotland. So the name has associaitions with bravery and independence. Bruce has been among the top 1000 names in the English speaking world (for boys) since 1900. It was at its most popular in the decade 1950-1959, which happens to be the decade in which my husband Bruce AND my brother Bruce were both born.Myrna is an Irish gaelic name. They would have spelled it "Miurne." It means "beloved." Who knew? It will be no big surprise to my daughters or nieces that Myrna has not been on the list of top 1000 girl names since 1979. It reached its zenith in popularity in the decade of 1930-1939, which would have been about the time my mom, born in 1928, was thinking about names that she liked and might want to name a daughter someday.
Kelli is also Irish gaelic, "Ceallach," and has meanings to do with war and strife...but!!! Like so many words, it also has the meaning "bright-headed," and I think that is very apt for our Kelli, because she is a very bright girl. This name was on the top 1000 list for both males and females, but only for a short time, relatively speaking, from 1950-2004. It reached its highest popularity in the decade 1970-1979, which was the decade in which Kelli was born.
Abra has a very unique name. It has never been on the top 1000 list. One idea about this name is that it is the female form of Abraham, therefore of Hebrew origin. And there was a girl in King Solomon's court named Abra. However, another possibility for this name is gaelic yet again, formed from two syllables, one meaning "elf" and one meaning "power." So...elf power! Very fitting, I think...Abracadabra! For me, the association is with the John Steinbeck novel "East of Eden," a very powerful book. If your name is Abra and you haven't read it, I suggest you do. You will like Abra very much.David is from the Hebrew and it means "beloved" too! Who knew that I named David after myself, and that we have the same name? Not me, I didn't know; I just found out! The name David has always been popular, ever since David fought Goliath and then later became King of Israel. It has been on the top 1000 list ever since 1900, never lower than position 31, and at its highest was #2, in the decade 1960-1969.Nancy is really a nick-name to names like Annis (Agnes), Anna and Hannah. So its meaning changes depending on which name you look up. I personally like the assocations with Agnes, which derives from the Greek and has meanings like "chaste" and "lamb" which I think suit our Nancy very well. Nancy is another name that has always been on the top 1000 list--surprisingly, even on the BOY list earlier in the twentieth century. But 1940-1949 was its stellar decade (hello, Nancy Drew!).
Patrick derives from the Roman, and means nobleman. And Patrick is a very noble soul, so it suits him. Saint Patrick was so revered that his name was considered too sacred to actually use...until the 17th century, and then people got over that, and Patrick has been among the top 1000 names every year, with its peak being the same as for David, 1960-1969, where it was at #32.
Josie is, like Nancy, a diminutive. It comes from French, the female form of Joseph. Like Joseph, it means "s/he will add." No, this doesn't mean that Josie WILL do her math--it means she will add by her presence; she will add to the conversation; she will add her ideas...and she does add a lot to our family. While some form of Josie/Josephine has been on the top 1000 list for a long time, it was most popular in the decade 1900-1909, which was the decade in which my Great Aunt Josie was born.
Jesus comes from the Aramaic Yeshua or Hebrew Joshua (unless I have those two mixed up) and means many things, including "salvation." His name has also been on the top 1000 names forever, especially in Spain. On the advent chart you can see scripture references that lead to his other names or meanings of his name, some Bible scholars counting up to 700--our chart doesn't go that high, though Patrick said that we could make one, and just use it for two years. That could work for us, since we can't remember to take the advent calendar down, anyway.

I am glad that Jesus is mera dost, my friend, and at this Christmas time, I am happy to remember his birth, his life and his promises to me, and to all of mankind.

Find it at the library!

Check it out here:
http://net.lib.byu.edu/tutorial/librarysearch/

For better or worse--and which is which?

I tried to go to sleep, but sleep is far away. My mind and heart are heavy, and I keep thinking about the accident in Taber, a thousand miles away from me, that happened on my birthday. A millisecond in time that changed so many lives irreversibly...Three boys, all seventeen. And all with different outcomes. One dead. One in a coma. One who walks away with a broken arm. The one who had been driving on an icy road, who experienced the loss of control, the totally unforeseen moment in which everything changes.

No one, not the semi driver who hit them, certainly not any of the boys, saw this coming. One moment, they were driving along, the boys on their way to a Christmas supper, the driver on the job, just trying to get his load delivered. And in a tiny bit of a second...so many, many people impacted.

Our family goes a long way back with the families of each of the boys.

My dad grew up in Dogtown, where his best friends were from the Harris, Francis, Evanson, Valgardson and Haslam families. He wanted to be a pilot, and had his own plane--but due to a tiny medical difficulty, I am not even sure what, his plane sat and became spare parts for tractor repairs, and a wonderful set for the imaginations of his children and nieces and nephews as we played in, on and around it. Sometimes my dad's friends Johnny Evanson, Bill Valgardson or Van Haslam would take him up in their planes, and oh, how he loved to fly with them. Our family was also good friends with the Haynes families. Lee lived a mile away; Dad home-taught Lee's older brother Percy. Percy's son Roy was a frequent visitor, and as farmers, Dad and Roy often helped each other out with the farm work. Roy and my dad often talked about being fathers, and shared with each other their love for their children.

Dad didn't know the West family when he was young; they moved to Taber from Raymond when I was in elementary school. But Dad and Mom and Al and Jackie became friends. The Wests believed in working with their kids, and they often contracted with Dad to hoe our sugar beets as a family.

Grandma was good friends with Minnie Price; her husband Edwin was our Stake Patriarch and gave me and my siblings our patriarchal blessings.

Next generation: Colleen and Bruce were near the ages of Thom Evanson, the son of Johnny, and Jerry Haslam, the son of Van. Arlene went to elementary school with Wendy Price, the granddaughter of our Stake Patriarch. One of Arlene's best friends in our ward was Carol West, Al's daughter.

Carol married Thom; Wendy married Jerry. I went to school with Robert Price, Wendy's brother; and in junior high, got to know Jay Haslam, Jerry's brother. Jay married Shawna Layton, my piano teacher's daughter. And I married one of Shawna's third cousins. Joan West, Carol's sister, was one of my best friends in our ward.

Colleen used to babysit for the Haynes kids. Sometimes I would go with her especially to change the diapers, something that I was very good at and didn't mind doing. Denise was such a cute baby! A pretty strawberry blonde with a quiet, happy personality.

When Josie and I were in Taber in August, we went to Taber Third ward, and Denise was there because her husband, Rod Yokoyama, was speaking. It was High Council Sunday. Denise came up and smiled in that pretty way that only she can smile, and she seemed like she was about ten years old to me...the same quiet, gentle way about her that I remembered from the past. A lovely person.

And now, the subsequent generation:
Chris, son of Thom and Carol, in a coma.
Darren, son of Jerry and Wendy, with a broken arm and a broken heart.
Chris aka Beans, son of Rod and Denyse, who did not survive the accident.

Who would you want to be of these three? Who would you want to be, of the parents? Is it harder to live or die or to hang between two worlds?

One millisecond in time, and such a big impact. I live a thousand miles away, and I ache for the parents and siblings of these boys. I ache for Darren; oh, how I ache for Darren. If I had to be one of the boys, I don't think I would want to be him. His role is so difficult. But the other two roles are difficult too!

And the parental roles--all three different, all three so very, very tough.

Now, I know that God lives and loves me and you and all three of these boys and their parents and extended families, and all their friends who are in shock and sorrow. And even knowing that, this situation is hard and weighs on my mind and heart. I can only imagine how it feels to the people directly affected, and I pray that they will feel the love of God surrounding them, to bear them up through the difficult days, weeks, months and years ahead.

The beauty of a small town is just this: the shared history. Three and four generations of intertwined lives, so that you don't just know one person in a story like this, you know them all, and their parents and grandparents and great-grandparents, and there is a sharing that can happen that can help to heal. There is shared faith, shared testimony, shared pain, shared sorrow. And that is the comfort that arises from tragedy.

Seeing double

For some reason, my work place seems to attract a lot of twins. A few years ago--well, five to be exact--TWO of our male students had pregnant wives who, within weeks of each other, delivered twin baby girls. (Another library worker downstairs from us had twin baby girls herself that same month--August of 2003.) A music grad student who, though not our employee we saw a lot of, had twin boys around the same time. A few months later, one of our male students who had gone off to grad school in Colorado became the proud father of twin boys.

Shortly thereafter, we hired a girl who, though not a twin herself had two sets of twins in her family--a girl/boy twin set, and identical twin girls. This girl got married and soon found herself with fraternal twin sons. We hired her sister, one of the identical twin girls, to replace her.

Right now, we have one half of two sets of identical male twins working for us. Both sets have names that start with A and B: Aaron and Ben, and Andrew and Brian. Ben and Andrew work for us. We have a lot of student employees, all of whom know Ben and Andrew, and who say "Hello!" very cheerily to Aaron and Brian when they see them, assuming they are seeing Ben and Andrew.

Last night was our student Christmas party. Brian, being a good brother to Andrew, brought his potluck item to our party venue for his brother. I said, "You're going to stay and eat with us, aren't you Brian?" He said, "Yes, I am--I might as well. After all, I know all of you, and you all think you know me!"

P-P-Puddles

Nancy issued a challenge: when was the last time you wet your pants? Except she didn't say wet, but I am my mother's daughter, so I can't use the word she used, not here! My mother would weep!

I hope this was the last time--my memory is slipping sometimes--but I think it was when I was in Grade Three. So I would have been eight. I was a student of Mrs. O at Dr. Hamman School in Taber AB. I really liked Mrs. O, but she was strict about letting students leave the class to take care of bodily functions. She particularly felt that students should use the facilities at recess or during the noon hour, not while school was in session. I am provisionally fine with that--but I do think that elementary schools in general sometimes carry these kinds of rules to the extreme. And only grown-ups who can't remember being a child at a strict school would imagine that EVERY child was allowed to go to the bathroom--once you were outside, you had to get a patrol to let you in, and some of them, though children too, were the worst martinets in the school.

So, it was just after school was back in session following the noon hour, and I needed to go to the bathroom. But I didn't want to ask, because I knew she would say no. I waited and waited, because whatever we were doing was followed by PE and we would be getting up and walking down the hall to the gym, and surely by then, since we were walking right by the washroom, surely THEN she would say yes, wouldn't she?

Then I could wait no more. Practically dancing, I got up and walked to where Mrs. O was writing on the chalkboard, and timidly asked permission to go. "You should have gone during the lunch break!" she exclaimed. "No, you sit back down and do your work."

So I sat back down. And I did my work. And then I did my business. I didn't know what else to do. My pink sweater (with the chewed up collar) was hanging on the back of my seat, so I just pushed it onto the floor to soak up and hide the puddle. No one noticed. So far so good.

Now I had to have a plan...it was soon going to be time to walk to the gym, and here I was sitting in wet stuff. I thought of something that just might work...

Time for PE. Everyone lined up by their desks ready to march out row by row. Just as I figured, the person behind me--I am pretty sure it was Judy G. (B.--who lives in High River now)-- said, "Myrna, your bottom looks like you wet your pants!"

And I said, "I know! I am so embarrassed! I fell into a snow drift, and I just sat there, and I guess it melted, and when I got up, I was all wet! Does it look really bad? Do you think anyone else will notice?"

And she said, "Well, it's not really that bad--it'll dry. Too bad!"

And no one else said a word. We ran around the gym, I don't remember what we did, but if we were moving, that was good for my rear end! And then we went back to class.

At the end of the day, I simply gathering up my soaking wet sweater into my Beverly Hillbillies lunch box, and took it home.

My mom could smell it as soon as she opened the lunch box. I don't know what was the matter with all the noses at school--maybe kids just generally stink when you cram a bunch of them into a room! So there you go--my last wet pants and my first really big lie, all in one fell swoop.

Little cabbages have big ears

If you have read Abra's blog, you know that she was surprised by a pop quiz from Deklan, and was perplexed by a difficult question...

I thought about this while I was sitting in the Fine Arts Center enjoying a recital by a bassoon student who works for me, which was very good, I might add.

Now, I openly admit that many things pass me by, flying right over my head, but I have been living for half a century, and I actually have noticed a few things.

For example, I noticed that on Friday night, while David was on a date and Billy and Bruce were watching a movie, that Abra, Josie and I were at the computer showing each other random things, a lot of them on YouTube. And the little people were popping in and out and around while this was going on.

And once, Abra took us to a YouTube song, and announced "I really like this song. In fact, I want to have it sung at my funeral. Billy even knows this, and he said he would make sure it is performed at my funeral." Or words to that effect.

Of course, me being a bit oblivious to what goes on around me, I did not notice what song it was--but then, I didn't have to, because Abra made a point of telling us that Billy knows, etc. So that was permission for me not to notice or remember, right? Because it was not a song that I already knew...

So I am guessing that Deklan rolled up near us at some time during that conversation, so HE has probably been thinking about funerals and music and wondering why his mom...are you following me here? Yes, indeed. He got the idea from his mom!! In both cases she "really liked" a song...so if one is good enough for your funeral, is the other one, too? A valid question.

So, since I am at least Abra's mom, and in case any of you were wondering, I really like a song called "Waked from my bed of slumber sweet" by Roger Hoffman, and I would really like to have it sung at my funeral. There are problems with this: The music is not easy. The piano part is especially challenging, as it keeps changing key. But it is way cool.

Here it is:http://www.hoffmanhouse.com/sheet/Parley/Waked.pdf, the sheet music, starting out with SIX FLATS, then four, two, none, and ending with two sharps, unless I have missed one of the key changes. I was trying to listen to a sample of it here, but without much success, but if you would like to try, here is the link: http://www.ldsaudio.com/shop/music.aspx?type=album&id=309

We (a group of singers) sang this at the Parley P. Pratt Memorial fireside a few years ago, and it was so much fun to sing. A sad, happy (sappy) song. And amazingly, I couldn't really find a great web source for the fireside, or I would post it. I can only find references to it, but not an actual site. However, I sang in it for a couple of years, as did Nancy and David.

So, little cabbages, that is my story.