Seven years too late

On December 15, 2011, almost seven years ago, we were preparing for the funeral of Grandpa Layton. He had passed away on December 13, neatly planting his death on the day between my birthday and Bruce's (so we will always remember the date!)

We were in the throes of gathering pictures to be used in a slide show at the funeral that Bruce was preparing--he was preparing the slide show, not the funeral. As we went through pictures, we realized that there were pictures of all the grandchildren with Grandpa in one picture or another, except for Derrick.

At the time, I was not Facebook friends with Derrick, though I have been now for several years. So I sent him a message, asking if he had a picture of himself with Grandpa that we could include in the slide show.

Apparently that message was languishing in his junk message folder, because he did not answer, so there was no picture of him in the slide show.

Well--it languished there until this very last Wednesday November 28 at 6:33 pm. My phone buzzed, and I saw the D and I saw the Layton, and thought I had received a message from David. I read the message "I don't have any pictures of grandma or grandpa." I was like....what????

So confusing--I thought about David, and pictures I knew were of him with Grandpa, and certainly I knew that he had LOTS of pictures--after all, he was the guy who scanned a ton of pictures and made a huge virtual file of Layton family pictures when Grandma Layton died! So, why this cryptic message from him? And why today?

And then I noticed -- DERRICK Layton. Still, that was weird, like what the heck? Why did he message me to tell me that? So then I read my old message to him! And I laughed out loud, because Dec. 15, 2011!!! He was answering this message seven years too late!

Jingle Bells

What a lovely sound coming from the organ lab this evening as I was waiting for Miriam. It was the kind of sound that explains why Christmas music is almost magical. I thought it must be Nora playing for the children. But no, it was three little girls in a row, and in the middle was Miriam. I am excited for her parents to hear how delightful it was/ will be when Miriam plays at the Tabernacle (formerly the Mo-Tab-ernacle) on Saturday morning!

Happiest of Times

The last time I was at my sister Arlene's house, which (sad to say!) was two years ago, She said, "What was the happiest time of your life? For me, it was when my kids were small! I just loved those years with them!"

I couldn't even answer her--but it made me think about it. I definitely also loved having small children, but for me those years were A) stretched out over a much longer period of time and B) complicated.  Since she had two children who were not quite two years apart in age, they were small at the same time. They grew up at the same time.

For me, it was different. I sort of had three groups of small children, or maybe even four groups, with the last two in their own groups of one individual. By the time the last two were small, I had teenagers. And as my mother would sometimes say, "Big kids, big problems." So, while I enjoyed my little kids, I did not GET to enjoy them the way I wanted to, sometimes, because I was dealing with big problems. So, looking at that time as a whole, "happiest" does not quite describe it.

However, I CAN say that my all of my children, when they were small, brought me an incredible amount of joy. And I miss little them. I do love big them very much, but little them, small enough to hold on my lap them--those people I miss.

But if I am looking to find a time of my life that was mostly happy as a whole, without me having to deal with big problems, it was when I was in about grades 8-11. This was the prime time for my sister Arlene, my cousin Marie, and me to be singing together. And I LOVED every minute of singing with them.

We didn't just sing--we also did all of our own arrangements. We chose music either from records or from music books--none of them were arrangements for three female voices with piano accompaniment, which is how we usually sang. Sometimes with mandolin. And one time, we did have a little trumpet part as well.

We spent hours arranging and practicing. We usually did this at our house, because Mom and Dad were particularly supportive of our efforts. They loved listening to us practice. They did not care if we went for hours and hours, and we often did. Sometimes, Auntie Beulah would say "Why don't you practice over here?" and so we would, but she and Uncle Clyde had less tolerance for the hours and hours of time we wanted, and needed, to spend on it.

I know that Mom and Dad loved our practicing, because even when we weren't actually practicing, they would play tapes of our singing and listen to it, so I know that they weren't pretending...they really loved to listen to us. Auntie Beulah also loved our singing, but she would say, "I don't understand why you need to spend so much time practicing! You are already so good." Well, thank you for the compliment, but honestly, we were only so good BECAUSE we spent so much time practicing.

We were kept very busy singing for church services, wedding receptions, community events. It was so much fun. As my childhood hero Shari Lewis sang, "When we sing together, songs are such delight! Harmony makes the melody right!" That was certainly true for me. Good harmony always makes a good melody better!

We liked to mix up the melody and the harmony so that we all sang some of each. Audience members would say, "Your voices blend so well, I couldn't tell who was singing which part." Well--that is because we were passing the parts around! However, I generally sang the lowest, Arlene the middle, and Marie the highest--but with considerable leeway.

One particularly memorable occasion was a ward fashion show. June Gough was in charge of it (for Josie's benefit: this is Melanie Hansen's mother) and she had borrowed a script from a friend in Utah, for a show called "Fashions Around." To introduce each section, there was a song based on a nursery rhyme or childhood song. She asked us to sing the songs--which we agreed to do. But we couldn't just sing them normally--we had to so fun things with them musically.  The theme song was based on "Horsey, horsey on our way," which is a lovely canonic piece anyway. We just added some harmony and thematic variation to it. 

I am trying to remember the words--I can remember the ending theme better than the beginning--
"Now you have seen these lovely fashions,
You've seen the talents that abound--
You know the ladies of the Taber Third ward
Can really prove "Fashion's Around."

The counter melody was sung to:
"Fashions around every way
Sewing makes a happy day.
So let your ladies know all the joy you've found
You can prove "Fashion's around."

I am going to have to see if I can find the old tapes. I have no idea where they are. I suppose we should let our kids hear us. We were honestly very good. I am not saying that to brag, I am justbeing truthful. We were very good.

In Canada, on TV, we had summer replacement shows. This was a chance for some good Canadian content, to meet the Canadian content percentage laws that had been enacted to protect us from American cultural appropriation. One summer, when we had been particularly busy with performances two or three times a week, there was a summer replacement show called "Three Girls Three." I watched them a few times, and it was pretty clear to me that we were as good or better than them. We just needed a name and--and what? Some access to exposure?

A name we bandied about was "3 AM." Because there were three of us, and our names started with either A or M...and sometimes we were up that late working on music together. (Cue phone ringing. "Hi Auntie Beulah. Yes, she's here...Marie, phone for you." "Marie, when are you coming home?" "Sorry, mom, we're almost done." "I don't know why you spend so much time practicing...")

I remember, after one of our performances, a lady (Marian Jensen, in fact, if you want a name to put on her) came up to us and said, "You girls should be on TV. You are just as good as that group they have on, Three Girls Three. You are better!" So. I was clearly not the only one to think so.

I really wanted to do "something" about us performing together. But I didn't know how or what to do. Unfortunately, our eyes were solidly on Hollywood, which is a hard nut to crack. And it was far away and we didn't know how to take that on. WHY didn't we look east?!!! Hello!!!! Where was "Three Girls Three" filmed? Winnipeg. Where did so many of our Canadian content shows originate? Winnipeg. First Winnipeg, then Toronto, then Vancouver. (So, we could have looked west, too.)

I am so kicking myself now, all these years spent researching Bob McMullin!! Opportunity missed. I had no clue that I was one point of contact away from a CBC music director in Winnipeg. Mom knew him. She was lifelong friends with his sister-in-law Jane Walker McMullin. Bob was known to be such a nurturer of young talent. I do not doubt that, had we thought to contact him, we could have auditioned; we probably would have been given the opportunity to do a summer replacement show, because we WERE very good. But I did not know any of that then.

So. It kind of fizzled out. Marie and I still sang together at BYU. We took singing lessons from the same teacher, Debbie Bennett Mitchell. We once started a class taught by Randy Boothe--it was a "how to put a show together" class. We kept the textbook, dropped the class, and just starting putting our own shows together. We played to very small audiences (our family home evening groups) but we had fun.

When Bruce and I moved to San Diego, Arlene and I sang together once. But Uncle Michael was firmly in Auntie Beulah's camp about practicing, and they were building a business. My musical outlet became building a pretty sweet piano studio.  That worked well then, while I just had preschoolers. I continued to do that in Raymond, but after that I quit. My kids needed attention when they got home from school; they didn't need to have my attention focused on other people's children.

But, it was so much fun while it lasted! (The singing with Arlene and Marie, I mean.)

Writing Prompts for Kids

Now, here are some writing prompts I can get behind!--writing prompts for kids!

There are so many interesting ones! 300 writing prompts, my friends. So for today, I get to write about a food I hate.

So I will write about milk. Today, I took a dozen doughnuts and 6 small bottles of milk (white, cookie dough and chocolate. Seriously. Cookie dough.) to the Music 335R class. They are the Legacy Jazz Dixieland Band, and they played for a concert on Nov. 15. And so I visited their class with a treat. They meet at noon, so I figured that they would be hungry. I brought cups so they could share the milk because, as I told them, I could not IMAGINE how ANYONE could drink that much milk all by themselves! Gross!

I have always hated milk. Well, I suppose there was a time, when I was a baby, that I might have liked it, but I don't really think I ever did. I was not a breast-fed baby--my mom was having some health issues that caused her to raise me on formula. I do not know what formula was. I think, in my case, it was literally a formula, or recipe, that my mother made for me. And at some point, Pablum was introduced, and I loved it. I can remember being with mom in Beckman's Groceteria, and asking mom to buy Pablum for me, and being so sad to be told I was too old for it.

But milk, from a cow? I never liked it. I liked going with my dad (and occasionally my brother or sister) to milk the cows. I liked it when Dad would squirt milk into the cat's mouth. I liked to watch my parents separate the milk.

(This ad is for an older separator than the model my parents would have used! But at least it is an ad for a Canadian separator.) I liked watching the milk be poured into the milk cans and I liked going to the Purity Dairy with my parents, where they sold their excess milk.

(The milk cans we used looked something like this. But not exactly the same.) But I did not like milk. I always thought it tasted gross.

Cream--now THAT, I liked. I liked cream mixed with all bran cereal. I would mash it into a ball and eat the ball (but not the excess cream.) I liked cream with fresh fruit, especially peaches. And whipped cream was even better. But I did not like milk.

Today, I do eat milk on cereal. I really like granola with extra fruit, nuts and coconut. I do need milk with it, but not so much that I can taste it. Just as a source of liquid to make the granola the right consistency. But milk is something I eat, not something I drink. It is just too thick and gloopy to drink. I still hate it, and just the thought of drinking it kind of makes me gag. But I still eat it with my granola. Even though I can't imagine drinking a single-serving size bottle of it. 

Posting daily

Posting every day has been a hard thing to do! Especially this month, which started off with too much death, and continued on its way with too many funerals. In the meantime, I had some fun things going on at work (which felt less fun because of what was going on in life)--my fall concert series is almost over! Nancy designed a great poster for us (small version visible on the programs, which are visible at the link.)

Today we had a small turn-out, but the concert was at a strange time(10 AM) and was the first day back after the holiday weekend, so it was actually not bad at all. I was helping the kids move equipment back to the HFAC, pushing and pulling the long, tall box that holds some of the drum kit equipment. And it was hard to get it safely over bumps and cracks and other things that happen along the way. Fortunately, I only dropped it once. Unfortunately, it landed kind of on my left big toe and also hit my right shin. Fortunately, it did not hurt too bad.

I did all sorts of things, walked lots of places, (thanks to my brother for taking me out to lunch) and then randomly at about 3:30 in the afternoon, when I was leaving the bank to walk back to my office, my foot became very difficult to step on. Tonight, though, it feels pretty good. I think it is bruised but not broken.

The girl TOLD me to trade her--but she was pushing and pulling a cart carrying four drums and 5 cymbals. My load SEEMED easier to me. Hers LOOKED worse! But I should have listened to her.

Another fun thing this month has been interviewing participants in Bob McMullin's "Cannington's Manners" which was produced in Weyburn SK in 1992, 1993, and 1994. Bob won a Canada 125 Award for it. I have one more interview to do on Friday. My research will turn into a two-part series in the journal published by the Saskatchewan History and Folklore Society, which is called Folklore. It is not folklore like fairy tales, but folklore like stories about the people of Saskatchewan, so my article(s) fit(s) well.

Josie and I went to Leanne's memorial service on Saturday, and it was good--kind of unusual like Karen's, without the milk and cookies. Josie, despite a terrible cold, sang with the present and former Young Ambassadors. It was so beautiful. 

I help mother with the dishes...

Doing the dishes was an important activity. Just like cooking dinner and eating, doing dishes rolled around like clockwork. In the old green Primary song book The Children Sing, there was even a song about it, which we often sang as we worked:

I help Mother with the dishes

Just as often as she wishes... (seriously. Page 133)

We often did the dishes in pairs. And for me, the other half of my pair was usually Arlene. Colleen and Bruce were older and had more difficult chores. And then they were grown up and gone, so it was usually Arlene and I.  "Wash or wipe, you little snipe?" answered by "Neither one, you big fat bun/m," was frequently said. I preferred to wash, but had turns to do both. We had no dishwasher. I don't think they had been invented yet. We WERE the dishwashers.

Our mother had convinced us that in order to be of strong enough self-control to be wives and mothers, we had to be able to wash dishes in the hottest temperature possible. We had contests to see who could wash in the hottest water.

We also had dish foam bubbles eating contests. It took me years to realize that Arlene was not actually eating the foam--she was just shoving it into her face and letting the bubbles burst. I completely thought she was eating it. She made it seem like it tasted so good "Yum, yum, yum!" I did not like it so much. Hence, I could not eat it like she could. Because I was actually eating. But she could make it disappear, and I could not!

Sometimes we had terrible fights over doing the dishes. Mom did not like the sound of fighting, so she would post up poems, and we would memorize them and recite them dramatically to each other. This is how I learned:

Eletelephony by Laura Elizabeth Richards

Once there was an elephant,

Who tried to use the telephant— 

No! No! I mean an elephone 

Who tried to use the telephone— 

(Dear me! I am not certain quite 

That even now I’ve got it right.) 

Howe’er it was, he got his trunk 

Entangled in the telephunk; 

The more he tried to get it free, 

The louder buzzed the telephee— 

(I fear I’d better drop the song 

Of elephop and telephong!)

And:

Hiding by Dorothy Aldis

I'm hiding, I'm hiding
And no one knows where;
For all they can see is my
Toes and my hair

And I just heard my father
Say to my mother -
"But, darling, he must be
Somewhere or other;

Have you looked in the inkwell?"
And Mother said, "Where?"
"In the INKWELL?"said Father. But
I was not there.

Then "Wait!" cried my mother —
"I think that I see
Him under the carpet." But
It was not me.

"Inside the mirror's
A pretty good place."
Said Father and looked, but saw
Only his face.

"We've hunted," sighed Mother,
"As hard as we could
And I am so afraid that we've
Lost him for good."

Then I laughed out aloud
And I wiggled my toes
And Father said —"Look, dear,
I wonder if those

Toes could be Benny's?
There are ten of them, see?"
And they WERE so surprised to find
Out it was me!

One time, I did not want to help, so I went and hid in my parent's closet. This was on a mutual night, so Mom, Colleen and Bruce had gone to mutual. I hid in order to leave all the work for Arlene. She and Dad looked for me, but could not find me. I was very well hidden. I think I fell asleep there... By the time I was found, Mom was home and the whole family was looking for me, and they had gone past annoyed to very worried. Dad, who had been "in charge" at home was particularly upset and anxious. They were about to call the police when I popped out of hiding. I am happy to report that I was both embarrassed and remorseful for my behavior, and I did not do that again. 

I DID effectively get out of doing dishes--Arlene had done them while I was in hiding. But I had also missed any fun that was to be had that night. And staying home with Dad was usually fun--we often watched the Red Skelton Show with him, and he usually offered ice cream at some point, too. That night, he spent his time looking for me, and nobody had any fun. 

Once when I was feeling magnanimous, I offered to do all the dishes by myself: wash, dry, put them away. I started out well enough, washing and drying and putting away the tableware. But then I got to the pots and pans. They were so hard. I was scrubbing and scrubbing, and getting so tired of the chore. Then I had a brilliant idea! I took the still dirty pots, dried off the bottoms of them, and put them under the sink! Then I oh-so-carefully wiped all the counter tops and the stove top until they sparkled. With all the dishes put away, the kitchen looked fabulous! I impressed myself, it looked so clean! I hung up the dish towel, and went to find my mother to show her what a marvelous job I had done. She came to see for herself, and she was so happy! I am sure she was happy about how the kitchen looked, but even more happy that I had done such a great job, and that I was even cheerful about it! I remember the joy on her face.

She must have thought, 'Wow, that Myrna is really growing up! There is hope for her yet!" And then she opened the cabinet under the sink and found my stash of dirty pots. (The kitchen looked so great that even I had sort of forgotten about my short cut to completion.) I remember the disappointment on her face. It was even worse, because I had seen the joy just a few minutes earlier. I felt terrible. Even actually finishing the job didn't erase how badly I felt about lying to her. And hiding the pots. And pretending that I had done a good job when I hadn't. 

I am happy to report that I only remember doing that once. Once was enough. Once was too much.

Losing a parent

It was January 1978.  I was living at home, in Taber, with my parents. I had been at BYU for fall semester 1977, but due to lots of issues and hard things happening in my family and impacting my ability to do well in school, I had crashed and burned that semester. I just did not want to be in Provo, trying to go to school, trying to figure out my major (in my third year) and above all, I did not want to be in the BYU branch I was in. So, when I went home for Christmas, I decided not to go back. I appreciate my parents allowing me that time to just be at home.

I finally had a Utah driver's license, which I had received that fall, thanks to my Uncle George for loaning him his big boat of an old car to drive (the price: promises to drive to Alpine to visit he and Aunt Lillis as often as possible) but I did not have my Alberta license, and was not really prepared to drive in the snow to a job somewhere. So I was just hanging out at home that first month.

My cousin John decided that he wanted to go to Utah for a week, and I arranged to go with him. We were going to stay at my sister Colleen's house. I would room in with baby Michael, and John would be staying on their couch.

We were leaving on a Friday morning. John wanted to leave about 5 AM or something like that. Mom, Dad and I were up and I was ready to go, when Dad decided that he needed to go and do something in the garage. I don't remember what--fix something? Find something? I don't know. I just know that I was really irritated because John pulled into our yard, and Dad was not in sight, and Mom was saying, "Don't you think you should say good-bye to your dad?" And I was all young adult snippy, "He knew John was coming. He could have waited to go to the garage if he wanted to say good-bye to me." And I hopped in the car, and we were on our way.

It was early Saturday morning that the call came. Mom and Dad had been lying in bed when Dad had a stroke, and ended up taking an emergency trip to the hospital in Calgary. Guilt, much? I felt so bad. What if my dad died? And who knows what my last words to him had been? An annoyed "Why are you doing that now?" An annoyed something, most likely. Why had I not just gone and said, "We're leaving now! Bye, Dad, I love you?" That would have been so much better.

Well, we were lucky. I did not have to end up losing my dad at age 20. When I got back from Utah, and Dad got back from the hospital, I had the opportunity to work with my mom to rebuild Dad's memory, to exercise his brain in order to help with his stroke recovery. We played a lot of Scrabble games, read scriptures together morning and night, and played this general authorities card game. He could never remember who Richard G. Scott was, and whenever he saw his face, Dad would say, "Oh brother..." so that is when Elder Scott became "Oh Brother" to me.

Dad would go on to live for another 22 years. It was after the stroke that he and mom were able to serve a mission to the Family History Mission, assigned to work in the vault in the mountain. Arlene and I both married our husbands after the stroke, and Dad was able to meet all our children. Sometimes, when he would go through bad spells and almost die, which happened with increasing frequency as he aged; and when his mobility was so bad that it really tied Mom down, too, we would wonder what the point was? Why did he continue to live when his quality of life was so poor?

When Josie was born in 1994, Dad was almost 79. The two of them clicked right away. I think he was a kindred spirit to her. We joked that they both didn't have much hair, they both were hard to understand, they both drooled, they both didn't have very many teeth, and both had trouble walking...they had a lot in common! Dad lived to be 84, a few months away from 85, and Josie was 6 years old when he died.

I loved my dad. He had been a fun parent, always kidding around, the one who would take kids skating or swimming or sledding. I felt bad that my children did not get to know him the way he was--he could not play as he had done, he could not communicate as he had done. He still had terrific aim--shooting an apple off my husband's head at a Conrad reunion the year Josie was one; or beating everyone at crokinole. But he had to lay down a lot, and the normal noise children make was hard for him to bear. Worse was that he was very difficult to understand.

Once, he told Patrick not to take so much fruit salad, but Patrick could not understand what he said, so he reached over and smacked Patrick's hand. That caused some hurt feelings. My dad felt so bad about that. And he could not put that into words easily.

Another time, he said to Josie, "Tell Patrick to brush his teeth!" very forcefully (so Patrick  would not lose teeth, like Dad did, in the future) but she thought he was angry at her for not eating her meat, and gobbled it up so fast!

I do not think my mom was ready to let Dad go for a long time. She preferred carting him around in a wheelchair to being alone. She was 13 years younger, but she looked just as old as he did. 22 years of being a caretaker is hard on a body. Finally, she had to put Dad into extended care. It about killed her to do it, but she was worn. out. Worn out. She could not lift and carry anymore. I think that my dad stuck around until she was willing to let him go.

For us children--we had been losing him since 1978. We were still very sad that we would not see him again in this life, but relieved for him that the double vision, the dizziness, the inability to express himself, the inability to walk--that those things were over. Having mourned for him for so long, I was surprised how much mourning I still needed to do when he actually died. I was 42, and that seemed too young to lose a parent. I am so grateful I had that long with him!

Things I need to read

I do need to read these, but they are both a bajillion pages long, and reading them on a screen...that is awful. My eyes can't take it.

First there is this: https://www.dialoguejournal.com/2012/mormonisms-negro-doctrine-an-historical-overview/

And then there is this: https://mormonlgbtquestions.com/?fbclid=IwAR2M08Qj-y5rMAZCvITqEJ_suyb95WgRE0Wss5fy_iCTJvQIJYMEpHkeqxY

I will have to print them, I suppose. And that will be costly since they are each a bajillion pages long. But I don't know what else to do. Reading them online is not working for the only eyes that I have.

Thanksgiving Traditions

Today was American Thanksgiving. Josie and I were graciously invited to join Nancy and her family, while Bruce (who was also invited) chose to sleep since it is a work night for him. Andrew's Aunt Stacey had  volunteered to be the cook for the Heisses, since it is a little soon to feel very celebratory for them. But Andrew--he turned into a baker, whipping up a bajillion pies. Or at least 7 or 8 or 10.  The food was good and plentiful, and it was fun to sit at the "kid" table with all the people under age 9. Once we got all the chairs rearranged so that both Alexander and Zoë could sit by their mom, which was the way that of course it needed to be. I got to sit by Josie and Ben. Carter sat with his dad for awhile, and then his mom for awhile. It was nice for Rachel and Miriam to be at the grown-up table.

What was Thanksgiving like for young me? When I was Zoë's age, I would have still been sitting in the high chair. I loved my mom's high chair! It had a table that lifted up very nigh, to go over my head, and a place to rest my feet, and I did not mind a bit sitting in it. We would have the same dinner that people still have today--mashed potatoes and gravy, stuffing and turkey. Cranberry sauce that I would have made when I was a bit older. I loved making cranberry sauce!  So simple--pick out the bad cranberries, put them in a pot with a bit of water and sugar, bring to a boil--done. We would usually also have frozen corn--corn that had come from our garden earlier in the year. For dessert, there would be pie. It was always apple pie at our house. If we went to Auntie Beulah's house, there would be pumpkin pie, but I never ate it because I thought I hated it.

Besides that American Thanksgiving is in November instead of October, a big difference is pie. Any Thanksgiving I have been at in the US, there is always a plethora of pie. So many kinds of pie! We always just had one pie, and it was always apple.

My mother made apple pie by grinding the apples in our grinder thing (that I don't know the proper name of) so the apples were shredded. Then you mixed the spices in, and the apples really absorbed the spices because they were in such fine pieces. I actually did not like apple pie if anyone made it except my mom. The apples always seemed only partially cooked and not spicy enough. My mom's apple pies were the best--even though other kids thought my mom's pies "looked funny" because they were used to seeing sliced apples instead of shredded apples. To me, my mom's apple pies looked and tasted perfect.

I will say that Andrew, though he sliced the apples, sliced them thin enough that they were thoroughly cooked and the spices had soaked in nicely. So I liked his apple pie. Second prize to him, after my mom's, which will always be the first prize apple pie to me. 

Lethbridge Historical Society Post

This is so interesting, I have to keep it! This was posted on FaceBook by the Lethbridge Historical Society.

Map showing where balloons landed in Alberta (also a few from surrounding areas)

“Now It Can Be Told”

During the Second World War (in 1945), the Japanese military launched balloon attacks against North America . “Aided by pre-war experience with meteorological balloons and by the direction of the prevailing winds over the Pacific, the Japanese decided on retaliation by means of bomb-bearing balloons….

The balloon was designed for a journey of about five days, at heights ranging between 15,000 and 30,000 feet. Its altitude – and thus also its duration of flight – were controlled by devices which functioned automatically at various heights, one for partially deflating the envelope and one for dropping sand ballast. The bomb load varied between 25 and 65 pounds. The normal load, it would appear, consisted of five bombs totaling about 50 pounds – for incendiaries accounting for two-thirds of this weight, and one high explosive.” (Report No. 28, Historical Section (G.S.), Army Headquarters)

Outside of Canada, there were 208 reported balloon incidents in 19 States, Mexico and at sea. In Canada, there were 88 reported balloon incidents with 17 of these in Alberta including Milk River, Manyberries, High River and Strathmore.

In order to deny the Japanese any knowledge of whether or not their efforts were effective and to ensure that the public did not panic, knowledge of the balloons were kept quiet during the war. The media in both the United Stated and Canada agreed to not report on the balloons and those who found them were also required to keep the incident secret until after the war was over.

The 16 August 1945 Lethbridge Herald shared a story of one found by a railway employee near Consul, Saskatchewan. The railway employee asked a local cowboy to stand watch over the balloon while he went and reported it to the police. The cowboy, not understanding what he was watching over, “kicked it about almost as freely as he would a football.” The police, when they arrived, brought in the military to safely dispose of it and told the cowboy and railway employee that it had drifted there from a Canadian army experimental station. Later, the cowboy was finally informed what the balloon truly was and it was reported “the cowboy nearly jumped out of his skin when he learned the exact nature of the object he had been kicking about, and that it had been filled with powerful explosives.”

School kids found the balloon that landed near Stettler and “dragged it to their home.” (15 October 1945 Lethbridge Herald) Luckily, this balloon had no explosive attached to it.

The one near Manyberries (Wildhorse) came down on February 22, 1945, in good condition.

The balloons caused no property damage or loss of life anywhere in Canada and were shown to the public during the Ninth Victory Loan campaign in late 1945.

The map shows the locations of balloon incidents in Alberta in 1945.

Reconfigure

Years ago--I don't remember when, but sometime between 1995 and 2000--we had a Foothills School Division Faculty meeting at which a speaker gave a talk that really made a difference in my life. I do not remember her name. She was the news announcer on a Calgary TV station, I think.

She was speaking about overcoming disappointments and obstacles--you know, those things that everybody's life is full of! Only sometimes we get kind of stuck in them, or think that ours are worse than anybody's, or think we are the only one who suffers like this. She had been one of those people, too, kind of stuck in a trial that seemed overwhelming and impossible. So she was speaking about how she learned to move on.

I have certainly had a lot of trials, too, so I was ready to listen and learn. Her take was that life is like a maze.  You start out in it, and you don't know where you are going, but you sort of follow the path set before you. And you think that you are on a path--you don't realize that the path is actually a maze. So when you bump into a wall, it is a shock, and disconcerting at the very least. She described trying to walk into that wall, and how she would keep bumping her head and getting mentally and emotionally banged up, because she couldn't go forward. And then it dawned on her that she was not on a path, she was in a maze!


So banging into a dead-end wall isn't the end; it isn't meant to be a stop--it is meant to be a turn. You just have to figure out where to turn. Not to minimize that--figuring where to turn can be hard. You might turn into a dead-end tunnel, and have to work your way out of that before you find the part of the maze that opens up for you. So it can be and often is still difficult and takes work, but that sense of despair--we can set that aside, knowing that there WILL BE an opening in the path; we just have to find it.

A GPS works on this principle, too. If you don't follow the directions, the GPS doesn't give up in despair because you are so stupid and unwilling to follow the directions. It simply reconfigures, and finds another way to the destination.

Since I internalized this principle, that is how I have tried to operate my life. Where I used to wallow in the depths of despair, I learned instead to look for another way. A brick wall means you have to turn, so I look for directions to turn. I think that sometimes this bothers my children--I start coming up with "You could do this, or this, or this, or this!" It is just me trying to look for a different direction to head in this maze called life. Because life is hard, but it is also a-maze-ing. There are many good choices; many directions one can head. But forging ahead with hope in tomorrow is necessary. The path is not straight; some turns do lead to more dead-ends, but there is always a way. We just have to find it.

If you could meet any book character, who would it be?

I have been looking at writing prompts, because none of the "52 questions" that I have not already answered have been speaking to me. I am all "I don't want to write about that." So I found a website called "119 Journal Prompts" and that is more than twice the ideas contained in the "52 questions"--surely an idea in there would seem like an okay thing to write about!

So--it you could meet a book character--that questions appealed to me because one of the books I read this month was "The Book Jumper" by Mechtild Glaser. Here she is:

She is a young woman from Germany, born in 1986, so a year younger than Nancy. When I looked her up on amazon.de, I could find several books she has written, but only two have been translated into English. Here is the cover of the English version of "The Book Jumper," her first English translation.

And here is the original German cover:


I like both covers. But Buchspringer--isn't that a delightful word? Talk about meeting book characters--that is what this book is all about.  Because Amy Lennox, the main character, is a book jumper. She doesn't know this about herself. She was raised by her single mom in Germany, but after her mom goes through a bad break-up, she (Amy's mom) feels the need to go home to her mother for the first time in about sixteen or seventeen years--the age of Amy--home to a Scottish island, where Amy learns that she is a member of two families who protect books by jumping into them. Okay, it might sound weird when I say it, but this was an utterly enchanting book. Amy and her fellow book jumper, Will, try to figure out who or what is behind some plot unraveling going on in some books. Like, the White Rabbit--he keeps going down the rabbit hole at the wrong time, so Alice can't follow him because the cues are all wrong.

Amy herself can book jump in ways that are unusual even for book jumpers, because her father is a BOOK CHARACTER. (That was why her mother ran away to Germany in the first place--how do you explain THAT when you are a pregnant teenager?)

So Amy and Will (and Will's cousin who is rather obnoxious and so I can't remember her name) meet all sorts of book characters. In fact, Will considers Sherlock Holmes to be his best friend. And one of Amy's best book character friends is Shere Khan, who is actually a very nice tiger while he is waiting in the wings for his cues to enter the plot in a timely way. And young Werther, Goethe's famous character, is a very kind and compassionate soul who is a good friend to Amy, in between being where he needs to be in his book so he can commit suicide on time.

Amy and Will can actually meet any book character they want to meet! Today, if I could meet a book character, I might want to meet one of them. Because actually, they can tell me what so many characters are  REALLY like, when they are "off stage" so to speak, waiting for their entrances.

ALS

All of these things:
1. Rosie's father in law, Matt, has ALS. He seems to be coping well. I know he is having experimental treatments that are extremely expensive but seem to help.
2. Leanne Hansen died of ALS on November 7. She had only been diagnosed in June, and had only been symptomatic for a year. Fast slide downhill.
3. I like Lisa Genova's very realistic books about people with very real problems, which she bases solidly on her experience as a scientist, and with additional research on each topic. I realized I had missed a couple of her books, and so placed a hold on one, Every Note Played. The main character's struggle is with ALS.
4. On Sunday, Brother Fletcher was the speaker, and he mentioned that his sister-in-law Connie was just diagnosed with ALS.
5 This is too much ALS! It has been heart-rending to learn so much about it. 

Karen's Generosity

When I wrote the post about our family's relationship with Karen, I forgot to write about something very personal that Karen did for me.

Nancy and Andrew and little Rachel moved to Cairo in 2008, when Rachel was one year old. It was very sad to see them go, even though I was happy for them to have a great adventure.  We all hoped to be able to visit them in Egypt, and that ended up happening for first David (who could afford to pay for it himself) then me, then Patrick (after saving for a year) and finally Bruce and Josie (after saving for two years.) Because it was going to be something we would have to save up for, and it would take awhile to happen, in the mean time, we were happy to skype with the Cairo Heiss family every Sunday. What a cool thing, to be able to see and talk to little Rachel, and have her able to remember us! What a blessing!

Karen got to go and visit them in Cairo that first fall, when they had only been there a few months. Of course, being me, one of my imperfections is jealousy, and so I was jealous. I was jealous not only that Karen could go and visit them, but I was jealous because Karen was a stay-at-home mom (working on the side, yes, but either working at home or for short stints over which she had some control), and jealous because she had the time that she could make available to make a long visit. I, on the other hand, was the breadwinner. Bruce had had his open heart surgery in September 2007, and was not working much. But the breadwinner role had fallen to me even before that, and I was kind of resentful. I liked my job, but I was over-educated and underpaid, and I knew it. It was a struggle to pay the house payment and support all the kids and just work so much. I still only had 12 days of vacation a year, and trying to be there for events my children had while unable to take much time off work was not terribly fun. I wanted my life to be so much different than it was.

And here comes the miracle: in 2009, I had a conference to attend in Stellenbosch, South Africa (near Capetown) which BYU would be paying for. I was sad to be so close (Africa) and yet so far away from Egypt. 10,000 km. 6200 miles. 158 hours by car.

This is when Karen intervened. She just thought it was terrible that Nancy's mother would be on the same continent, but unable to visit Nancy. She wanted to buy a plane ticket from Capetown to Cairo for me. She had investigated the cost, and believed it would be possible for only about $300. Would she let me do that, as a gift to both Nancy and me--let her pay for a ticket so I could go and visit Nancy?

I do not know if I ever adequately thanked Karen for that generous gift. I did not have an extra $300 at that time. And I have thought a lot about that gift. Karen received no direct benefit from giving that gift to me--only the thought that she made her daughter-in-law happy, and that she made me happy. She was investing in happiness, not spending money.

Would I be able to be as generous as Karen? I finally have a daughter-in-law--and one whose parents live a long ways away from her. If Ruth's mother was taking a work trip to Miami (which is super close to Prince George at 3400 miles, and only 52 hours by car (better roads than in Africa)) would I even notice that the two places were relatively close, being on the same continent? Would I intervene and say, it would be such a shame for your mom to be so close to you and unable to see you--I will pay for her to visit you? I hope that I would. But first I would have to notice.

Honestly, I wouldn't even think of it--it would not even cross my mind--if Karen had not done that generous thing for me. I am still learning to NOTICE when I can be of service to others. Karen noticed. And she acted on what she noticed out of a generous heart. I am so thankful for her. I learned so much from Karen about being a kinder, gentler person. I am still learning. I am a slow learner, apparently, too caught up in my own little world to notice needs that I can help with. I hope to do better.

Things to Remember

1. Last night in the car, we had this conversation: I was telling Josie and Janet that my nephew Michael said his mom said he had better hurry up and marry and have children, if he is going to, or she will be too old to be much of a grandma. Then I said that my grandma was already 72 when I was born, so I just always thought of her as old, which is probably what Colleen is referring to. But, I said, Colleen is older than me, so when she was born, Grandma was only...oh! as old as Colleen is right now!!! Yikes.

2. My Brother Bruce said that Karen's funeral was one of the most uplifting he has been to. Or at least recently. I really loved that he was there.

3. Rachel recited the poem by her Aunt Sarah beautifully. Miriam played the organ flawlessly. Andrew and Emily had worried for nothing about their cello/piano duo, because they did wonderfully. Karen's brother Clark's talk and Reid's talk and Katharine's talks made me cry. The whole service made the bishop cry. It is not often that the bishop gets up to be the last speaker at a funeral and is crying. Usually they are more stoic. He was not. He had been deeply touched.

4. Karen's life was very like Josie's life in some ways. No wonder Josie loved her.

5.  NCZ. That can mean "no crying zone" but it can also mean "North Carolina Zion." (HT Josie.) (Look--I HT'd. I can't even remember what the H and the T mean, but I know I used it right!)

6. My cousin Kathi saw the picture of Reid and Karen with their 12 grandchildren that Nancy had posted on Facebook. She thought it was an adorable picture. Without reading anything, she said, "Oh, look, Burt, at this adorable picture of Reid and Karen and their grandchildren." Burt looked at it. He said, "Oh, Kathi! This is not good news..." So Kathi had to actually read, and she was so sad! But so happy to see that picture. What a treasure that will be in the family going forward.

7. People who love people make sacrifices. Burt and Kathi drove three hours from Idaho, and three hours back because they loved Karen (Kathi and Karen worked in Young Women's together) and also because they love Nancy and her little family. My brother drove to Spanish Fork from either Provo or Salt Lake. The Judsons (Jr) came from Seattle. The Judsons (Sr) flew from Louisiana. All the Gillespie kids from far and wide. All the BYU kids from who knows where.

8. My sister-in-law Judy and her husband Wally accidentally went to the funeral early, but it turned out that Nancy needed an extra pair of hands and didn't even know it, so Judy jumped in and helped, which was a blessing.

9. The babies who liked me yesterday--that was a miracle so that we could have a good night, I think. Today they were not so keen on me at all. But both of them would go to Josie. At least they would endure her for a time! I still need to do some work there.

10. Ben LOVES Rosie. He thinks she is the BEST. It is only obvious.

11. I really, really love my family. The one I was born into. The one I married into. The children I have. Their spouses. Their spouses' families. The inlaws and outlaws and divorced ones and the ones the divorced ones married, and all the messy beauty of having so many people to love. Priceless.

Babysitting is tiring!

We are getting old, my friend Janet and I! She and I and Josie had the pleasure of tending 12 children--although 3 of them were actually helpers, and they were indeed helpful. But feeding, changing diapers, wiping noses, entertaining, holding babies, cleaning up the kitchen twice...we were all tired! So my brain has no room in it for thinking of things to write tonight. Good night!

Brain Freeze

Oh dear. Tonight I remembered that I need to write, and I am actually staying up trying to write, but I am feeling bereft of words.  So, let me borrow some words from my friend Alexis. She lives in Paradise, California, and 95% of that town has burned to the ground in a terrible fire. When Alexis and her husband escaped in their car, with the fire blazing around them, they drove straight to Oroville and carried out their plan of providing free dental care to veterans on Friday the 9th of November.

Here is what she posted late last night, or early this morning:

"What to share today? Truthfully, I am tired. I just want to curl up and go to sleep, but there has been and is SO MUCH TO DO! Aside from dealing with multiple insurance companies for our different properties, standing hours in line to get the mail, meeting with insurance companies, and going to banks to change addresses on accounts, we are very much aware of all of our team members who are suffering. Not just those who were IN the fire, but those who work with us who feel helpless to make a huge impact, who are watching loved ones work tirelessly on the fighting the fire, and continue to see more destruction and devastation by the fire. I think all of Butte County is feeling very vulnerable right now.

There are amazing stories of generosity coming from all over the world, and it is so much appreciated! I am frustrated because I can't give more, do more. So, I am going to give in, and close my eyes earlier than I have in a long time tonight, and hope that it will be enough to energize me. Thank you for your prayers, and most of all, the support of all of our team. Being stripped of our home, and all of our "things" leaves one vulnerable. We look at the pictures of the fire, and see pictures of ashes that are only a few inches tall, from what used to be our home, and feel like we are living some scene from a movie, but it is not, it is the new reality. But in that reality, amidst the sea of changes, there is a sweet spot, whispering....all will be well. This experience, gives one new meaning and appreciation of the phrase, "Endure to the end", and...."this too shall pass!"

Thanks for sharing your faith, hope and courage, Alexis. And for your example of generosity.

Yesterday's post

Guess who forgot to blog last night? This girl! And I even had a topic in mind! I had gone to a Writing Across the Curriculum meeting on reflective writing--which blogging fits into the category--and one of the speakers talked about this: what? so what? what now? Which is a pretty easy recipe to remember. She is a nursing teacher, and she teaches an END OF LIFE class. Oh my goodness. I want to take that. They go to the morgue. (That is not why I want to take it.) They learn all the things about end of life, what stages the body goes through, etc.

However, I got home late last night (by which I mean about 7:10) and by the time Bruce left for work  was exhausted. Then Kelli called me, which was a good thing, because she had posted this on her timeline on FB, and so I was a little worried. Not a lot worried, but a little. (If it had been a really big problem, I think she would have called me sooner.)

She drives big rigs, and seems to enjoy it very much, but I am just amazed because driving big rigs and enjoy seem like opposite concepts to me.

What happened? Did the guy hauling logs want to give Kelli a super close-up look at his cargo?  Well, as you can see from the picture, the sun was blazing away and it was in his eyes. He pulled closer than intended. Kelli was in the cab of her truck with the curtains pulled, resting her eyes and mind and body. She felt the impact, but not too badly. Her truck is drive-able but damaged, and she is fine. She is in Texas, but headed home in a few days.

The other driver is an owner-operator. He was very nice, very easy to work with. He knew exactly what happened and why. Kelli, being parked, couldn't have done anything to change the situation. The man is a safe driver--his only other accident has been hitting a deer when it popped out in front of him.

So, after 50 minutes of conversation, when we hung up, I went straight to bed. Didn't even think about writing. I am so glad she is okay.  I pray for her, and for all of my children, several times a day. I love them all. I know they will have to go through hard things, because that is life, so  just pray for them to have wisdom and faith and hope and courage.

52 Questions: #35 -- 50 things to be grateful for

This will be a good exercise for tonight! This is sort of what was done in sharing time in Primary on Sunday, too. It is always good to "Count your blessings!"

1. My family (All of these people are so important--but there are many so if I listed them individually, I might not get around to naming 50 OTHER things.)
2. A home to live in
3. A good job
4. Health insurance
5. Clean running water
6. Plenty of food (too much, recently! Hard to keep up with the eating before things go bad.)
7. A comfortable bed
8. The gospel of Jesus Christ
9. Good friends
10. Good neighbors
11. Good people at work
12. The right weather at the right time
13. Farms and farmers
14. The sky
15. Beautiful sunsets
16. Trees
17. All kinds of plants EXCEPT those prickly things that are growing in our lawn. Goat heads.
18. A good education
19. The opportunity to keep learning
10. Music
11. Gamelan
12. Books
13. The ability to read
14. Hands that work (gimpy hands are not fun)
15. Feet and legs that work
16. Eyes that can see
17. Glasses to help those eyes to see
18. Ears to hear
19. The ability to speak
20. Computers (which also irritate me sometimes)
21. Skype, facetime -- the ability to SEE family far away when I talk to them! I remember when we used to talk about "what would it be like if..." back when we were on a party line shared with six or eight neighbors. How we laughed! We didn't even WANT that to be an option--we imagined it would work like a phone, so if you answered it in your pjs, or worse, your slip or a towel-the other person would see you. We imagined having to be dressed up nice just to answer the phone!
21. Text messaging. (I do not like talking on the phone--I just can't hear that well. Cell phones do not have really great sound quality.)
22. Instant messaging
23. Languages. I am glad to have learned a few, and wish I could get better at them. Especially Spanish right now!
24. Singing hymns in Spanish
25. Ruth! I am thankful that she and David found each other.
26. I am thankful that I got to have my father for 42.5 years (almost) and my mother for 45.5 years (almost).  I felt too young to lose my parents, but I know that it could have been less time. Like my mother, who only had her mother for 16 years.
27. I am thankful that Andrew got to have his mother for 34 years even though I wish he had been able to have her for more years than that.
28. I am thankful for Karen for being such an excellent grandmother, and for setting an example for me.
29. Cars that work! (I really dislike cars that don't work--have had both kinds!)
30. Comfortable chairs
31, Thankful that I work in an office where I can sit with my feet up!
31. Amazon. It has taken my childhood Eaton's or Sears Catalog to a whole new level. (We used to have to drop our orders off at the storefront in Taber--we didn't have an actual store for either, just a storefront. And then we would have to drive to town to pick up our packages. Still, in its time, it was cool!)
32. The skill of typing
33. The skill of playing the piano
34. Good dreams
35. Canada. It was a great place to grow up.
36. The United States, with whom I have a love/hate relationship. I love it, but I don't. I hate it, but I don't. It exasperates me, honestly, but I am thankful for it.
37. Oceans and beaches
38. Sea air, which is my favorite kind of air.
39. Airplanes, so I can cross the sea without having to do it on a boat. I do not love boats.
40. But I am thankful for boats, starting with the Mayflower, which brought my ancestors safely to the shores of this country; and the boat that my ancestor Michael Conrad stowed away on; and the boat that carried Nicholas Muhlestein safely even though he and his wife had to bury children at sea. Because these people all donated their DNA to me. I would not exist the way I am without boats, now, would I?
41. Natives in North America who put up with my ancestors who came here. Even though we Europeans were pretty horrible and unkind sometimes. Too often.
42. Windows to let in the light.
43. Curtains or blinds to hide the darkness.
44. Electricity! When we were without it for 19 hours on Labour Day Weekend, that really sucked. We are so dependent on it--we need to be better prepared!
45. A freezer to store ready-made food. It makes cooking for two much easier.
46. Garbage trucks--I love how they just take care of the garbage.
47. Sewage systems! They are the awesomest! Like, who wants to have to worry about how to dispose of raw sewage? Not me. Thank you, thank you, thank you!
48. Insects. They are annoying, but a necessary part of the food chain. Without them, what would the birds eat?
49. Birds. They are lovely to listen to and to watch. I love the song of the Meadowlark! I do not particularly enjoy being pooped on by birds, but it has only happened twice in 60 years, which is not a bad record.
50. The laughter of babies.

I am grateful for many more things. And I like the word "thankful" better than the word "grateful." I wonder why.

This has been a stream of consciousness effort. Some of the things seem to lead into each other in a rational way. Others do not! But there is a post for today.

World War One and other Veteran's Day Stories

Today, the daily writing is a chore. I am so tired; I just want to go to sleep!

But, I will write. Today I went to BYU's Debate of the Dead. Four professors (including Albert Winkler and Robert Means from the library) took on the roles of four different historical characters from WWI, and told us about the history of that time period from the POV of their character.

It was very well done. And I learned a few apalling things. Like, Albert Winkler's character read a letter about how the US side was commanded to continue firing on the Germans until it was exactly eleven AM on 11/11. And that the ratio of dead and injured in the last four hours of the war were awful (he gave the actual numbers, but I can't remember them.) The last death was at 10:59. And it was so silly, because the Germans were retreating; they had signed the armistice. The American soldiers didn't want to keep fighting--they didn't need to because the armistice detailed the land they would get; they had no reason to keep trying to reclaim anything, except they were commanded to.

I really came away with a poor opinion of Woodrow Wilson, honestly. Over the war, and over his treatment of African Americans.

But in good news (mixed with bad news)-- when Brent and Alexis (Potrie) Parrott drove away from their home in Paradise, CA on Friday morning, literally fleeing for their lives, they STILL drove straight to their dental clinic in Oroville and gave free dental care to veterans as promised, without worrying about their possessions in Paradise. Which they lost their house and business--but the fire passed by their old red Sequoia vehicle. Left it untouched. I was so impressed at their carrying on with giving service that day. What a great example!

Also, I wanted to "save" some of my cousin Ron's Remembrance Day posts:

This one was written in the morning of 11/11/2018

In Canada Remembrance Day is a big thing. This year especially, we have been holding daily ceremonies though out the land in remembrance to those who died while in military service. The WW1 is of particular importance. Canada was one of the first countries to enter the war and Canadian soldiers were the shock troupers for the British troops. We lost over 66,000 in that war, but if you put it in 2018 numdersthat would equal over 1 million today. It was the highest per capita loss among the allies. My mother's uncle George Hillier was one of those Canadian shock troupers. He enlisted in the Canadian army at that time because the Americans were not committed to the war effort at that time. Let no stone be unturned and never forget that peace and freedom comes at a price. Thank you to those who served. It was Canada's importance in that war effort that made the country what it is today. Up until this time we were considered just another British colony and of no noteworthiness. It gave us purpose and reason to hold our heads high and be recognized as a free and independent nation.

This one was written in the evening of 11/11/2018: Remembrance Day memories from the past. (by Ron Hancock)

I remember the day the soldiers came home from the War in 1945. I was about 6 at the time. I had three uncles in that war: George McGilvary and Leo Hancock served in Canadian Arm Services during the war and were there when the Canadian Soldiers entered Holland and Germany. My Uncle Henry Searle served in the US Army and stayed in the Army as a supply officer until he retired.

I was 6 years old when my Uncles from Raymond were sent home from the war. We all gathered uptown in front of the Town Hall and old 2nd and 3rd Ward chapels (now community center). My two aunts had not seen their husbands since they left for war. Both had children at home. I remember standing there with my mother and cousins waiting for the moment the returning soldiers would
arrive. I was in total awe of what was happening and not really sure what it was all about. I only knew that it was something important. Both aunts were crying and my mother trying to comfort them. My cousins were very exited. Most were to young to remember much about their father.

The soldiers came in by train at the north end of Broadway and marched down Broadway to where we were. Broadway was all gravel in those days and very dusty and dirty. We could hear a band playing. I think it was mostly Mosey Fromm with the speakers on his van. Then we saw a cloud of dust coming from the north. There was a bagpiper and I think followed by the high school band. I am not sure about the band. As they got closer and closer the more excited my aunts got. The soldiers looked so sharp in their uniforms and marched so perfectly. The authorities had a hard time keeping us back from rushing towards the marching column coming towards us.

When they arrived the commander shouted to the troupes to salute the flag and the dignitaries in front of the old town hall. They were then dismissed. There was then a mad rush of families to find their long lost loved ones. I remember my aunt Lillis jumping up and down trying to see over the heads of everyone and I could see Uncle George and he was doing the same from within the group of soldiers. When they finally met their was a ring of excitement in the air that i will never forget. They just held onto each other and kissed and hugged. To me a small boy, this was not my thing. But it was exciting to see my cousins surround their parents and be each picked up by their father. It was a sight I will never forget. This was followed by speeches from the troop commander, the Mayor and Church Stake President. No body really listened to them. We had not come to hear them and they were a distraction. I kept saying to my mother "When will they stop talking". She just smiled and hugged me and said, just be glad that your dad did not go off to war with the rest of them. It is a picture I will never forget.

This is why we cry

My daughter Josie and I have had the experience of people being a bit puzzled about why we are so prone to be crying over the death of Nancy's mother-in-law. Pretty clearly, many people marry into families that their own families don't know very well or even at all. So you meet them at the wedding, and say how nice to meet you, and then you might see them occasionally at events from time to time over the years, and then if one of them dies you are sad about it, but we probably look kind of over the top. I mean, I personally have been on-and-off crying for an entire week at this point. So, what is the deal? Why do we do all this crying?

We moved to Orem from High River in the year 2000. The kids had a difficult summer--moving to Utah is HARD. These people are lovely, nice people, but they take a while to warm up to newcomers. At least, this was true in our neighborhood. So the summer was not the easiest or best ever. It kind of sucked. We maybe were wondering what we were doing there. I think all of the kids were excited to start school in mid-August, in hopes of maybe finding friends, because that was proving difficult.

The first time we heard the name Heiss was from Patrick. He was in Grade Six at Northridge Elementary School (oops. Sixth Grade. Pardon my Canadian.) Very soon--first day? second day?--he had caught the eye of one Miss Sarah Heiss in his classroom, and she, noticing that he is a good-looking and interesting person, decided to spread rumors that SHE was ENGAGED to him. Mind you, they were ELEVEN. So nobody of any importance would BELIEVE this rumor. But she was persistent in her interest, and he became VERY diligently tenacious in his dislike of Sarah. That September, we borrowed Grandpa Layton's truck to haul away some of the overgrowth of grape vines from our back yard.  We were out working one Saturday. David and Patrick were in the back of the dump truck pushing vines to the back, when all of a sudden, Patrick disappeared. He dove under the vines and completely buried himself.

A few seconds later, two girls walked past our yard, coming from the east. (Patrick had a high view from the back of the truck and had seen them coming, so he played that disappearing trick.) The girls stopped and one of them said something like, "Is this where Patrick lives?" The speaker was not a girl I knew, but the girl she was with was Brooke, from about three houses east of us. We said, yes, this is where Patrick lives. Then she said, "Do you know where he is?" And we could honestly say, "I don't know--he was here just a minute ago, but he has disappeared." Because we had not seen where he disappeared to, only that he had disappeared.  The girls left, and we kept working. Eventually Patrick climbed out of the grape vines and said, "Are they gone?"  We were sort of like "Oh! There you are!" and "Yes, they've gone," and "Why were you hiding in there?"  His reply: "That was Sarah Heiss." You probably know what tone of voice he might have used.

Not sure which happened first, the story above or this one, but Nancy came home from school one day and said to Patrick, "I met Sarah Heiss's brother." Patrick kind of groaned--how terrible to think that his nemesis had a brother. So Nancy was in a ballroom dance class at Timpanogos High School, and she was dancing with one of the boys in class, and he introduced himself as Andrew Heiss. Nancy said, "Heiss? I've heard that name before--do you have a sister named Sarah?" Andrew said that yes, he did, she was in sixth grade. Nancy said, "Yes, I know. My brother hates her."

Fast forward another month, and we had a toilet sitting on our front porch. It was overflowing with Almond Joy chocolate bars. I am not sure how they managed to place that toilet on our porch without any of us seeing or hearing it be put there, but they did. It was an invitation from Andrew to Nancy to go to what--prom? Anyways, a dance at school. She responded affirmatively. Because, while Sarah was not Patrick's favorite person, Nancy thought Andrew was nice. Like, he was a good friend. She wasn't "in love" with him, but he was nice enough. Even when he dropped her at a ballroom dance performance in front of the whole high school, she didn't stop thinking he was okay. He hadn't meant to drop her--that can happen in a lift gone wrong--and it was more embarrassing to be the one who drops than the one who is dropped.

One time, Andrew called to ask Nancy on a date, but he did not word it very well. It sounded like a games night to Nancy. (You can read Nancy's blog to learn that Andrew does not exactly excel at romance as he does at, say, spreadsheets...) So Nancy, being the sweet sister that she is, said, "Sure! Can my brother come too?" Her brother David liked to play games, so why not share the fun?  It was only AFTER the date, when she thought about how her friend Amanda was planning a --oh...double date--that she realized she had gotten the wrong end of the stick.  But that was okay--because David became good friends with both Amanda and Andrew as well.

By the next year, Nancy was in Andrew's same group of friends at school. David was in university. Patrick had moved on to Oak Canyon Junior High School, where he met and made friends with another Heiss, Katharine. He quite liked Katharine, and they were in the same group of friends for several years in junior high. So we heard positive things at home about two of the Heiss children, Andrew and Katharine. We pretty much didn't mention Sarah, because Patrick was still not a fan.

In Grade 12, Nancy did concurrent enrollment at UVU instead of staying in high school. Most of her friends were the same age as Andrew, a year older than her, and high school seemed like a lonely place to be. She was on the ballroom team at UVU, and enjoying herself. That year was my second year working at BYU. My friend Dr. Murray Boren was teaching a Music 210R topics in music class about the music notation software Finale. The class was in danger of not carrying, so my colleague Janet and I got our students and friends to sign up for the class. We got Nancy into the class, and she called a few friends to take it, too. One of them was Andrew. He never sat by her in class, and pretty much ignored her and us, too, but holy cow--was he ever good at it. Finale, I mean. So good, that he finished the one assignment two months into the class, and we never saw him in class again. He already had an A, and now he also had free time. I saw him in the library, though, because he worked in Information Commons. He was hired by Becky (whose sister would be Nancy's coworker and roommate in the future) and then, when Becky moved away, he trained Cyndee Frazier who became his new boss. So Andrew and I had a "hello" type relationship at work.

I knew who Andrew's mother was, mostly because she was the Stake Organist. So I would see her play the organ at stake conference and other meetings from time to time. But I didn't really know her. Then one day, while Nancy and I were at some kind of a stake meeting, we noticed that Brother and Sister Heiss were looking at Nancy and then they came up and talked to her. And I was like, what? It was like, they were showing a great deal of interest. Andrew was on his mission and they just started to invite Nancy to do things with them. So this meant that Patrick and Josie, and David after he returned home from his mission, were also invited to do things with the Heisses. If Nancy was invited over for a games night, she would take David. If something outdoorsy was happening, Patrick was up for that. Josie was willing to go along to anything, because she liked all of them--the Heisses, and the Gillespie kids, who also were often at the Heiss house.

So, by 2004, all of my children had become fans of Karen Heiss. She was always nice to them. She always had good food to share. They were made to feel very welcome. When Nancy and Andrew got engaged and then married in 2005, our family was invited to share in family events. It just made sense--instead of Andrew and Nancy having to decide whether to go with one family or the other, we just started doing things together. Karen always had the better house for entertaining, and let's face it, the better talent and personality for hosting.  Over the past 14 years, starting the year before Nancy married Andrew, we have shared Christmases and Thanksgivings, Easters and Halloweens, Fourth of Julys, New Years Eve celebrations, not to mention lots and lots of birthdays. Or, when they were BYU Bishopric, just "we had a party and have lots of leftover food, can you come and help eat it?"

We made a firm connection in our family also with Emily. She came with me to Montreal to a viola congress, in place of Nancy or Josie, the year that Josie was 12 and was in India. Then she started  working for me in the Music Library, and working with Patrick in book repair. My kids also made friends with Andrew's younger brother Jacob. Their kids and ours just fit together, and generally have really good relationships with each other. Patrick even learned to be civil to Sarah

The Heiss parents have been so important to my younger children. They have had listening ears, good advice, compassion, kindness and love to share with them. Their experience with hundreds of BYU students helped them to be good counselors, and to my kids as well as many others. This goes on to the next generation, because when my granddaughter Rosie was getting really stressed about her wedding, who did she turn to for help? Reid and Karen Heiss, that is who. For patient, kind listening, and friendly advice, who is there better?

And then when you add onto that how terrific they have been to Nancy, and what great grandparents they are, what is not to love? So, after about 14 years of close contact with this family, of course we are crying about losing Karen. Of course we wanted to have more time with her. For Josie, this is more than half her life. For Patrick, it is half his life. They may not have ever lived with Karen, like Nancy's children have, but they have loved going to family events at Karen's house. She always made them feel welcome and important. She remembered things about them. She knew what was going on in their lives. They loved her. We all loved her. (I may have been jealous of her. But who can blame me? Who would not want to be more like Karen?)

I had a dream...

This was my dream last night:

I was working in my office when I got a call from my friend/colleague Janet.

"Myrna, where are you?" she said. "It is time for the presentation to start, and we are just waiting for you."

Dream me had no idea what presentation she meant, but I told her I would be right there.

I went to the library auditorium. The dream auditorium looked nothing like the actual auditorium, but still I knew I was in the right place.

They called me to the front and handed me the microphone. That was when I realized that I WAS the presentation. But presentation about WHAT? I did not know what they expected.

I quietly said to Janet, "What is this all about?"

She looked at me in surprise and said, "Well, it is time for your presentation for the library job! Didn't you know?"

No, I did not know.

"Didn't you get the letter?" she said. "It was mailed weeks ago."

Without her saying anything, I understood that there must have been a new library job that I was interested in and had applied for, and she was on the Search and Screen committee. (That can happen in dreams--that immediate understanding of what it is all about.)

I reflected on that question--did you get the letter?--and my mail-getting history. ( am not very good at getting the mail. IRL, I have missed some important deadlines upon occasion due to not having gotten the mail.) But in this dreamscape, I knew that I HAD gotten the mail, and that there was no such letter--unless it was sitting in there RIGHT NOW. Because I had not gotten the mail THAT day. But the day before, yes, I had.

So I answered confidently, "I received no such letter."

Meanwhile "they" (whoever they were) were trying to get the microphone and the podium computer to work, but having no success. Soon "they" were ripping into the hardware trying to find the problem.

Some people in the audience started to ask me SCIENCE questions, and I was doing my best to answer as evasively as possible without sounding totally stupid.

Then "they" said that the technical problems were so bad, that we needed to clear the auditorium, and would reconvene in a few weeks, because this was a VERY big problem.

I was very relieved. I went to the mailbox, and there was the letter. It had been mailed, and postmarked several weeks before. Inside was an invitation to present for the position of Children's Librarian.

Huh, Dream Me thought. That is a job I would actually like. But...why were they asking me all the science questions?

And then I woke up, and didn't really sleep very well after that, for trying to remember the dream, so it wouldn't disappear on me.

When the Lusitania went down

On May 7, 1915, less than a year after World War I (1914-18) erupted across Europe, a German U-boat torpedoed and sank the RMS Lusitania, a British ocean liner en route from New York to Liverpool, England.
Here is a picture of it, from Wikipedia.

The boat had almost reached England when it was felled near the coast of Ireland. 1,198 people died, and there were 761 survivors. The passengers were mostly British, with a large number of Canadians, and 139 Americans (128 of these died.) This event definitely contributed to the US entry into WWI.

There had been a warning:
NOTICE!
TRAVELLERS intending to embark on the Atlantic voyage are reminded that a state of war exists between Germany and her allies and Great Britain and her allies; that the zone of war includes the waters adjacent to the British Isles; that, in accordance with formal notice given by the Imperial German Government, vessels flying the flag of Great Britain, or any of her allies, are liable to destruction in those waters and that travellers sailing in the war zone on the ships of Great Britain or her allies do so at their own risk.
IMPERIAL GERMAN EMBASSY
Washington, D.C. 22 April 1915

The sinking of the ship, and especially the fact that children lost their lives was used in war recruitment propaganda, to encourage would-be soldiers to help create a world in which small children did not have to die in wars.

And of course, since this was the early 1800s, a song was written about it.

And for the program at BYU to honor the 100th Anniversary of the signing of the Armistice on Nov. 11, 1918, the event planners, my colleague Robert Means and Dr. Jarica Watts wanted to have this song sung. Dr. Watts had heard of an event elsewhere where a barbershop quartet group had sung an arrangement of this song. And that was the way they wanted it sung for the BYU event. Barbershop quartet singing was culturally very prominent in the early 1900s.

This was where I came in. They could not find this music anywhere! I don't know if Dr. Watts was at an event held at the University of Missouri in Kansas City last year or if someone she knew was, but the coverage of the event speaks of this arrangement. What did I do? Well, first I thought that it would be easiest to contact the director of the group, Robert Bode, at UMKC. Totally got nowhere. So then I contacted my friend Nara, the music librarian at UMKC, thinking that Dr. Bode would know her and therefore respond to her quicker than to random old me. I thought of trying to contact the arranger, Robert May, but that seemed harder because his name is too common, and I had no connection to him. But I ended up finding him and reaching out to him, and while Nara eventually got somewhere with people at UMKC, by then I had already found Robert May and had the music. He was so nice to work with! We paid him only $25 to receive 4 copies of the quartet in 2 different keys.

Robert talked to one of our desk student employees who is a vocal performance major, Sam, and I asked one of David Day's students, Isaac, and also contacted one of our vocal performance faculty for some other suggestions. We ended up with a great quartet. (I think the file is too large to post here. One day soon I will get help to make it a post-able size.)

I really enjoyed the program. Even though I was amazed to hear both the English professors (one from BYU, one from the U of U) and the French professors speak about "these monuments" all over Europe, even in small towns, to those who had fallen in wars, so that it is always on their minds, and they always remember. Like, it was such a big deal to them--and none of them said the word "cenotaph." I thought ALL towns had a cenotaph and that cenotaph was just a word that everyone knew because, hello, to me cenotaphs are NORMAL. Taber had one. Raymond had one. High River had one. Grassy Lake had one. Not to mention Lethbridge, Calgary, Ottawa...everywhere. But apparently that is not an American thing. Huh. Who knew?

A great article about WWI and Remembrance Day was written for the Canadian version of lds.org, by Ron Bissett, who grew up in Taber. Recommended reading, should anyone be interested.

Last of all, the lyrics to "When the Lusitania Went Down:"

The nation is sad as can be,
A message came over the sea,
A thousand or more, who sailed from our shore,
Have gone to eternity.
The Statue of Liberty high
Must now have a tear in her eye,
I think, it's a shame,
Someone is to blame,
But all we can do is just sigh!

Chorus:
Some of us lost a true sweetheart,
Some of us lost a dear dad,
Some lost their mothers, sisters and brothers,
Some lost the best friend they had.
It's time they were stopping this warfare,
If women and children must drown,
Many brave hearts went to sleep in the deep,
When the Lusitania went down.

A lesson to all it should be,
When we feel like crossing the sea,
American ships, that sail from our slips,
Are safer for you and me.
A Yankee can go anywhere,
As long as Old Glory is there,
Although they were warned,
The warning they scorned,
And now we must cry in despair: (chorus)

Live together in love

The past few days, I can feel tears in my eyes pretty much all the time, ready to leak out at any moment. I have had a scripture constantly in mind, D & C 42:45--Thou shalt live together in love, insomuch that thou shalt weep for the loss of them that die...

As hard as it is to lose people, what a wonderful thing it is to love people. One of my colleagues at BYU has lost his wife to ALS. This sweet woman was so good to Josie on Young Ambassador tours. She had a very fast-moving case of ALS measured in months rather than years. This has happened at the same time that we have seen the sudden illness and journey towards death that Karen is making due to sepsis.  It is a sad time. It is also a good time to reflect on both of these women and the ways in which they have blessed our lives.

Josie and I went with Nancy and Miriam to see Karen in the ICU tonight. We went very late, past visiting hours, but Reid encouraged us to go. He felt it was important for Miriam to see her grandma. Rachel is old enough that she has been allowed into Karen's room, but Miriam was too young. Now that they have basically given up--science tried, and science could not help--they allowed her to go in.

It was hard. We cry-sang Karen's favorite hymn, I stand all amazed. We would win no awards for the musicality of the performance, but we sang with feeling.

Bonus: the opportunity to watch the hospital's helicopter take off. It is very beautiful to watch at night, with the red, white and blue lights. We did not stop to consider why it was taking off--somewhere something hard for someone! But it was lovely to watch.

It is hard to feel my eyes constantly filling with tears, but actually, they feel quite comfortably moist. There is good despite bad. Beauty despite pain. Love despite loss.

A sad PS: Karen is fading fast. After I wrote this, I checked my phone and Nancy had texted to say the end is very near.