Guardian Angel on Overtime (part I)

I’m vividly aware of two separate times my life was spared when I was younger. I will write two posts about the memories I have of those events.

The first episode I want to blog about happened when I was seven years old. My parents, little brother, Jim, and I went to San Francisco, California to visit some friends and family.

We went on quite a few trips during my youth because my grandparents lived in Arizona and my Mom’s seven brothers lived across the U.S. The way my father traveled with the family never altered during my entire childhood. Even though we always had a car, we never drove the car; we took the pickup truck with a camper shell on the back which was my Dad’s work vehicle. All the luggage and the kids were tossed in the back where we had a bed (which normally served as a shelf for all my Dad’s tools) with a four-inch foam pad on it for the trip while Mom and Dad rode in the cab of the truck.

The good thing about traveling this way is the kids were with the ice chest--thus the food and drink. The bad thing about traveling this way is the kids had a difficult time conversing with the parents about their needs--to make a rest stop or help with resolving disputes (probably considered a good thing by the parents).

Jim and I had coloring books, modeling clay, storybooks and little toys to keep us occupied during all those hours and hours of driving. Over the years of traveling like this, every single coloring book we ever owned had “I need to use the bathroom” written on the inside cover. We would have to pound on the glass and gesture wildly to get their attention and then hold the message against the glass for them to read our request. Also written inside several of these coloring books were phrases like: “Jim is being mean!” and “Georgia won’t leave me alone.”

Anyway, on this particular trip to San Francisco we left during the winter and along with all the other stuff we brought, Dad put in our portable kerosene heater because the camper shell on the back of the truck got pretty cold. He would light it and warn us about making sure it stayed upright and that nothing touched it. The domed top of the heater would glow orange when it was hot and put out enough heat to keep us from freezing to death while we colored, read, played and fought with one another in the back of the truck.

Somehow under these conditions on this particular trip, I became extremely ill. I was so sick, in fact, that my parents had to take me to an emergency room. I don’t remember much about my stay in the hospital because I had such a high fever, but when I was finally released the most memorable thing for me is I was given a green helium balloon by a nurse. Before this time I had never even seen, let alone owned a helium balloon, so I was absolutely enthralled with a balloon that would float on its own accord and needed a string to keep it from getting away. My parents were worried enough about me that Mom rode in the back with me tucked into piles of blankets on the foam mattress, while Jim rode up front with Dad. My Mom fastened the string of my wonderful balloon onto something in the back of the truck so I could look at it from my ‘bed’. My Dad had refilled and fired up the heater so we would stay warm and then he started maneuvering through San Francisco traffic to get us to our destination. My Dad was not a patient man and did not like driving in traffic (probably the main reason we lived in Hinckley). A few miles from the hospital his driving became very erratic and a quick swerve caused the kerosene heater to tip over, spilling the propellant all across the plywood lining the bed of the truck. The flame from the heater instantly ignited the kerosene and we became a rolling fireball. My beautiful green balloon was the first casualty of the fire, it popped immediately! My Mother was shrieking, but of course two windows (the camper shell and the pickup truck) with a few inches of air between separated us from my Dad and he could not hear her screams. I remember my lungs burning for lack of air within seconds and her yelling for me to pound on the glass. I was pounding and screaming and Mom pulled one of the quilts off of me and was trying to beat out the flames, but my Dad just kept driving through the streets of San Francisco. Luckily, someone in another vehicle saw our plight and caught my Dad’s attention and he stopped. He yanked open the camper and the tailgate of the truck and quickly pulled out the flaming plywood to finish beating out the flames outside the truck.

Shortly after the flames were extinguished we realized the second casualty of the incident was the beautiful handmade butterfly quilt that had been covering me and was the weapon used against the flames. My Mother had spent countless hours lovingly piecing and quilting on this creation and now it was charred black in many places and burned completely through in others. Then the thought occurred to my parents that we could have all died in a fiery explosion considering how close the gas tank was to the roaring fire. Also, another couple of seconds and my Mom and I would have been completely asphyxiated in the small area with precious oxygen burning at such a rate.

While all of these thoughts were stirring in my parents’ minds, I was sobbing on the bed in the truck. Both of them scrambled up to be near me and see if I was hurt. I didn’t get burnt and I wasn’t even scared about the fire, I was upset about losing my green helium balloon. They tried to comfort me and finally calmed me down by promising to buy me another balloon.

It wasn’t until years later when I was telling this story to someone that I realized I had been spared a terrible death by fire. During the preceding years whenever I had thought about that occasion I always came back to the fact that my parents had never replaced that balloon.

Back on Track II

For the past week I've been watching the snow melt. It seems each spring there will be some new and exciting surprise under the snow which has been on the ground for months without end. Most people have only noticed the brown, matted grass and flattened bushes which have emerged, but two days ago I found the track at Weber High School is nearly cleared of snow! I visited the track three weeks ago and ended up walking the entire circuit in snow to my knees, but on Wednesday and Thursday of this week I was thrilled to see the surface is almost completely exposed. I could actually run three quarters of the way around with only the west end-zone portion still too icy to run on. Also going up and down the sidewalk approaching the field was treacherous with ice, forcing me to walk through the snow piled on the grass, but a few more days of warm weather should have it completely uncovered and I can get back to my morning routine. I miss my 5:00 a.m. runs from the end of November until the middle/end of February every year, but it makes me so grateful when I can finally get 'back on track'.

In my opinion the football field at Weber High School is the most beautiful setting of any high school track and field in the world. It sits nestled into a foothill of Ben Lomond Peak, the 'home' bleachers are naturally set into this hill, while the 'visitor' bleachers loom above the roof of the school to the south. To the west of the field is a large expanse of lawns and trees sharply sloping down to the school below and the baseball field to the south-west. There is a gorgeous view of the entire valley as you look off over the school; you can see the Great Salt Lake, Willard Bay, and all of Ogden laid out below. Of course Ben Lomond towers above to the north and to the east is another range of mountains including Lewis Peak. I've seen beautiful moon sets, glorious sun rises and meteor showers with stars shooting in every direction. I've had the company of deer, owls, toads, mice and an occasional skunk on some of my runs. People tell me that running in a circle is too boring and they can't understand why I continue to go to the track each morning, but if they tried it once, they'd want to run there every day too; I should keep it my little secret so I can have my own private track at 5:00 a.m...shhhh.

Ice Skating

While watching the pair figure skaters this evening, I've been revisiting memories of skating on the Gunison Bend Reservoir as a child. For those who grew up in Millard County, do you remember how the reservoir would freeze completely solid? I vividly remember going out there with my skates and having to jump over the rough 'wavy' edge, but once you were on the middle surface it was smooth as glass--beautiful sea-green glass. It seemed you could see to the sandy bottom of the 'rez' even hundreds of feet out. How exhilarating it was to be able to skate all the way across to the opposite wavy edges.

This past summer, Cami and I drove out to the reservoir on the 24th of July and watched the boaters and water skiers. It was hard to imagine all that water could have been solid a few months earlier and would be again in the winter.

The figure skating tonight has been incredible to watch. Like millions around the world, I once imagined myself as graceful and talented as an Olympian while I stumbled and slid across the ice on a frozen reservoir of my childhood.

Happy 1st Birthday

Dear The Georgia Pages @ Blogspot,

Happy, happy birthday!

One year ago today I wrote my very first blog post. That means it has been just over one year since I was release as Relief Society President and I had to try to figure out what to do with my life.

When we were driving home from Idle Isle last night with our dear friends, the Marsdens, Margie asked me how I felt about being release from that calling. Even a year later, I am not completely sure how I feel. I know I'm relieved at not having all the responsibility for the health and well-being of every sister in the ward; but I truly miss the relationship of my presidency, the confidence I felt bestowed upon me by the Lord, His miraculous blessings I enjoyed every day of those three and and half years of service, the home visits with the women of my area and the constant companionship of the Holy Ghost I felt inspiring and uplifting me.

Life moves on and some years move faster than others...this one has gone by quickly.

The Candy Counter

Today I received a birthday card from my best friend in elementary school. Thinking kind thoughts of Julie brought back memories of fun things we did together in Hinckley many years ago.

Julie and I lived across town from each other so we would meet at the half-way point which was "Damron's Deep", an irrigation canel. The Damron kids had dug it deeper and wider to make a swimming hole. It was the best swimming spot in Hinckley with a huge headgate you could dive/jump off of and a rope tied in a tree you could swing out over the water and drop off. Damron's Deep was the agreed-upon half-way place between our houses and we would meet there to walk or ride our bikes anywhere else we were going. Julie always beat me there. I'm not sure if it was becase it was actually closer to her house or because my Dad always questioned me any time I left the house, but Julie would always wait patiently for me to arrive.

Our favorite place to go together was Morris Mercentile. (I've mentioned Morris Merc in a previous post.) The Merc was one of only two businesses in town. The second one was a gas station at the corner of Main and the Highway. (Referred to as the Hinckley Second Ward due to the large number of men and boys who would congregate there on Sundays to drink pop and visit during church.)

The Merc was amazing! My Mom would send me to the store for a pound of baloney or a box of crackers or whatever she needed for dinner and I would say, "Put it on my account." Mr. or Mrs. Morris would write it up in a little receipt book and I would sign it. Then they would put one of the copies of the receipt in a paper bag along with the groceries. I always felt so grown up doing the marketing at the Merc.

But even more incredible was the selection of candy Mr. Morris stocked in his tiny store. He had a big glass case about five feet wide and four feet high with different shelves, levels and sections completely stocked with the best candy of our generation. On the top shelf was the penny candy including Smarties, Pixie Sticks, Swedish Fish, Black Licorice Sticks, Tootsie Rolls and Hubba-Bubba Bubble Gum. The next level down had the nickle candy which were things like Pop Rocks, Lemon Heads, Boston Baked Beans and Alexander the Grape. Ten cent candies were next; things like Necos, Chicken Sticks, long Licorice Whips, Lic 'O Mades, Mike and Ike, Good and Plenty and Giant Pixi Sticks. The bottom of the counter had the quarter candy bars. Candy bars in those days were bigger than they make them now and Mr. Morris had every kind of candy bar made at that time.

The clerk was always having to tell us kids, "Don't lean on the glass." When I was small there were a few little cracks in the glass front of the case from children pushing their heads against the glass to get a better look at all those sweets. As I got older, those cracks became longer and more numerous and when I was a teenager, Mr. Morris had to tape the cracks with clear packing tape to keep the glass front together.

What a treat it was to take a quarter into Morris Merc and come out with a small paper bag filled with penny and nickel candies. Julie and I would take our sacks and go to the school playground to eat, swing and talk.

It is no wonder that the one and only dentist in town was also the richest man in the county. He must have made so much money filling all the cavities in the teeth of Hinckley children. I wonder if he invested in the Morris Merc's candy business?

Why I Hate Brussel Sprouts - (ARCM)

My 16-year-old daughter believes this sudden rash of childhood memories represents some deep-seated mental problem, but my opinion is that I’ve often thought about these events; I’ve just never recorded them before so now I’m taking that opportunity.

Most people don’t love brussel sprouts, but not many people are horrified by them, like I am. It all stems from the ‘terrible brussel sprout accident of ‘73’.

Highway 5 runs past the north end of Hinckley. It is referred to as the “Loneliest Highway in America” and every year there are many accidents and deaths which occur on that long, straight stretch of road between Delta, Utah and Ely, Nevada. I believe it is because drivers just become so bored with the nothingness out there, they doze off and then over-correct. It is truly a problem, but until 1973 it had never affected me in a personal way.

11-year-olds are typically opinionated and picky about what they eat, but I don’t think I was particularly fussy. At our house we ate what we raised. We slaughtered chickens, ducks, turkeys, and rabbits every year on our property and hauled the larger animals—cows, sheep and pigs to the slaughter house in Delta to be butchered and packaged for our enormous chest freezer. We also grew loads of vegetables: corn, peppers, tomatoes, onions, carrots, radishes, beets, turnips, etc. which I ate plentifully all summer and also what my mother and I preserved in jars or dried for the other months of year.

Well one day there was an accident out on Highway 5 not far from Hinckley. A semi truck had its load shift and tip over spilling its entire shipment of brussel sprouts. A tractor trailer completely filled with brussel sprouts is A LOT of those little vegetables. Word spread through Hinckley like wildfire that everyone could go out to the accident scene and gather up brussel sprouts that were spread out around the overturned truck. I received the call from a well-meaning neighbor about this ‘bounty’ but didn’t even bother my mother with the news figuring she had plenty to do with my baby brother, the housework, the gardens, etc.

A few hours later another lady from town (definitely a busybody) showed up at our house with to two grocery bags (the biggest brown paper bags they used before plastic) filled completely to the brim with little green brussel sprouts. At first my mother was thrilled that we were able to partake of the prize, so she cooked up a bunch for dinner. The pan full she prepared didn’t even make a dent in the number we possessed. We ate them with dinner that night drenching them in butter and salt and choking down as many as possible. She continued to steam or boil them for the next couple of nights with each of us growing wearier of them each meal. On the fourth day my mother handed me the bags and sent me down to the chicken coops to dispose of them. With light heart and skipping feet, I carried those blasted veggies out the door, across the yard, through the pasture and out to our clucking poultry where I dumped what had to have been at least 20 pounds of brussel sprouts into the chicken run. The chickens were much like the family--they pecked at them for the first day or two and then they were just digging around them and acting disgusted about being served such nasty food. About a week later, my Dad sent me out there with a rake and a shovel. I had to bury the moldering sprouts because they were rotting on the ground and he was afraid they would make the chickens sick.
In the 37 years since that time, I have NEVER purchased, grown, prepared or eaten a brussel sprout and I don’t plan to, either!

For many years I've wondered why it couldn't have been a candy truck that spilled its load outside of my little town?

The Bookmobile-A Millard County Classic and another Random Childhood Memory

Growing up in a very small town had many disadvantages for a child. When I was young, swimming lessons were nonexistent (except for my Dad throwing me into the reservoir when I was five); shopping for school clothes involved catalogs and weeks of waiting since the nearest mall was hours away; and everyone knew everyone else's business because there weren't enough people in town to dilute the nosiness. However, there were so many advantages to growing up in a small town I just wouldn't want to take up the time and space to list them all. It has taken 30 years since high school for me to realize that Hinckley was a great place to grow up.

One of the things I didn't recognize as a small-town disadvantage was the lack of a local library--because we had a Bookmobile! Oh how I loved the Bookmobile! The only problem with it was that it only came to Hinckley every other week. What a wonderful sight that pale yellow bus with the big eyes painted in the "O"s in 'Bookmobile' on the side was every other Wednesday!

During the school year, the Bookmobile parked next to Hinckley Elementary School and each class would get a 30 minute block of time in the 'book bus' as one of my teachers called it. But during the summer months, it came to Main Street in town.

My parents originally lived in an old adobe pioneer home with only one other house on the entire block. The blocks were huge and left open for gardens, corrals, pastures and animal shelters and that is exactly what my parents did with their land. We had two large garden plots on either side of the house, lots of fenced off areas for sheep and horses, the corral where we kept cows, chicken coops, goat and pig pens and even a fenced in pond where we kept ducks. We also had a row of rabbit hutches along our redwood fence, a root cellar with a shed on top where we housed the baby chicks under heat lamps until they could be moved to the coops. We lived in that house from the time I was three until I was 16. THEN we moved onto Main Street. I was not happy about that move with the exception of one thing--next to that house was the parking place of the Bookmobile every other week all summer.

I remember the anticipation on every other Wednesday during the months we were out of school waiting for that lumbering vehicle to make its appearance. It probably meant more to the kids in Hinckley than an ice cream truck (we didn't have any idea what an ice cream truck was). It would make the turn off the highway onto Main Street and immediately people would start following it to its destination under the large, shady trees next to my house. For the next three or four hours, the young and old of Hinckley would bring back their previously checked-out books and choose new ones. The driver of the Bookmobile was also the librarian. He was very nice and would take requests written on little cards. If he was able to fill those requests, he would have your books up at the front in a box by the steering wheel. That was so cool to have a special book reserved with your name tucked inside the front cover.

I am sure that my love of reading started when I was five years old and the Kindergarteners were able to choose their own books. Today when I walk into a well-stocked library I feel that same sense of excitement about the new adventure I will find in a book just as I did many years ago climbing up the two high steps into a bus with shelves along both walls and the back and a desk with a steering wheel and a driving librarian behind it.

Goats, Another Random Childhood Memory

When my children where small they would beg me to tell them stories about when I was a child. Some of my stories have become staples in the family history repertoire. A couple of the favorites revolve around our goats. We only had two goats and only for a few years. We had a male and a female and they had tremendous personalities, yet I cannot recall their names (how sad is that?).

One memorable event with the goats happened one spring day:

In Hinckley, Morris Merc (Mercantile) (the local store with a little bit of a lot of stuff) sold kites... but only in the spring. Every kid wanted a kite and a few sticks of twine and it was a huge deal to see who could get their kites to fly the highest, thus using the most twine. For a couple of years I had purchased bad kites which I could hardly get off the ground. I had a great deal of sympathy for Charlie Brown during that time. But when I was 9, I had a killer kite! It was bright yellow and had a red Chinese Dragon on it. It was so cool! That was another thing about buying kites at the Merc is you really didn't know what your kite would look like because it came all rolled up around the balsa wood sticks and wrapped in paper. Boy, oh boy, was I excited when I opened this one and found such a cool-looking kite.

Shortly after my purchase, I went out in our pasture with my newly assembled my kite. My Mom had done a great job of adding a tail made of scraps of fabric. There was a nice, stiff breeze blowing (which is nothing new in Hinckley where the wind blows 350 days a year) and before long I had to fasten one end of a ball of twine to a second and then it was nearly gone too. That kite was so high, I could hardly see it! Kite flying is actually quite difficult work and after awhile I was tired so I started rolling up the twine and bringing that kite in. This was a dandy specimin and I was going to show it to all my friends and tell them how high in the sky it had been!

Down, down, down came my kite growing brighter and larger by the minute. Suddenly a gust of wind grabbed it and slammed it to the ground off in the distance, so I started walking and winding towards where it fell. We lived on a farm and on a fairly big lot so I couldn't see where it was, but I just kept walking and winding knowing I would get to it eventually.

I walked past the chicken coops, rolling and rolling. I walked past the pig pen, winding and winding. I thought it must be out in the tall horse grass. I saw the twine was stretched over the top of the goat pen so I stepped up on the bottom rail of the fence to continue winding. But horror of horrors...as I looked over the top rail of the pen I saw the two goats munching on the very last bits of my beautiful kite. One had a little piece of yellow paper stuck to his beard and the other one had a few inches of balsa wood sticking out of her mouth as she chewed. Nothing else was left but the twine hanging loosely over the rail.

I don't remember if I screamed and threw a fit (I probably did); but the mental picture of that kite being chewed up by goats is seared in my memory forever.

About a year after the kite incident those goats escaped from their pen and in my attempt to heard them back in, one of them knocked me down and gave me a concussion. For some reason, I have very few memories of the goats after that.

Fridays

Fridays are my favorite day of the week.

I really love Friday!

For the last few months, I've been taking Fridays off from work, so I usually sleep in a little bit (which starts the day off nicely). I also get to catch up on all the things I've wanted to do during the work week, but just didn't get the chance to do.

Today for example, I had the pleasure of snowshoeing this morning with my good friend Mary Kay Pfost. She owns two sets of snowshoes and allowed me to tag along for her morning excersise. In the past, I haven't found winter sports to my liking but that changed today as we hiked up the hills above town in the most beautiful sparkling snow you can imagine. Mary Kay was identifying deer, rabbit and bobcat tracks in the otherwise untouched snow. The sky was so blue and the snow so white; the air so crisp and the view so spectacular; the company so fun and the excersise so exhilerating, I couldn't help loving this adventure. (I hope Mary Kay will invite me again soon...hint, hint).

When I got home, I had a quick shower and the auto glass guy came and installed a new windshield in the Jeep. I washed the bedsheets, vacummed the floors, folded all the laundry and put it away, took a load of stuff to the Deseret Industries and dusted all the furniture. I also roasted a turkey, made homemade gravy, mashed potatoes and a huge salad. The house smelled delicious and felt clean. I am in such a good mood after my wonderful Friday, I would almost wish every day were Friday...but then Fridays wouldn't be special and I wouldn't appreciate them like I do right now.

Happy 2010

We were privileged to be included in a small group of very fun people to celebrate in the New Year last night. We ate and visited until 1:00 a.m. with just a small interlude of noisemakers and poppers right at midnight to usher in 2010. We feel so blessed to have such great friends and neighbors who are so kind to us and such good examples of righteous living.

Here's my wish that we may all be blessed with a year of health, happiness and love of family in 2010!

More than a Million

December 23, 2009 was a very exciting day for the Indexers and Arbitrators of the Pleasant View South Stake. We passed our Million-Name Goal which we started on July 1st. Over one million names were indexed and arbitrated by about 200 people in our stake in six months. I feel so blessed and lucky to have been a part of the great effort and the one who kept everyone posted on our progress.

I will always remember 2009 and the adventure of working together in a great effort which will affect so many people for good. It will be another adventure to see what the next challenge will be with this stake calling.

We will continue to count and report the numbers of names indexed through the end of the year. It will be great fun to see how far beyond the million we can get by December 31, 2009!

They Are Here!

Dani and Kelly are home for Christmas! What sweet words to type! They've been gone so long and even though we talk on the phone, write emails and each keep a blog; I've just missed them so much. It felt so good to hug them at the airport early this morning when, after four hours of weather-related delays, they finally arrived!

We are going to have such a memorable Christmas having our family all together this year. Here's wishing you a marvelous holiday season and the love of family in your life, the warmth of love in your home and the gift of the Spirit of Christ in your heart.

Love,

Georgia