WHAT WILL BE THEIR MEMORIES?

In the last few weeks, I've had many opportunities to ponder my fate!! It began with my 69th birthday in July. On that day, I had a memory flash to the day my parents signed the mortgage for their first home. The year was 1954, and we were gathered in our brand new living room. They marveled that, through regular payments, the house would be theirs in 1984. We girls would be 42. I remember trying to imagine what I would look like at 42...old, certainly, wrinkled, probably. Now I was 69--older than my father had been when he died, and I looked just like I'd imagined I would look at 42. Old age is a strange phenomenon in one's life; it's retrospective, frightening really, and certainly not for the faint-of-heart or sissies!!

A week or so after my birthday brooding on my advanced age, I visited with my mother-in-law, who's 96. She showed me 3 or 4 small journals which she calls her quote books. It's a hobby that Peggy and I have in common--we love to collect quotations, poems, song lyrics. Hers are neatly written in small journals, and she includes her own poetry and personal thoughts with her gleanings from the writings of others. Mine? They're in an online journal, old three-ring binders several, on the backs of envelopes, etc.

Peggy held her little journals tightly to her tiny bosom and said tearfully, "These are so dear to me, but I know you kids will have no use for them and throw them away when I'm gone." Shortly afterward, I went for my annual health check-up and mentioned to my doctor that I was experiencing some shortness of breath lately...my oh my!! This statement prompted a series of heart stress tests, ending in a recent day in Emanual Hospital's ICVR unit for an angiogram. Wow!! Although I didn't want to think about it, my mind kept reverting to panic mode! What if there's really something wrong? What if I have a bad heart? What legacy have I left for my posterity? What will be their memories of me? Will those "things" which are dear to me be thrown out after I'm gone? (Angiogram revealed the need for a change of medication and weight loss...Whew...I have a little time). Tomorrow, I'm going to visit a friend my age who thinks that she is dying--a fact her doctor is hiding from her she says. She knows he isn't telling her because he asked her for a hug. She wants to put her affairs in order and asked me to help her write down her testimony of Jesus Christ for her children. So here I am, on a warm, warm Sunday morning contemplating how much time I have to get my affairs in order. Let's see, there's:

1. My genealogy: Binders full of pictures, memorabelia, documentation, etc. of hundreds of ancestors whom I've found through my years of genealogical research. How I love these wonderful people and treasure what I know of them and the small mementos I have of many of them! But, my family will never know them as I do unless I bring this chaos to order!!

2. Pictures: Boxes and boxes and buckets and computer files of pictures--to be organized, filed, discarded, labeled.....3. Personal history to write. I do have that started; I got an A on an autobiography I wrote for a personal history writing class that I wrote in 1964. And my journals, personal writing, and novel gathered up..

4. The Grandchildren Quilt Project. I'm sending quilt #11 out tomorrow. Only 6 more to go. Then, I move on to the Children Quilt Project. And then....

Hmm...the tasks before me sound delicious...fun to do...Maybe this winter?? Because, right now there's:

1. This little guy...Yuri...our ten pound seventeenth grandchild. He's the love child of our son, Tom. With that little Buddha-tummy, Yuri needs a warm, cuddly afghan to keep him warm this winter.

2. And this guy...Vale, who returns August 29th, to the elite Kennedy Boarding School to begin his freshman year of high school.

3. And these guys, who seem to think they need three meals a day and a clean house...

Maybe I can work it all in...the present and the future.....before that hug from my doctor comes.

Contemplatively, Mom

Because two people fell in love

Because two people fell in love, acquired six children, then married most of them off, those two people have 16 grandchildren, 2 great-grandchildren, some in-laws, grey hair and old-age liver spots. Because they fell in love with all those relatives, they have the insane desire every year or so, to bring them all together in a confined area for a few days of togetherness and......

BEACH BUMMING





































PLAYING:

TALKING:







ELECTRONIC-ING:



















POSING:

TALENT SHOWING:

GOOD-BYE-ING:

We missed TJ, Tobin and family, DeAnne, Kevin and Debbie, Steve and Michelle, and Tom and family, but in a year or two, we two people will have the same urges, and we might all come to YOUR house! Thanks, Marie, for being such a good hostess!!

Love to All. Mom

I'm not sure our current activity is an addiction, but it's pretty close. We're addicted to two television shows: The Generations Project hosted by BYUTV and Who Do You Think You Are on NBC. Both shows have, basically, the same theme; they're about roots, genealogy, ancestry. The NBC show features family origins of celebrities; BYU's stars are every day Joes, all of whom are seeking the answers to their own life puzzles through their family history. In both shows, the conclusion most often drawn is that we are each the sum of all of the generations of people who have gone before us! I, like so many inexperienced amateur genealogists, wanted to find a link that would show that we were related to famous people!! No such luck. I've found a moonshiner, a polygamist, a federal prisoner, and a ne'er-do-well Indian scout, but no blue blood! Tom's maternal line is filled to the brim with blue blood, however. I've begun more and more to link personalities, traits, hobbies, etc. of current family members to their ancestors.

Take, for instance, Tom's enjoyment and crafting of the rock wall around our home! It is a dry-stack wall which he's built around our property. Hours spent at the quarry selecting, loading, and hauling were hours of enjoyment for Tom! Of Tom's second great grand uncle, William Hamilton, it is said: "Mr. Hamilton was a lowland Scotsman...His stone residence was an eye-opener to his generation at East Lake [Nova Scotia] whilst his neat, skillful and enduring stone fences are subjects of commendatary remark to this day. His labours at the Lake, even at this distance of time, give evidence of care, skill, taste, neatness and intelligent industry."

Disgruntled with your nose, ears, frizzy hair, etc, etc? Instead of blaming your parents, you might want to look even further back--generations!! After a long search, I came across this fellow. His surname is Whitby; he lived in England, and he is not directly related to anyone in my Whitby line. Notice any resemblance to my dad, whose picture is in my previous post, or my grandson, TJ? The old saw, "He has his grandpa's chin could as well be said, "He has his tenth great-grandpa's this and that."

As well as looks and personality traits, our ancestors were products of their times as well as their environments. Our daughter, Marie, is an avid couponer and food storage buff. In every cabinet, under most beds in her house, everywhere there's any space, Marie has food stored for that inevitable rainy day. My mother was in a nursing home for several years before her death. As we cleared out her dresser, we found it full of empty canning jars. Her caregiver winked and said, "She said that when she got well enough, she needed to get started on her winter canning!"

This blog doesn't do justice to the thoughts I have about this subject. In a few days, I'll turn 60++++, and I'm definitely asking, "What have I done with my life? What must I still do?" I am the product of all generations who've gone before me, and, for good or bad, there will be parts of me in all generations who follow me. Sobering thought on this hot July morning. I yam what I yam, according to the Popeye philosophy, but I want to be the best of what I yam!! Genealogy and family history research is a fun, addictive, and relatively safe hobby that may answer for us that question: Who do You Think You Are?

Love to one and all!! Mom

On Fatherhood

I find it difficult to write about Father's Day and one's father without writing in cliches and over-writing a tribute. My father, Grant L. Whitby, has been gone for 24 years, almost to the day. He died alone in his grubby little apartment. I've always felt sad, and a bit guilty, when I think of the event because no family with him when he passed. He had been lonely for a long time. It's easy to say that his loneliness had been brought on by his own poor choices, but now that I'm older than he was when he died, and I'm living with some of my poor choices, health-wise, I have a different view of my dad's life. Daddy was a product of the Great Depression, of a hard-scrabble farm life in southern Idaho, of an elderly father, and a strict religious upbringing. I think of him as the epitome of the old war song: "How Ya Gonna Keep 'Em Down on the Farm (After They've Seen Paree)?" Leaving his home to work in the CCC's, Daddy returned very rarely usually to attend the funerals of his mother and brother. He was of a generation that sometimes thought a real man didn't cry nor publically embrace or show emotion to his children. He indulged in the kind of life he'd been forbidden: alcohol, tobacco, gambling, etc. He later paid the price of his indulgence: a divorce, a somewhat "uncomfortable" relationship with his children, bankruptcy, and alienation from some of his friends. The death of our brother, Joe, in Viet nam in 1965 was a pivotal time for Daddy. After floating around in the depths of despair, he finally got a grip!! He stopped drinking and joined AA, and he saved enough money to lease his own barber shop. Tragically, he suffered a debilitating stroke, and AA meetings and companionship with his friends from AA became his way of life. He drove an old, "beater" car one handed and thought nothing of heading out on icy roads to go to a meeting or to mentor an AA friend in need.


In spite of his frailties/weaknesses, he was a good father. From my dad, I learned the importance of an education. Not necessarily a college education, that was my mom's mantra, but being self-educated, a lifelong learner. My father never finished school, but he read constantly and loved to discuss/argue about almost any topic. He especially loved and devoured any college textbooks I brought home. I also gained my testimony of the truthfulness of the doctrinal teachings of the Mormon Church from my dad. He was what is called a Jack Mormon in church parlance. He believed in the church, had a strong testimony of its doctrine and principles but kept himself alienated from church attendance and participation because of his personal habits. He constantly challenged my testimony by asking me hard doctrinal questions and wanting "proof." In stubbornly seeking proof for my dad, through scripture study and fervent prayer, I gained my own strong testimony. My dad had some hobbies and interests which would show themselves occasionally. He kept our lawn beautifully mowed and manicured. When we moved into our home in about 1954, Daddy fought sagebrush and sand to put in a lawn, which he had to re-seed three times. My mother had a huge plant in the front yard which had overtaken the view from the window, so she wanted it taken down. Daddy attacked it with zest for weeks, finally having to use a small saw on the huge root. Years later, we found out that the plant was a poisonous variety called a castor bean plant. One winter, he was out of work for the winter and driving my mom crazy, so she taught him to crochet. He made a number of afghans, vests, and doilies. He also loved to play the banjo and the harmonica. Just recently, I received this wonderful picture of my grandson, following in his great-grandpa's footsteps! My dad would have been so thrilled. I appreciate, now, my father's life...knowing now that he had to work very, very hard to conquer his personal demons. Particularly, knowing that, in the end, he was able to do so. In all of the turmoil and chaos of my early years, I never doubted my father's love for me. He was very proud of his children. My brother served honorably and unselfishly in the Marine Corps, and my sister and I were school teachers, wives, mothers, of which he was very proud and would brag about to everyone.
This blog is intended to be a small tribute to my dad, but I can't really NOT comment, on Father's Day about the father of my children! My husband is, not at all, the kind of father I had. In trying to sum up what kind of father he is, I think it's safe to say that his mantra is: If the kids need this to help them grow and be happy and safe and secure, we'll sacrifice whatever we have to make it happen. In summing up what my children think of their father, I would repeat what is written on almost every letter, note, phone call, Tom receives: Throughout my life, you have always been there for me, Dad. DITTO FROM ME.


Love and hugs and warm thoughts on this cloudy summer morning.

WHO'D HAVE THOUGHT

The world wide web is filled with millions of commentaries and thoughts about marriage. But, truly, the loudest comment on marriage is longevity, so I think I have a right to make a few comments since I've been married forty years today. I fell in love with Tom the minute I saw him peek through my living room window as he rang my doorbell for the first time forty years ago. I'm not so sure that it was so much that I loved him; it was that he loved me, treated me as if I were the most important person in the world from our first meeting. I was 28 years old, and I hadn't had any man take me seriously, so I was in love with love!! Our first date was attendance at a BYU educational seminar in Tacoma, followed by a walk through Point Defiance Park in Tacoma, a movie, and root beer floats while we sat in Doug's T-bird convertible. We didn't discuss marriage; I don't even know what we discussed, but neither of us can remember the movie we saw. When he'd gone home, I called my best friend to share details and my conviction that we'd marry even though he hadn't asked. The next day, my "best" friend met Tom in the hallway of the church. I wasn't there. Knowing my comments on marriage were merely fantasies, she said, sweetly, "I understand congratulations are in order." Ugh...Tom, taken aback, thought to himself, "If it is within my power, I will never let another person hurt Julie again." And, he never has!!
I was lectured by friends at first; he had lots of strikes against him:

1. He was "older." 32 to be exact.

2. He'd been married before. To a strikingly beautiful woman

3. He had a son. An eight year old living with his mom in Texas.

4. He was broke. Boy was he broke!!

5. He was inactive in the church. He was working three jobs at the time but quit one so he could teach a Sunday School class.

I didn't care about any of that!! I was in love. I drove my mom and sister absolutely crazy with frequent phone calls extolling the virtues of this wonderful man. We met in March and were married in June. 40 years ago in the Idaho Falls temple of the Mormon Church.

I am still in love with love, and, coincidentally with this fine, upright, good man who

works every day to make sure that I will not be hurt. We're best friends, bosom buddies, soul mates...all the cliches in the book. We're so accustomed to each other that we complete one another's sentences, and, more than not, assume that what we like or think is what he/she likes or thinks. Here's to another forty years and on into eternity.