FAMILY TRUMPS ALL...

 

                                      A  FAMILY

About 20 years ago when I pulled up my schedule for September flying with United Airlines, I saw that I had been assigned eight days of vacation and had no vacation plans.  So, I decided to visit with each of my kids individually for a few hours (just one on one with me without their spouse or children) in the hopes that maybe I could get reacquainted with the people whose lives I used to be in the middle of on a daily basis for so many years while they were growing up.  Truthfully, I could no longer remember stuff such as who liked peas and who didn’t and what each person’s favorite Nichols Family activity was.  In spite of the fact some of the conversations took a more serious turn, I looked back on the whole experience as a satisfying one.  I liked it and had fun with each one of my kids.

 The next year I decided to PLAN my vacation time and do the whole “one on one” visit thing all over again.  Only that time I prepared some questions I thought might lead us into conversations which weren’t as superficial as “What is your favorite color and food now that you’re grown?” Though some of that information popped out, too, when I asked questions like, "What was most surprising for you when you became a parent?" and "What are some of your accomplishments you are really proud of?"  

Once again, I was not disappointed.  In fact, I came away from each experience thinking to myself we had some really great discussions about a variety of topics.  Best of all I was reminded of the terrific person each of my children is.  I spent a fair amount of time pondering the moot question “What in the world did I do to have the privilege of being the mother of the Nichols Kids?"  Whatever it was, I was so very glad we belonged to each other. 

In spite of the fact I heard later that the “one on one” with ”probing” questions made a couple of my kids uncomfortable because they saw it as a quiz about their life instead of a genuine interest in who they had become, I still think fondly on those two vacations when I purposely spent intentional time with each of them. 

Sure, the lunch or dinner, or the visit to my grandmother's tiny little town, or the shopping trip or just sitting on a bench outside the temple after a session were fun.  It varied with the kid I was with.  But it was just the "being" with them that made it special for me.  I loved them.  I loved being with them.

This September 2025 is the 30th anniversary of a Proclamation about the family which the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints published for the world.  It teaches about family, marriage, and gender, and their part in the kingdom of Heavenly Father.  "The family is central to the creator's plan for the eternal destiny of His children."

Family is one of the words that matter in this document.  It says we have a responsibility to love and care for each other.  And that includes our parents in one direction and our children in the other direction. We supported and cared for each other.  We celebrated birthdays, baptisms, weddings, graduations, mission calls, marriages, and many other things.  We as a family are there for each other!   

I continue to marvel at how well my children grew into their adult roles, providing for and nurturing their own families and friends along the way. 

But most of all, I appreciate each of them for their acceptance of me no matter what, even though I made a lot of blunders as a parent along the way—and still do even though I am staring my 80^th birthday in the face.

I once read that Denzel Washington said, “We’re all destined to leave some kind of mark in this world.  Sometimes we may miss that mark, but with a push in the right direction from time to time, we can set a positive example for others to follow.”  He continued, “We’re all extraordinary, in our own way, and that it’s what we do with our extraordinariness that sets us apart and makes all the difference.”

I believe Denzel Washington’s comments reflect how I feel about each one of my children.  Each in his/her own way is an example to me of some unique trait that is worth emulation. But that’s what families are for...to teach and to learn from each other.

And, I am glad we are in the same family--forever!

HOMEMADE KITCHEN DISASTER

 

If we want to talk about a kitchen disaster that could have had more serious consequences than it did, I would need to tell this experience.

When we lived in our first house, we still had only one car which my husband always took to work. So, the family either walked, rode our bikes, or didn’t go places or do things unless they were within walking or biking distance.

One day I was fixing supper and must have needed something at the store. And for some strange reason, the car was home in the garage. Perhaps my husband was on a business trip. I don’t remember.

And because I needed to steam the potatoes in the pressure cooker, which took less than 30 minutes, I figured we could jump into the car, buzz up the road to the brand-new King Soopers store, get the item, and be back before the potatoes were ready. No wasted time. I hurriedly put our little family into the car—and we were off.

However, to my horror, when we came down the steep hill and turned the corner to our home, there was smoke coming out of the house and a fire truck was there putting out a cooking fire in the kitchen. A fire that had begun when, for some reason the rubber gasket on the lid of the steamer didn’t seal causing the scant water in the pot to evaporate.

What a mess! In spite of the fact the firemen tried to do as little damage as they could to put out the fire, it was still awful. Though our insurance company paid the claim, it didn’t pay for someone to clean up the water bath and blackened paint on the walls. That took a lot of elbow grease to clean up! And it was MY elbow grease….

Lesson learned: NEVER, EVER leave the house when something is cooking on the stove! Anything could go wrong. Because the odds are it will!

Now, if we are talking about COOKING disasters, there are plenty of those in my lifetime, too. In fact, I hate cooking. The failure rate is way too high when I am the person doing the cooking.

Here’s just ONE experience of a major kitchen disaster:

Alexander* and I are two peas in a pod.  Some days are nothing but terrible, horrible, no good, very bad days.

Last Thursday was one of them. (January 2021)

I told my husband Louis not to eat before I got home after practicing the organ at the chapel following the religious education class I teach for high school students.  (He had gone to Seminary with me that morning to play a video during the lesson.) I told him I was in the mood for a REAL breakfast, and I was going to fix an omelet, bacon, muffins, and some cottage potatoes.  He liked the idea of a good breakfast.  Me?  I could hardly wait to get home and start cooking!  Yum!

But…I haven’t practiced culinary skills for a long time (nuking something in the microwave doesn’t qualify) and everything went wrong.  Well, almost.  The orange juice and milk were okay.

I got a terrific set of pans for my wedding 52 years ago.  They are heavy cast aluminum, but over the years the bottoms got warped from all the heat from the burners.  When that happened, my first husband Ross would take the pans out to the garage and hold a blow torch on them until he was able to pound out the bottoms for a flat cooking surface once again.  Voila!  Just like new.

Only, Ross has been gone for a long time, and Louis doesn’t do that kind of thing. Instead, he constantly asked me to get rid of the set and buy a completely new set.  One year for Christmas Louis even gave me a complete Rachel Ray set.  But I know HOW to cook with the ones I have. That new set was too fancy.  Expensive.  And I told him that if we were cooking for eight people every day like I used to, it would be worth getting a new set.  But not now.  It is way too late in the game for the upgrade.  I returned the pans to get a gift I could really use.

After that and a few more pointed suggestions that we get new pans, Louis got tired of my negative answers to his pleas. About three years ago he went out and bought two heavy—and I do mean HEAVY—cast iron skillets, because he saw a recipe online and decided to start cooking.  The pans were both too large and too small for the kind of preparation we do for two people.  And too heavy for me to handle.  My aging body just cannot pick up that kind of weight anymore.  Plus, Louis’ desire to cook lasted for only one or two meals.  Then nothing.

Louis got the same “cooking bug” again a few weeks ago.  This time, he went out and bought two frying pans—also odd sizes for our needs—but at least I could handle them.  

So, that morning when I got home the cooking adventure began.  I prepared the muffins first.  Easy, peasy and put them into the oven.  The omelet and potatoes could cook while the muffins were baking.  However, I wasn’t used to using these new pans, and I underestimated how fast and hot they prepared the food.

             The next thing I knew, the potatoes were scorched!  While trying to turn them over and eliminate the tainted ones, I began to smell an awful burning odor.  YUP!  The omelet—completely charred on the bottom and the top still a really runny egg mixture—was a disaster.  There was NO saving anything from that—though I did try to scrape char off the bottom and cook the rest of the eggs.  Didn’t work out.  What a surprise, huh?

The bell dinged for the muffins but, because I wanted to eat them HOT, I just turned off the oven and left them in for a couple more minutes while I wrestled with the burnt food on the stove top. 

By this time, I was screaming bloody murder stuff like, “No wonder I hate to cook!  The failure rate with me is too high, and I don’t LIKE to cook anyway.”  Louis heard the commotion and came into the kitchen offering to take over and prepare a completely new omelet for the two of us.  That made me even madder! I told him I wouldn’t eat it, so not to cook anything for me, and I flounced out of the house.  But not before I took the muffins out of the oven.  By then they weren’t burnt, but way too dry.  I didn’t care and took one with me.

Got into the car and backed out of the driveway….but there was no place to go.  No one to go visit.  No store where I needed to purchase anything. Nothing to do.  I had already practiced the organ that morning. Nothing.  I ended up sitting in the church parking lot and tried to read on my smart phone.  Couldn’t even focus on that!  So, I just sat there until the huff was finally over and then I drove home.  

Louis had indeed fixed a new omelet and salvaged enough potatoes for his meal.  He had prepared the bacon, too.  Then he ate and cleaned up the dishes and the kitchen.  By the time I walked in, it looked like no major crisis had happened at all.

I don’t remember what else I did that day.  Probably NOTHING that could have been considered great, since I was so over the top enraged about my cooking skills.  But you can be sure I more than likely thought the whole day was a piece of junk.  

Ah, yes!  Alexander and I could have been twins on that crazy morning.  Nothing worthwhile came my way the rest of that day, I’m sure.  My attitude killed it all.  

Some days are nothing but terrible, horrible, no good, very bad days.  That was one of them!

Welcome to my world, Alexander!

*Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day is a children’s book written by Judith Viorst and illustrated by Ray Cruz. It won several awards during the 70’s and was a Reading Rainbow book. Alexander and I could have been twins!

 

READY TO ROLL...OR LEARNING TO DRIVE

One of my step-granddaughters is ready to get her Driver's License.  She lives in another state, so I'm not sure if she is required to take a driving course at school or if her dad has taught her so she can make that big transition to adulthood.  

Either way, there is an awful lot to learn.

 I think over the years of my own children learning to drive and the many times I nearly put my foot through the floorboard of the car trying to brake for them when it didn't seem like that was going to happen in time.  Or on one occasion such a sharp right turn which nearly rolled the car into the ditch that it scared both ME and MY SON!

Those are tense, but also funny, memories.

Often when I go to our chapel to practice the organ, I see a young person with a parent in the car with them "practice driving" in the ample--and empty--parking lot there.  If I remember correctly, my kids had to have so many "practice hours" before they could get their driver's license.  An empty parking lot is a good way to instill confidence before hitting neighborhood streets and busy traffic elsewhere.

My own preparation was kind of unique.  Here's the story...

My mother didn’t drive when I was growing up. But from hearing stories in the family, I knew she had driven when she was younger. In fact, she used to drive my dad’s dual wheel truck when my sisters were small, and the family would go up to Idaho with the bags of salt my dad and mother prepared for the sheep ranchers.

It was the Great Depression. No jobs. No money. But my dad didn’t let that stop him. He was relentless in finding innovative ways to provide for his young family of little girls. One way he did that was to harvest salt from Great Salt Lake, put it into bags my mother sewed, and then haul the load up to the sheep ranchers in Idaho. Obviously, he knew a lot about that because he had been a sheep herder—for my mother’s uncles’ sheep outfit where they had met when my mother and her sister were cooking for the sheep herders one summer.

However, after they moved to Rawlins, my mother’s ability to drive atrophied following an incident that happened as she was pulling into the 100 foot driveway of our house.

The story goes that as she was moving toward the kitchen door, she turned briefly to the back seat to quell some kind of disturbance. In that brief second the car went out of control (it couldn’t have been going TOO fast) and mowed down the picket fence which lined the driveway. Apparently, my dad rushed out of the house to survey the damage, and instead of asking how my mother and the kids were, he raced to his newly planted seedling trees to make sure they were okay.

Now, my mother wasn’t a volatile sort. It took an awful lot to move her to an outburst, but when my dad was more concerned about his trees than his wife and family, she got out of the car vowing she would never drive again. And, as far as I knew, she never did.

Was my mother sorry about her ultimatum? I don’t know. Perhaps she changed her mind somewhere down the road, but for some reason that circumstance of her not driving never changed. So, by the time I came along my dad had been her chauffer—or my sister Lois who lived up the street—100% of the time.

I kind of think my dad was tired of being tied to my mother’s need for him to drive her here and there, so when I was eleven years old my dad decided to teach me how to drive. I was ecstatic! Boy was that a dream come true. I was quite surprised, however, that my dad had no compunction about teaching me to drive at such a young age. But, I don’t think I protested….Nah! I was ready and willing, though I wasn’t even tall enough to reach the pedals.

My dad’s truck was a dark blue 1953 Ford with gearshift on a rod that came straight out of the floorboard. Three gears and reverse which I well knew from having driven around town with him since I was in Kindergarten as he ran errands to the hardware store and the nursery, visited with friends, supervised the construction of our little chapel (which was built during a time when the members did the work), and made trips to the local dump.

So it was that my driving instruction began at the gravel pits north of town, not too far from the dumps. I had to sit on the edge of the seat in order to operate the brake and gas pedals while I was shifting gears.

I don’t remember how long the instruction was confined to that remote area where I could drive in circles, back up, move forward, and otherwise pretend like I was on a regular street. But one day my dad decided it was time for me to slowly drive into town and to our own neighborhood. It was scary for sure, but I did it.

And I also don’t remember if I really ever took my mom anywhere until I got a driver’s license a few years later. In Wyoming a kid could get a driver’s license at age 15. Obviously, by that time I had also learned the rules by studying the driver’s manual put out by the State of Wyoming, I would assume. If there was something like Driver’s Education (and I think there was in the high school) I certainly didn’t need it. I was practically a seasoned driver by that time.

I’m not sure why, but a person had to go to the Highway Department to take the written exam and have a driving test. But there was a way around that.  According to the kids at school, word was if you went to the Police Department in town on Saturday morning, you could take the written test. And if it was close to noon when that office closed, then they didn’t make you take the driving part. My friend Anne Campbell and I decided to try it out. She was a month younger than I was, so it must have been the beginning of the year after my 15th birthday that we got bold enough to do it.

I went to my dad and asked him to take Anne and me to the police station to take the test and hopefully get the full requirement taken care of and be bona fide drivers. We were giddy! Though my dad scoffed and told me I knew how to drive so I didn’t need him to take me, I convinced him it wouldn’t look too good for us to show up ALREADY driving in order to take the test and make us legal. He acquiesced and took us to the Police Station.

Sure enough, we passed the written test, but by then it was too late to take us out driving, so the police officer just gave us our license and sent us on our way. YES!!!!

That was when I became my mother’s official driver—and ran the wheels off the car every chance I got. And, I got into a lot of trouble along the way, too, because my dad monitored the mileage and if I went more miles than he calculated I should have to gone to do errands or visit a friend, then I had to account for it. That was when guys at school told me about disconnecting the speedometer cable when I drove and screw it back on when it was time to take the car home. I also “borrowed” the car that was always in our garage except for outings and also “borrowed” my dad’s truck—much newer by that time—when I wanted to joy ride when he was out on his run for the railroad.

But those adventures are a story for another time.

My dad bought me a two-tone blue 1953 Ford for my first car when I was a Sophomore in High School and other Ford sedans over the years (1959 and 1961) so I could “do my job”. He was so proud of me and my expertise at driving. He trusted me to drive all over including taking my mother to Salt Lake City. I was pretty nervous, but I knew I was a good driver. Because my dad had taught me well, I had confidence in myself.

 Suffice it to say, I loved learning to drive. I loved driving. And I loved being the driver—all the time.

GOOD ADVICE

 

My oldest son gave me a gift for Christmas last year called Storyworth.  It's the product of a company that prompts me every week to write an essay about myself based on a question they send me by email.  At the end of the year, this company will publish the essays into a little book of 52 memories for my son to have as a keepsake about his mother--ME! 

One of the questions a few months ago asked what advice I would give to future generations of my family.  Since I am in my 80th year now, it's been a long, long time since anyone solicited my advice.  Plus, I realized that now my advice would be way different than it might have been 15 or 20 years ago.  

So, I condensed a whole lot of living into the following statement.  Short and simple.  And doable.

Maybe it might strike a chord with you...

There are a lot of things that are going to happen in your life that might not turn out the way you wanted…in the beginning.

So, after a lifetime of being disappointed sometimes when things ended up differently than I had set in my mind, I also learned that when I was patient and let things run their course without getting upset and demanding what I wanted right at the moment, things had a way of turning out. Different maybe, but acceptable.

So, my advice is to be patient. Let the details of life run their own course at times. Things have a way of working out—sometimes for the better.

WORDS TO LIVE BY ...

 A few days ago, I was asked what I would consider as my motto.  

Well, when I think of something that I would consider my motto, several things come to mind. Short, pithy little statements that can keep me going when it feels like maybe I can’t put one foot in front of the other any longer.

****One of the first things that comes to mind is this homily I learned while growing up. We used to call it the Pioneer Adage.

I have NO idea who coined the little couplet, but it helped me make a lot of decisions, both little and big, for myself before I got married and also while running a household of eight people for all the years my kids were growing up.

  USE IT UP. WEAR IT OUT. MAKE IT DO OR DO WITHOUT.

I still refer to this little verse. And when the decision is to “make it do or do without”, I think of the motto Louis uses frequently. Something he learned in the Army. Then I look around to see what I can use to make the thing “do” for me.

  ADAPT AND OVERCOME

****Another motto, I guess you could call it, is this one when I REALLY need an omph to push me along.

  I COME FROM PIONEER STOCK. I CAN DO THIS!

These are the times I am in pain, or a job seems overwhelming, or I am racked with guilt because I haven’t taken care of some promised outcome. This is when I remember that I don’t have to cross the Great American Desert barefoot, under a broiling sun, and eat the dust of the people trudging ahead of me. Then I can start again to tackle the job I have to accomplish.

****Probably, my kids would say my motto, as I led the family in housework, laundry, and any kind of project was an emphatic

  MY WAY!

But it got the job done, albeit with some resentment and lingering dislike through to their adulthood, I’m sure.  But my way is a dang good way!

Perhaps my creed would be a more accurate way of judging how I try to live my life. Not by just a few clever words, but by adhering to and following a soul-searching treatise I wrote several years ago on a layover in Houston, Texas, in June 2012. This was in response to an invitation the instructor of our congregation's weekly women's auxiliary meeting gave at the end of a lesson about George Albert Smith a week or so before. That was during the era our study manual for the year was the Teachings of the Prophet, each year a different Prophet.

George Albert Smith was the prophet and religious leader of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints when I was born, but he died when I was about five years old. His Creed is quite a legacy. It was a blueprint of his life and a hallmark of how he acted in all his many roles.

I hope my creed is also a legacy for those in my family who come after me. Though some of the wording reflects my employment with United Airlines at that time, my aspiration to live this creed in my current life circumstances is the same. Here it is….

MY CREED

I would seek the blessings of paying a full tithe, as I know my willingness to do so protects me in both spiritual and temporal ways.

I would look forward to attending Sunday meetings and cultivate the feelings of peace and serenity the Sabbath affords for a successful week ahead.

I would take opportunity to read and peruse the magazines published by the Church in order to enhance my gospel scholarship and learn better ways to live the gospel on a daily basis.

I would recognize that many people around me are in need of ministering, and I can do that by looking them in the eye and sincerely greeting them as I pass them on the street, see them on the plane, or rub shoulders with them at Church meetings.

I would rejoice in small encouragements I can give which will nevertheless uplift those people with whom I come in contact.

I will complement them on a color or item of clothing they are wearing, some assignment they performed, or an event in their lives.

I would note how my own heart is warmed when I am remembered on my special days, and I will remember others on their special days.

I would recall the mundane and thankless jobs I have had over my lifetime and then make sure I thank the cleaners on the plane, the housekeepers who have made my hotel room clean and comfortable, and the caterers who work in all kinds of weather delivering food to the galleys on the plane.

I would remember my commission to share the gospel—with everyone.

And that “everyone” includes my friends, my neighbors in the world, and my family, some of whom may be in a different place on the road to eternal life.

I would keep always uppermost in my mind that I set out for salvation, and I will live each day to that end.

4th of July 2025

 

         

About 15 years ago when I was going through Customs into Canada one day for my job as a flight attendant with United Airlines, I was flipping through the Visa pages in my passport just out of curiosity to see how many times I had crossed the border from the time I had renewed my passport the year before.

The format of the passport itself had changed since my last one had been issued ten years before that new one.  For some reason, though, I had never paid any attention to the writing on the pages.  Turns out that “writing” is quotes having to do with the United States on each opened double-page.  I probably was only in a hurry to get through the line and into the country during each previous visit.  Never registered with me.

However, as I read each of those quotes that day, I was really impressed with the content of each one which reflected how most of our country USED to feel about our freedom in America and our responsibility to the world as the great nation we are. 

I share them here as we anticipate celebrating Independence Day once again on the Fourth of July 2025.  I am also including a quote about The Book of Mormon’s warning to us relative to our living in this free land.

As you read all of these impressive quotes about our country's freedom, I invite you--and myself--to do the following:

**   Pledge once again your loyalty to the United States

**  Always give gratitude for the blessings which we receive from God here in America on a daily basis 

**  Dedicate yourself to do whatever you can to help our country remain free

We each are ONLY one.  But we ARE One.  What we do does count!

Wishing you a Happy 4^th of July, however you plan to celebrate this year!

Love, 

From your fellow American and friend….

 

 

 ‘’Wherefore, this land is consecrated unto him whom he shall bring. And if it so be that they shall serve him according to the commandments which he hath given, it shall be a land of liberty unto them; wherefore, they shall never be brought down into captivity…” Book of Mormon 2 NE.1:7

…AND THAT GOVERNMENT OF THE PEOPLE, BY THE PEOPLE, FOR THE PEOPLE, SHALL NOT PERISH FROM THE EARTH.      Abraham Lincoln

Let every nation know, whether it wishes us well or ill, that we shall pay any price, bear any burden, meet any hardship, support any friend, oppose any foe, in order to assure the survival and the success of liberty.   John F. Kennedy

The cause of freedom is not the cause of a race or a sect, a party or a class—it is the cause of humankind, the very birthright of humanity.         Anna Julia Cooper

Let us raise a standard to which the wise and honest can repair.    George Washington

We hold these truths to be self-evident:  that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.    Excerpt from the Declaration of Independence

O say does that star spangled banner yet wave

O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave       Francis Scott Key

Whatever America hopes to bring to pass in the world must first come to pass in the heart of America.  Dwight D. Eisenhower

May God continue the unity of our country as the railroad unites the two great oceans of the world.              Inscribed on the Golden Spike, Promontory Point, 1869