GREETINGS

               HOW ARE YOU?                                                                                                                HOOWDY-DO?  

        HOW YA DOIN'? 

                                                HEY! WHAT'S UP?  

HOW'S IT GOIN'?                                                                                                                       HOW YA BEEN?  

There are a lot of ways to greet someone.  And the expected reply is something akin to FINE. GOOD. OKAY.  It's just a greeting, after all.  Not really meant to elicit a detailed account of how you really feel.

Some years ago we went to church with a man who, everytime I greeted him with something like, "How are you doing today, Chuck?", his invariable answer was "INCREDIBLE!"

One day I said to him, "Get out of town, Chuck!  You can't be INCREDIBLE every time!"  Then he told me this secret of being able to say that EVERY single time.   It was that he might be either incredibly good, or incredibly bad, or incredibly happy...or incredibly sad.  Nobody needed to know.  They just needed to know "INCREDIBLE", and that usually set the tone for their day, too.

Years later when I worked for United Airlines and was the greeter for the flight, I used that little secret. If someone said they were terrific or super or outstanding--or any number of superlatives--I would then say, "Wow! Then we're twins because I am incredible!"  That usually brought a chuckle, not only to the person I was talking to, but also to the people right behind that person.  On some occasions I actually shared the story of Chuck always being incredible.  It was a good anecdote and gave people pause about the aspects of a positive greeting.

My uncle's consistant answer to that "How are you question?" was always something like "fair to middling" or "60/40" in spite of living with chronic pain.  No one ever knew how bad some of those days really were. Even in the hospital where he battled cancer to the very end, it was always the same.

I recently read about another man who had suffered in great pain during a lingering illness that finally took his life, too.  Instead of reciting all the misery he was in, he continued with the same reply he had always used throughout his life in answer to the question of how he was doing.  "Many things are going well."

These have been good lessons for me who is a complainer and a murmurer. I've often said I can do ANY hard job if I can complain every step of the way.  But no one wants to hear that.  It's off-putting.  So I have determined that I can do better.  I have MUCH to be thankful for.  And MANY blessings.  However, in spite of some setbacks and some challenges at this particular time which are truthfully really pesky, I am determined to begin 2021 with a new and more positive attitude which reflects the goodness of God and the many, many tender mercies that come to me on a daily basis.

"How are you doing today, Georgia?"  

"Many things are going well!"

PEACE AND SERENITY IN ALL TIMES

 I love Nativity sets!  In fact I love them so much, I collect them.  And now, after years and years, I have upwards of 500 of them in various sizes from teeny tiny to 15-18 inches.  And that number includes the Nativity ornaments on the Christmas tree, too.   I continually marvel at the countless ways this miracle is depicted through some artist's or creator's eyes.  Any Nativity set, whether manufactured in bulk or hand made, testifies of Jesus Christ. 

I love Nativity sets so much, in fact, I keep a few on display all year long.  Just glancing at them as I move around the house gives me a sense of peace and calm* as I contemplate that "one wonderful night" so long ago when Jesus Christ was born.  They are wonderful reminders of the humble beginnings of our Savior and Redeemer who ministered with love and goodness--ALWAYS!  Perhaps you feel the same peace and calm when you see a Nativity displayed, whatever the setting.

    --The top photo is part of the entire Nativity Festival I staged in our home in 2017.

    --The bottom photo is a set that is depicted in a rather non traditional way.  I displayed it all year      long a few years ago.

*This post is in response to #LightTheWorld for December 3rd

A DEMONSTRATION OF CHRIST-LIKE LOVE

Maude Huggins in the late 40's.  

This picture is how I think of my mother.  

She always looked like this, just older as the years went by.

#Light the World 2020 for December 3rd was to think of someone who demonstrated Christ-like love and post it on social media to share my comments with others. 

 I chose my mother Maude Marie Crane Huggins. 

Even though my mother has now been deceased for over 35 years, her legacy still influences me on a daily basis. Not only was she an exemplary model of kindness and charity, my mother never spoke negatively about anyone else. In fact if any negative comment was made about someone, my mother never took the bait to gossip or say anything that would add to that. Instead she would always find something good to say about that person, which could be very irritating if I felt wronged by something that had been said or done to me. This was especially true when I wanted to complain about my husband. 

My mother also loved babies and little children in the true way that Christ succored the little ones. She often said how unthinkable it was to hurt or injure these innocent little people whom the Lord loved so much. Kids knew that and gravitated to her warmth and love--and not just family members either.

There is no way to tally the number of meals or desserts she took to those who were ill or had suffered the loss of a loved one. Anyone who came to our home was always offered something to eat and a place to sleep. Many a time I was invited to give up my bed to make sure a "guest" would be more comfortable. 

My mother's Christ-like charity was practically legend with those who knew her, and I was always proud of the way she ministered as Jesus did "lifting the hands that hang down and strengthening the feeble knees".

I'll never be anything close to the person my mother was, but thinking of the way she treated other people always makes me want to be a better person.

BUT I HAVE LEARNED THAT THE MORE YOU ACT THE PART, THE CLOSER YOU ARE TO BECOMING THAT PERSON.

A CELEBRATION WORTHY OF DIAMONDS

Three quarters of a century!  That's a long time no matter what angle you look at it.  And I've been telling everyone (as this milestone birthday of mine has approached) that I'll be "celebrating in diamonds".  That is until COVID 19 restrictions forced us to cancel the Nichols Family Thanksgiving and the ensuing celebration for my 75th birthday.  I had so much fun on my 70th birthday, which was planned as a surprise, I initiated this celebration at the beginning of the year myself.  I reminded the family I was planning to retire on my 20th United Airlines anniversary in August.  So, make plans, reservations, book tickets, ask for time off, whatever was needed for us to celebrate BIG during the Thanksgiving holiday.  

Well, maybe next year....

Then the good old internet beckoned and look what I found when I Googled "75 years".  There is an awful lot of other stuff, including celebrities who are the same age as I am.  Some I knew about.  Some I didn't. Doesn't matter.  It's all about ME today!  

I was feted with birthday greetings--and gifts-- from family, friends, and even some people that I hadn't anticipated wishing me well "and many more!"  Plus PIZZA for supper!  Life doesn't get much better than this...

HERE ARE SOME "75" INTERNET ENTRIES....

• The 75th birthday is called a semisesquicentennial because it is half of 150 which is a sesquicentennial.  Also this....
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• What is 75th birthday called?
• 75 years of life is a milestone birthday, often referred to as the platinum celebration. This is a birthday that family and friends celebrate with love, as well as traditional gifts.
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• What is the best gift for a 75 year old woman?
• Good gift for a 75 year old woman…. Gold Painted Lord Ganesh Wall Hanging.  Alluring and enticing, this art piece is a perfect way to lift the style quotient of your home interiors. With this divine gold painted lord Ganesha wall hanging you will feel blessed.
• Indeed!  I would feel more blessed if I looked at the last family portrait, though it is missing some recent additions.

It's evening now, and I am reminded once again that a birthday is just another day of the year!  And though it was far quieter than I had anticipated, it was still a good day!  My hair even looked decent, the true gauge of a good day in my book.

Before I know it, I will be looking at 76 smack on.  And then I will be celebrating....

Platinum Plus!

WHAT THANKSGIVING LOOKS LIKE ALA COVID 19 IN 2020

 

Not at all like I expected.  That's for sure!

At the beginning of 2020, I reminded my children, et al, that I had plans to retire from United Airlines on my 20th anniversary in August.  And...since I was going to reach a milestone anniversary on my 75th birthday in December, I invited all of them to join me for Thanksgiving 2020 during which time we would also celebrate my DIAMOND birthday.  

I had had such a wonderful experience when they surprised me the day after Thanksgiving in 2015 for my 70th birthday.  This time I was going to make sure it happened again.  "So, get your ducks in a row, make your reservations, get the time off work, and make sure you're here for a really bang-up celebration."  I was really looking forward to it!  

In the 21 Thanksgiving Days since I began with United in August 2020,  there have been only about five or six that I had opportunity to spend the holiday with family--and only three of those were at my home.  The rest of them were during my time in another city with one of my children or with Louis when he came on a  layover with me.  The bulk of those Thanksgiving days, I was either on a plane with hundreds of other people who were trying to get to their family celebrations. Or I was esconced in a hotel room with hours on my hands and a Thanksgiving  hamburger meal from Mc Donald's before they closed at noon so their employees could celebrate with THEIR families.  Oh, I always took a ton of stuff with me to occupy my time, but there was always something lacking--FAMILY!  It never really seemed like Thanksgiving.  No wonder I was looking forward to a Thanksgiving celebration without any spectre of United's crew desk hanging over me.

Then coronavirus reared its ugly head, and all of our lives changed drastically.  Oh, not all at once.  But along the way the pandemic changed the face of our entire existence all the way from our employment to how we interacted with each other, at home, at church, and out and about.   Then I ended up taking a voluntary separation from United which they counted as retirement.  

Still, I was adamant that we were going to meet for Thanksgiving and my birthday.  The plans were all in place, reservations at hotels made, and tickets for air travel already purchased.  It looked like a "go".

However, a couple of weeks ago, there were more setbacks.  Plus more people in the family had contracted COVID--though everyone recovered without incident.  After some intense family texting, I finally made the final decision and said that "it" was just another day.  We could celebrate next year when all this crap was behind us.

Cancellations, refunds, disappointment.  

Then Louis and I started to scale down our Thanksgiving dinner to just a turkey breast, and some of the trimmings--but in much smaller proportions.  We even got just two pieces of pie instead of making a whole one. 

One unexpected result with only two diners, though, was a beautifully set table.  For years every time we have been together as a family, we have resorted to paper plates--albeit fancy ones--instead of generating a lot of dishes and a clean-up time that took hours.  This year I actually rooted around in the cupboard and the china cabinet in the front room to find some nice pieces that had service only for two.  I even dug out the silverplate and polished up two knives, two spoons, and four forks-- two each for salad and dinner.  And a centerpiece....  How fancy is that...!

At 3 pm we sat down to eat.  But there was something missing--FAMILY--in person.  The Zoom call was fun while we were all eating dinner at the same time, but not in the same place.

Next time, I opting for a Thanksgiving Day that gives us opportunity to be together in person as a FAMILY and actually looks, and FEELS, like a traditional celebration!

Is that too much to ask?!

A HIDDEN GEM

 

BACK STORY--

You know that little cubby you keep close to your bed which you pile up with those  bits and pieces of reading material you are going to get to SOMETIME when you have a minute or two to sit down and read?  Well, the other day I was looking at that stack and decided it was time to sift through it and start organizing those magazine articles and downloads and scraps of paper into a more accessible stack.  

As I was leafing through everything and categorizing each piece into a better system, I came across this little essay.  (I have no idea why it was tucked into one of those magazines I was saving.)  It was a submission I sent to the Ensign magazine in October 2010 in response to one of those invitations posted at the end of some of the articles appearing in the magazine calling for related experiences.   This one was obviously a request for personal encounters with the Book of Mormon.  

When I had initially read that now forgotten article which sparked my submission, I immediately thought of the following ongoing influence the Book of Mormon had been for me at a very critical time in my life.  It wasn't difficult to put my words on paper, and I sent it off right away.  I figured nothing would come of it except the satisfaction I had because I actually acted on that invitation.

A few months later I received a phone call during the time I was out walking while on a layover in Houston.  It was some woman on the staff of the Ensign magazine telling me that they had accepted my experience with the Book of Mormon for publication.  And, that I needed to resend a copy of it in a certain format, releasing my essay to them.  I did that in a New York minute!  Consequently, I began to look forward each month for the Ensign to arrive in my mailbox.  When it did, I would tear through each page of the issue looking for my "article".  

Months passed and my article had never appeared. By that time, we were no longer studying the Book of Mormon for Gospel Doctrine every Sunday as a Church.  Then years passed.  That rotation of four books of scripture to study came and went nearly twice.  

I finally gave up that my article would ever be published, as the magazine's format is now VERY different with its emphasis on young adults and the change to a more contemporary layout.  But...I think this essay is still a very good experience to share, even now, because there might be someone out there who reads this blog and might see it as a testimony which could strengthen their own.

So, here it is the way I submitted it to the Ensign over ten years ago:

One day several years ago when I was Visiting Teaching, one of the sisters I visited shared that she reread the Book of Mormon every year and testified to the great blessings that undertaking brought to her each time.  Prior to that visit I had read the Book of Mormon cover to cover only once, though I always studied it when I was preparing for teaching assignments.  After my visiting teaching visit I decided to use that sister’s example, and I began again, “I Nephi, having been born of goodly parents....” and read right to the end.  She was right!  I was blessed in many ways I recognized and in other ways I could not even put my finger on.  But my life seemed to go more smoothly.  Since that sister’s example to me, I have reread the Book of Mormon over and over. 

At one period of time when my life was overwhelmed with my husband’s leaving the family, the seemingly impossible tasks of new employment that was more than stressful, and my son’s chronic health condition, I felt like I was drowning.  However, because I had become familiar with the teachings in the Book of Mormon, I knew treasures of truth appeared when I “likened” the scriptures to my own circumstance.

In chapter 24 of Mosiah in the Book of Mormon, Alma and his people were living under great burdens placed on them by the Lamanites.  They prayed for help and received an answer that the Lord was mindful of their situation and would deliver them—but that until they were delivered, their burdens would be eased so the people could withstand them.  The Lord told them he would deliver them from bondage so they could stand as witnesses that he took care of his people in their afflictions.

I had studied that chapter many times before in my life, and I had taught it many times to other people in gospel classes.  I believed the truth of those verses.  So I read that chapter every day for nearly a year just to sustain and maintain myself—to remind myself the Lord cared about me, too, and would make things easier.    Though I still had to experience those trials, he did make the burdens lighter.  In time, through a series of circumstances, those burdens were lifted, and I was delivered from the “bondage” I was experiencing. 

Those verses in the Book of Mormon carried me through a time of great personal adversity with peace and a comforting knowledge that the Lord is mindful of all his children.

Georgia H. Nichols

Carlson Farm Ward

Johnstown, Colorado

Who knows what hidden gems can be found in unexpected places if you're willing to go through some of the odds and ends that have become just a cluttered part of the "landscape".

The Closing Bars of Rhaspody in Blue

A RHAPSODY IN BLUE...

 It's been almost 4 months since I hung up my uniform for the last time as a flight attendant with United Airlines.  During that time, I have made a weak attempt to go through the detritus of  20 years employment with them.  The first steps were pretty clear:  empty my suitcase and totes, toss from them what I no longer needed then store the uniforms until such a time as I can get them back to the Denver domicile for other flight attendants to take as supplement to their uniform points at Cintas (most of the items--excluding the dresses--are brand new, never been worn, and are still in the original packaging). 

Then the process became more complicated.  What to do with the usable bags, string back packs, and other convenient instant luggage for the occasions I purchased something on a layover that wouldn't fit in the suitcase?  How about the complete second set of cosmetics, just in case I got up too late in  a hotel room with no time to take a shower and  had to go to the airport dirty?   (Only happened once--but that was enough to make sure I was prepared in case it ever happened again!)  A stack of six by eight inch  envelopes crammed full of the paperwork for each month's trip assignments.  A small pile of greetings from other flight attendants wishing me Merry Christmas or just a friendly "Hello!"  Bits and pieces of company correspondence which just got tucked away--somewhere to get it out of the way.

Twenty years!  Who knew it would go on for that long?! In the beginning I said, "Ten years.  Just long enough to get that diamond in my flight attendant wings."  And I would be 65--retirement age.  But ten years passed, and I was in good health.  I liked my job.  Why not stay.  And then it went on for another decade.

 Being a stay-at-home mom was the only other time I've been in the same place for 20 years.  Those years flew by. I quit work at the library research center, delivered Harold a scant few weeks later, and started my career as full-time mother.  Remember... Ross and I had agreed that he would make the living--and I would make the living worthwhile.  

The next thing I knew that baby had grown up, finished a year at Brigham Young University, and I was dropping him off at the Missionary Training Center in Provo before his mission to Paris, France.  The following Monday, I was at a desk in corporate America.  

My feelings about my time at United Airlines, when  that giant chunk of my life as a flight attendant came to a close, seemed almost identical to my feelings after 20 years at home  I looked back and wondered where in the world had the years gone.  Yeah, I remember wanting desperately to retire around 15 years and beyond.  But though some of the days and weeks seemed unbearably long, in retrospect they whizzed by.   One day I was a recently minted flight attendant who knew nothing and was just bumbling along.  The next thing I knew, I was no longer the junior person on each trip.  There were plenty of new people with less seniority than I had.  The bad thing, I was old enough to be their grand mother!  Finally when the world turned upside down with the advent of COVID-19 and it was no longer smart to stay, I bid to exit from the company with a few dollars, some insurance for a limited time, and a "retired" status.

In my mind I could just imagine how it would be when I finally exited the Friendly Skies--I would be euphoric!  I would walk out with no burdens of bidding, seniority, Reserve status, or irregular operations to have to think about and plan around.  I would leave and not look back!  My happiness was going to be seeing Denver International Airport in my rearview mirror.  Travel?  Nah!  I wanted to go the opposite direction of the airport.

But there was no feeling of euphoria.  It was anti-climactic, to say the least.  Only one supervisor was in the domicile office (at least it was one who actually knew me) and no flight attendants in sight, at all.  The airport was virtually a ghost town, and the Departure board had only one and a half panels of posted flights instead of seven or eight panels.  It seemed surreal.

And in the three times I've flown as a passenger since my retired status, I find I don't like being in an airport--definitely NOT Denver International.  Because now, I am no one.  A nobody.  Just a regular person who isn't wearing a uniform--which provided a modicum of respect--and can no longer access doors and areas off limits to the flying public.  I had to admit I really missed that distinction.

THINGS I WON'T MISS....

--practically transparent toilet paper in airports, on planes, and in hotels

--getting ready in someone else's bathroom several days a week

--the inevitable sleepless night before an "o'dark hundred" check-in because of worry I will oversleep

--passengers telling me to "SMILE! It's not that bad!"

--the totally abject and distressing "feel" as each airport has remodeled and taken out all the walkways and installed in their place bars and other alcoholic venues and high end shops that have given the whole terminal a feeling of over-the-top oppulence.  In the end I traipsed down those once "airport like" walkways  feeling like I was truly in Babylon

--living out of a suitcase

--sleeping with the phone by my bed

--the Crew Desk calling with an assignment (Jungle Drums ring tone)

--yearly requalification and the 40+ hours of computer based training that preceded it.  PLUS two days of extremely stressful testing

--scary winter driving to DIA

THINGS I WILL MISS....

--association with the people I liked, although it was limited and about 99 and 44/100% of the time during my duties on the job, seldom in my real life.

--listening to General conference CD's in my car for long periods on every round trip to DIA.  They helped me through traffic snarls that were criminal and gave me a sense of peace by the time I drove into the employee parking lot.

--small opportunities to bear my testimony of the Book of Mormon by writing it in the copies of the Book of Mormon which I found in the nightstand drawer of every hotel in the Marriott chain where we stayed on layovers.

--leaving a thank you note for the hotel maid EVERY SINGLE NIGHT with my testimony about some gospel principle and an invitation to visit churchofjususchrist.org. 

--finding "tiny treasures" for myself and gifts for others while on my layovers.

--going to museums and other local attractions that were within walking distance or I could ride a bus or board a train to go see.

--eating a simple meal in my hotel room while doing a crossword puzzle.

--some opportunities to see friends or family members while on a layover.

--the smell of jet fuel, which is like perfume to me because it means I am going somewhere!

--the respect my uniform afforded me in airports, etc. and going through doors locked to the public.

--seeing the vastness of the earth and sky from 30,000 feet and knowing all this was created by Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ, not only as our earthly home, but for our pleasure and the sheer joy of living in such a beautiful place.  Oh the magnificent cloud formations and the patterns of farms and fields and the houses and building of cities!  That always generated feelings of great thanksgiving.

THINGS I ALWAYS SAID I WANTED TO DO AFTER I RETIRED...

--get acquainted with my back yard again.  

--organize my recipes and put together a small cookbook featuring the best of Nichols Family Eats

--compile a second volume to my first book "Letters of Testimony"

--update my will

--organize all paperwork, passwords, etc. in case anyone needed that information

--sort through the picture boxes and organize them in some way

--have a HUGE garage sale

--go visit my extended family meaning some of my nieces and nephews that I was close to while growing up

--clean out drawers and look through boxes that haven't been opened in two decades

--and on and on and on

Never got to spend time in the back yard because the temp was in the 90's every day and it was too unpleasant.  When it finally cooled down, it was time for bed.  I just wanted some hot, but not killer, days to bask in the splendor of summer.  Then I was called to teach early morning Seminary.  So there went the rest of the list, put on the back burner until the school year is over.  That's when I will really retire and tackle that years' long TO DO list.

And that is how I flew off into the wild blue yonder after spending 20 years in the Friendly Skies.  But in looking back, it was truly a rhapsody.  A Rhapsody in Blue which captured all the fantasies of everything that was good about being a flight attendant for United Airlines!

BON VOYAGE  to me....

DAUGHTERS-IN-LAW

I don't know how I lucked out, but I have three of the best daughters-in-law that could ever be found!  It would not have been possible for me to have hand-picked them myself for the compliment they are to my three sons.  

I am acquainted with some women who believe their son's wife is beneath her son, a poor choice made by him.  But I never felt that way.  I have also been acquainted with some women who did not even like their mother-in-law but merely tolerated her for the sake of her husband.  And there were some who viewed their mother-in-law as a built in babysitter or housecleaner every time the mother-in-law came for a visit.  I hope my daughters-in law never have cause to feel that way about me.  I have always wanted them to feel like I think they are a special companion for my very special son.  Consequently, I think they might like me.  I have always been treated as a guest when I have gone to visit their homes.

A couple of weeks ago Jeanna, who is married to my oldest son Harold, asked me to assist her in an assignment for one of her graduate classes about leadership.  My job was to profile three of her strengths which had a positive impact on me by writing a little background about a situation describing each strength.  It wasn't difficult to do.  Then I got thinking why didn't I do the same thing with my other two daughters -in -law, profile some of their strengths and write something about them. So, I did for this post.

JEANNA JOHNSON NICHOLS--One strength I chose to write about Jeanna was her organization and attention to detail.  She was the person who took on the daunting task of planning for Burgandy's wedding in 1997.  I had just begun to work at very difficult employment, Schuyler was having a struggle with health issues during his senior year, and Ross had indicated to me shortly before that, that he didn't want to be married to me anymore.  I could hardly get through every day.  So, Jeanna stepped up and took on that responsibility parlaying a small budget into one of the loveliest wedding celebrations I have ever attended.  It was a picture perfect occasion. 

 Several months after that, Ross and I were divorced.  When the day that would have been my 30th anniversary loomed on the horizon, Jeanna wrote me a most compassionate letter in which she said she suspected I was feeling sad.  Her suggestion was to embrace that date every year as Nichols Family Day and celebrate in a positive light for all the good that had come from that union between Ross and me in January 1969.

Lastly I wrote about Jeanna's support of Harold as one of her strengths.  In spite of pursuing her own career and now in graduate school while still working full-time, Jeanna has championed Harold by learning as much as she can about his chronic health condition.  She has eduated herself by reading about it, as well accompanying Harold to counseling sessions and attending conferences.  His life is immeasurably better which has a direct effect on me.

JUDY SORIANO NICHOLS--Judy arrived at our home in Arvada, Colorado, from her home in San Carlos City, Philippines, on April Fool's Day 1994.  She was armed with a modest amount of personal goods and a beautiful hand sewn wedding dress.  I can only imagine how difficult it must have been rooting up a life, customs, and country familiar to her and embarking on a journey which would culmintate in her marriage to my second son Brice just a few weeks later.  Especially because Brice immediately had to leave her in our care to go back to Ricks College and finish his degree.  But Judy handled it all with grace and aplomb, even D.R.'s curiously excited and thorough sniffing the night she arrived!  When I asked her later about her congeniality, she said her family had all gathered for a farewell party before she left, and gave her this advice.  "YOU adapt to THEM.  They don't adapt to you."  

And THAT has been the case ever since.  Within a week, Judy had found herself a job nearby to my work so I could take her every day.  That same personal industry has continued through the years as Judy continues to find opportunities to augment the family's life both financially and asthetically.  One of those ventures, just one of many creative things she has done, is to do catering for the Filipino community.  You can imagine that family dinner anytime Judy has a part always includes tasty food and a classy presentation.

One thing that I have really appreciated over the years is that Judy taught their girls always to treat me with respect.  Any visit to their house begins with Judy calling to the girls that Momma G is at the door. They have always come and sat down to visit for awhile in the same room.  And I would be remiss without remarking on the incredible support Judy has been for Brice, especially in the last few years with the challenges his stroke and the staph infection on his spine, among other obstacles in his life, have put on their family.  She has rushed Brice to the ER, sat with him through the night on so many occasions, keeps track of his medicine, and always, always is there at the ready to do what needs to be done. Her ministering is remarkable to my own peace of mind, as well.

ABBEY ROSENBERG NICHOLS-- I haven't had the opportunity to be around Abbey as often as I have been around my other daughters-in -law, but it didn't take long to realize that my youngest son Schuyler also picked a gem.  Abbey has supported Schuyler in his OCD challenges, his extended schooling for both undergrad and graduate work, and his career during and after the time he finished his degrees.  All with great patience.

Abbey has also ensured my visits to them are always special with a welcoming home and attention to my needs--is the bed comfy? Is everything condusive to being able to walk, do  my exercises, etc?  Over time and many visits, Abbey has taken me to Curves but has also indulged my passion for shopping at antique stores.  She always allows me  plenty of space to browse and take my time.  Because of that, I have a few really treasured pieces in my Nativity collection that always bring happy memories of our shopping trips together.  Plus Abbey has delighted in taking me to her  favorite places to shop--like Jungle Jim's--and to eat real Cincinnati fare like their special local chili at Skyline and pizza at Rosa's. 

One other thing that has impressed me about Abbey is her thrist for knowledge in many areas.  After Schuyler finished his formal schooliing, Abbey has been able to continue her own advanced education one step at a time until  her degree is now in sight.  During all  that time she has maintained the equilibrium of home, family, and personal goals so seamlessly that she makes it all look easy.  Another thing I appreciate is that Abbey respects me enough to sometimes ask my opinion. Talk about winning over your mother-in-law!

Each of these special women has been an outstanding wife to my son and a wonderful mother to my grandchildren.  All three are priceless additions to the Nichols Family.  What more could I ask for?  It's a win-win for me all the way around!

THANK YOU, DAUGHTERS-IN-LAW!

BALANCING ACT...

 
Several years ago when I split my exercise routine and began doing some exercises in the evening and some in the morning I noticed, that unless I had already walked my 3.5 mile distance, it was difficult to do the balance exercises without falling to one side or the other.  Apparently, walking for an hour gave me the added stability I needed to balance perfectly--which so many health care people who have waited on me have lauded.  Here I am a woman well into her 7th decade and still able to balance perfectly--given the right conditions.

Then I retired.  I began doing the morning exercise routine as soon as I got up.  And, to mitigate the impact on Louis who might still be in bed sleeping, I started doing those exercises in the closet with the door closed.   I still had trouble balancing most of the time because I had yet to go outside to walk. But when I started staring at a specific spot on that wall behind the closet door, no problems whatsoever.  I can balance perfectly every time.

Voila!   And here is the reason.

Louis' tie rack is right behind the closet door.  And that spot on the wall I stare at is one of his Christmas ties with a simple line drawing of the Nativity with Baby Jesus in the stable.  Now Louis has dozens of ties, and they are in various attitudes hanging over the rack.  Some fronts are visible, some of the short ends have stretched themselves into only long tails, and most are piled on top of each other without even being visible.  But that one special tie, keeps my focus on the task at hand--balancing.

I've thought about that a lot.  It's like life.  When I focus on the Savior, my life stays pretty balanced.  Obedience to His teachings keeps me on an even keel without dipping from one side to the other depending on what is going on at the time.   I feel like I am in control despite some challenges that seem never to go away.  

It's as simple as that.  Keep your eye on Jesus Christ and His Atonement in order to navigate through good times and bad.  That is the ultimate....

BALANCING ACT!

Not just a chuckle, a full-blown GUFFAW!

 We were driving down the road the other day in an unfamiliar neighborhood, and I glanced up just in time to see a marquee that blared the following two sentences.  

I laughed out loud and when I could compose myself, shared that with Louis.  We chuckled for the next few minutes as we contemplated this simple advice.  There are so many people out there spouting messages that are truly NOT GOOD!  Think twice about the ones you want to put credence to.

BE CAREFUL ABOUT FOLLOWING THE MASSES.  

SOMETIMES THE "M" IS SILENT!

TO "M" OR NOT TO "M".

THAT IS THE QUESTION

NICHOLS FAMILY HISTORY--THE SWEDEN SAGA

 
     AT CHURCH:  From left Harold 11, Brice 9, Burgandy 5, Jeremy 3, and Schuyler 1

Ross was 40 and Georgia 35

The Wrang Family from Denmark who were in our ward are sitting in front of us.  Have no idea who took the picture.  The Wrangs gave it to us in a frame when we left for the USA 

 

   

(The following was written by Georgia in a small notebook intended to be a journal for our Swedish experience.  

This was recorded on a Saturday morning in October 1980, shortly after we arrived in Malmo.)

BEGINNINGS--

It was early 1979 when we first learned that Ball Corporation was going to build a can plan in Sweden as partners with PLM--a leading European company.  Ross said he thought it would be neat if we got to go.

It didn't souond interesting to me as I had recently read the Swedish government had passed a law that parents could not spank their children.  Since I occasionally spank my children, I didn't like the sound of that.  Plus Sweden is close to the USSR, and as unsettled as world events are today, I didn't like the idea of being away from home.  

I promptly dismissed any thought of our coming to Sweden.  We were preparing to live in Virginia for several months, and I didn't see any logical plan that would allow us back-to-back TDY experiences.

We moved to Virginia in September of 1979.  On December 15, 1979 when Ross had been home from work about 15 minutes, the phone rang.  It was long distance from Ball Corporation in Denver.  "Would Ross and his family be interested in going to Sweden for several months while plant operations were completed there?"

The company gave us several weeks to thik about it, but the decision was made the first evening really.  The "Virginia Experience" was over the rough spots and well on the way to becoming one of the most positive times in our lives.  It was on that basis we said "yes"!

In February 1980 one of the PLM executives and several from Ball in Denver came to Williamsburg where they presented a seminar about what to expect, etc. to the prospective workers and families.  After that it was passport photos and applications, forms to the Swedish government for residence and work permits.  And it seemed like a million other details to work out.

When we returned to Denver in June 1980, we began an 8-week Swedish class to give us a brief background.  We met at the Ball  Corporation's Colorado Office Center on Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday mornings from 8:30 - 10:30 a.m.  Gunnell Thorsin, a Swedish professor from the university of Colorado-Boulder was our teacher.  While Ross, Harold, Brice, and I were at class, Burgandy and Jeremy either went to Maureen Evan's who took care of Schuyler, or to Happy Valley Children's Ranch.

All too soon, or not soon enough depending on which way we looked at the time situation/schedule, the packers arrived at 8:05 a.m. on Monday, September 15th.

The hot breakfast cereal was still in the pan on the stove, and I had just changed Schuyler's diaper from the night, and he was wearing only a dispoable diaper.  He remained that way--undressed and unfed--and the rest of the kids unfed, too, until after the packers left at 1:30 p.m.

It was total chaos and a real madhouse while the packers were there at our Secrest Court house.  It didn't even seem to have helped that we had tried to round-up and put into two rooms ALL the things we were going to take.  The packers didn't crate the play pen in the first big flat box, and when I mentioned it, they were very irate.  "Lady, if you think we're going to unpack this box to put in the playpen, you're crazy!"

"Forget it!.  I'll get another one in Sweden," I said.

Before they finished the packing, the workers had used another big, flat carton.  But they still wouldn't pack the playpen in it.  They grumbled the whole time they were packing.  Someone had told them "about 500 pounds".  Turns out it was over 2,000 pounds, and that ruined their day.

After the packers left, we ate the cold, stiff cereal and finally dressed Schuyler in some clothes.  He couldn't have been more patient with everything going on around him.

Ross needed to go back to work, and because I left Ross' new shoes out near the "go pile",  the shoes got packed.  I needed to go buy him a new pair.

So, I drove Ross to work and caught the boulder Turnpike to go down to Wards on Broadway.  When I arrived at the catalog department, the computer had been down and the order still wasn't filled.  The clerk assured me that if she submitted the order again, it would be down in about 30 minutes.  (At that time all fulfillment was done at that huge store at 6th and Broadway)  Thirty minutes passed with no shoes in sight.  It was getting close to impossible for me to make it to the Golden Post Office (we used to have a Golden address) to sign the papers for Rosalie to pick up our mail while we were gone.

I had to call Ross, who took care of it. He borrowed a company car and drove to Golden to sign the needed papers.  Meanwhile, still at Wards, I decided to see if I could get Jeremy some tennis shoes in another part of the store.  THAT'S when I discovered my wallet was NOT in my purse!!

I did find a pick-up receipt from Wards catalog department in my purse.  With that and my sob story about really needing the shoes, I managed to get Jeremy some new sneakers and some shoes for both me ad Ross.  But I was at the store over two and a half hours.  From there I drove through rush hour traffic to the Lakeside Wards to get the boys some Sunday slacks.  

Then the car wouldn't start when I got back out to the parking lot.  There were some really tense moments while first one woman and later a man tried to help me.  At first we couldn't even get the hood up on the car.  But when we did, we used the jumper cable , and the car's engine fired right up.

I went straight u to Ross' office only to find he was still not done with his work.  I called the kids to see how everything was working out.  I had been gone over four hours by then.  They were fine, and said Kay Bashford had brought a treat for them to play with on the plane.  Also Grandpa and Grandma Huggins had called.  Eleven year old Harold had done a great job supervising.  And the rest had done a great job cooperating in an unusual situtation.

I called Kay Bashford with a big thank you. Then Ross and I called Grandpa and Grandma Huggins from the WATS line at the office to say goodbye to them.

The rest of the day continued to be a wide-awake nightmare!  The car was dead again when Ross finally did finish his work at 7:30 p.m. He had to push the Mustang to get it started.

There were still a few things we needed to get at the store.  The first store we stopped at didn't have what we needed.  So, we drove all the way down into Arvad to K-Mart and Walgreens, up to Yellow Front to get Brice's tennis shoes, and then home at last.  Whew!  Uh-oh!  Ross had to go back for an oil filter and other items.  It was 9 p.m. when we finally got home.  The kids had managed quite well considering the Mom had been gone almost seven hours!

Ross and I quickly fed the kids and put them to bed.  Then Ross and I did the last minute packing, checking every little detail, and anything else that came to mind which needed to be taken care of.He laid down for a couple of hours, but I never did go to bed.  By the time I took my shower, it was time to get everyone up, close the suitcases, and get into the taxi which arrived at 6 a.m.

It was a grey morning and strangely routine, it seemed, for its finally being the day we were to embark on new adventures and leave our house and possessions behind once more.

Nor did it seem hard or sad to look at the house one last time as we pulled out of the driveway and drove down Secrest Court to the corner of 74th. Mentally, I was ticking off the list in my mind, wondering if we had forgotten anything.  And the kids were doing their usual complaining about who got to sit by the window in the taxi.

We were at Stapleton Airport in plenty of time.  I had often wondered (those many, many, many times we have taken Ross to the airport to go off on a businees trip by himsel) what it would feel like to be going with him instead of waving goodbye to him at  the gate.

Well, with five kids, one stroller, eight suitcases, two canvas bags, one purse, a camera, a briefcase--AND a gallon jug of orange Juice--it was just a relief to get settled on the plane.

Soon greakfast was served and after a few minutes of looking out the window after that, we landed in Los Angeles.  It was not even 9 a.m. PDT, and we were anxious to get to Disneyland.

First we arrived at the motel to leave our bags--whoops!  WRONG Holiday Inn.  And the right one didn't have our rooms ready.  We got back in the rental car--a nice roomy station wagon which felt like a limousine because  the kids were so far back from hanging over the front seat--and took off for Disneyland.

DISNEYLAND was all and more we had imagined.  Ross had tickets from the times he'd been before, but we bought some more.  Then two different parties at Disneyland itself itself gave us their tickets which they couldn't use.  We ended up with more tickets than WE could use either.  So, we have tickets if we ever go again.

I can see now why Ross raved about some of the attractions:  America the Beautiful, Abraham Lincoln and some of the other FREE exhibits.  It was like Greenfield Village in Detroit, Busch Bardens in Williamsburg, and other amusement/historical parks all rolled into one big place.  Unfortunately, it all ended at 6 p.m.

We compromised with the food.  Ross bought me Chinese food which I ate at McDonald's while the rest ate American hamburgers the last time for the next several months.

Back at the motel, we tried to get hold of Stewart Huntington, without success.  The information operator claimed she couldn't find a number listed for the Arcadia Mission.  In fact she couldn't even find a number for the Los Angeles Temple.  (Obviously this was before the internet.  Back then all those numbers were listed under The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.) 

So we had to wait until the next day when we left Orange County and went back into Los Angeles County before we could get the numbers we needed.  As it turned out, we never did get hold of Stewart (who was serving a mission in Arcadia).  We called and called but never got him at his apartment.  And the temple didn't provide a..........

AND THAT'S WHEN SOMEONE MUST HAVE INTERRUPTED ME TO GO TAKE CARE OF SOME MOM STUFF.  THAT'S ALL I WROTE IN THAT SLIM LITTLE NOTEBOOK ABOUT OUR ADVENTURES IN THE "SWEDEN SAGA".  

And now,  so much time has passed--forty years--I couldn't remember anything if you threathened me with my life.  

Sorry!  

Afternote:  But I did find some singular entries at the back of that little notebook about the differences between the physical aspects of Sweden and the United States, the Church there, and a couple of notes about the trip down into Western Europe we took when Grandpa and Grandma Huggins came for a month's visit.  I'll see if I can include them at some future date for a blog entry, if you're interested.  Let me know....

 

TOP:  Picture of our chapel in Malmo, Sweden

BOTTOM:  Picture of our row house in Malmo--Enbarsgaten 9

This is the back side looking from the north on Vista Skravelingens

 

A ROCKY THOUGHT OR TWO...

 Even when I was a little girl I was interested in how the earth was formed.  I liked to look at the mountains and the cliffs and all the little oddities in the earth's landscape and see stories as we were driving somewhere in the car.  

So, when I got to Brigham Young University I decided to take an introductory geology course.  I'm sure there were a lot of interesting things I learned including the correct names for formations like mesas, arroyos, deltas, etc.  But the only thing I really internalized was the term used to identify the process of rocks becoming smooth in a river bed.  I could have sworn it was "salting", and that's what I have remembered all these years.  Like all those little pieces of rock "salting" the river as they were washed clean of sediment.  But try as I might, even Googling that term, I have not  found any information using that particular term.  Who knows?  I may have remembered incorrectly.  Or maybe it was "silting" or something else that I got confused with.

Anyway, what brought me to that was the ongoing battle I have with weeds in the decorative rock around our yard.  I deliberately chose river rock as landscape material because the rock we had at the Secrest Court house was jagged and sharp.  I like the way river rock looks all smooth with an overall hue of beige and cream.  But in the last few weeks when the round up of unwanted weeds has been intense, and I have relentlessly overturned rocks that had little feelers of green peeping out, I began to notice that each rock is almost like a fingerprint--they each are entirely different from each other.

Forget the beige color, too.  They vary all the way from stark white, to rose, to variegated grey and brown.  They are not all round either.  Some are flat, misshappen, or almost square.  I have really enjoyed looking at their differences, where once they looked all the same.  And that's when the term "salting" popped up in my mind again.  I began to imagine little vignettes about some of the rocks careening down a rough and tumble river and getting their edges worn off.  It helped take the tedium out of spraying the weeds!

Now, I look at the landscape rock around the yard and see it in an entirely different light.  Amazing how the individual rocks are still fulfilling the measure of their creation.  Where once they were the ground-bed and underpinnings of the earth, now they are a handsome accompaniment to the flowers and trees.  

Guess it just goes to show, we all take on different roles during our existence.  Sometimes it's the wrestle getting an education, the hard physical work of family responsibility, sometimes it's the soul- refining experiences we would never choose to have, but do, and sometimes it's just being part of the landscape.

Pass the "salt", please...

TEACHING AN OLD DOG NEW TRICKS....

I had all kinds of plans for my time when I finally retired.  But life doesn't always turn out the way you think it is going to.  I had projects.  I was going to go visit my kids, my extended family, my friends who have retired and moved away from Colorado.  And, we never got to go to Nova Scotia for our anniversary like we had planned.  

In addition to that, I had been praying for some time to be able to improve in certain areas of my relationships with other people, and frankly I was struggling.  I would do pretty well for awhile :being nice", then "fall off the wagon" again.  Time after time after time when situations arose that were difficult to deal with, I would find my default was to be upset.

So, what happened?  In the blink of an eye, my prayer to be a better person was answered and my life changed--but not in the way I had imagined.  As always, I think it's going to be a straight-forward fix.  It wasn't.  It was an invitation to teach early morning Seminary at our chapel for the freshmen and sophomores in the two congregations in our building.  

And the first thing I had to do was get rid of contention.  There is no way I could teach the principles of the gospel when I was "on the prod" all the time.  (That was a phrase my sister used when her husband was contentious.  It pretty much described me.)  So, pretty much cold turkey, I had to turn over a new leaf.  The many, many prayers for help in this new endeavor, and studying the doctrines and principles of the gospel every day have had a calming influence on my tendency to fly off the handle.  I'm not there yet...this change is going to take a long, long time to move over to the permanent side of pleasant, but I'm on the road.

Now about the old dog/new tricks.  I was so relieved when COVID-19 put us all into the "stay at home" orders situation, and I didn't have to worry about teaching my kids online or tuning into ZOOM meetings.  My work didn't require that.  We still had to be there in person.  

But NOW with Seminary, and the schools still operating in hybrid situations, I am being forced to teach in ZOOM conferences, learn all my material through computer-based technology, even keeping the role, etc with electronic devices.  This old dog is having a hard time keeping up.  But I'll get there.  I still know how to lead the lesson discussion and let the Spirit do the teaching.  

Will let you know how this old dog handles it all.....

A LOVING MEMORY...

Cynthia Eyre Kiser
April 1951 - July 2020

It's always startling news to find out that someone I know who is younger than I am has passed away.  My nephew Paul Eyre called me the other day and left a message.  "Call me as soon as you can.  I have some sad news I don't want to share in a voice mail."  Of course I called immediately after hearing that message. 

Paul told me his sister Cynthia had died, but not of COVID-19.  I was thankful for that small detail, but also saddened with the unexpected news.  Later Paul shared with me the details of Cynthia's funeral which her son Kyle was planning.  Kyle had asked Paul to give "the gospel talk" about the Plan of Salvation, and also asked if I would give a 10 minute "loving memory" about Cynthia during the service.  A zoom meeting--the virtual/online meetings we have right now.  Funeral in Rawlins.  Paul in Texas.  Me in Colorado.  Other family members in other states.  It is now the norm.  Life is so different!

I shared in my last post the dilemma I had about remembering something--anything--as Cynthia and I had not even spoken to each other in the 21st century.  Even after memory prompts from some family journals, I was only able to write a couple of paragraphs before going to bed one night discouraged with my inability to write something--anything.

I woke up about 1 a.m. thinking about this assignment and lay there for an hour, again wondering just how I was going to pull it off.  I got out of bed.  I went upstairs to the computer.  But before I sat down, I kneeled down and prayed, "Help me write something that will bring a modicum of comforting happiness to Cynthia's family."  By 5:30 a.m. I had  typed the last sentence, then proofread what I had written and felt satisfied my prayer had been answered.  My words must have rung true to Cynthia's family because her son Kyle told Paul that evening after the funeral, "Georgia's story and closing prayer reminded me of days past and how much I miss my family!"   I was glad!

Here is what I shared at the funeral:

“A LOVING MEMORY” 

OF MY NIECE CYNTHIA EYRE 

My pretty sister Marie married Keith Eyre when I was only three, and they moved into a brand-new little house just two blocks down the street from our family home in Rawlins.  Oh, that was such a fun place to visit with its glass-door kitchen cupboards which displayed colorful dishes and a delightful collection of pepper and salt shakers.  Plus, Marie and Keith had a furry black little Cocker Spaniel named Smokey that was fun to play with.

Then one day Marie told the family she was “expecting”.  What exciting news!  We could hardly wait during the several months that followed.  Finally, that long-awaited day arrived, and Cynthia was born on April 16, 1951.  I hadn’t even started school yet.  Yet here I was aunt at the tender age of five to a beautiful baby girl, who as the first grandchild in the Melvin Reed and Maude Marie Crane Huggins Family, was way more than just another baby come to earth.  She was OUR baby.  Our very own little Huggins grandchild.

This baby’s arrival had been happily anticipated, even though we didn’t know if Marie was going to have a boy or a girl.  We were just excited we were going to have a new baby in the family.  But, we did know that if Marie’s new little baby was a girl, her name was going to be “Cynthia”.  I don’t remember if Marie and Keith had picked any boy names.  Didn’t matter.  We got our cute little girl doll named Cynthia.

In those days—the early 50’s—little girls played house with dolls as their pretend children.  And now, here was this live baby doll for us to play with when my sister Marie came up 8th Street those two blocks to visit Grandpa and Grandma Huggins.  

Cynthia was such a sweet baby to hold, take turns feeding and even change her CLOTH diaper.  I was so proud when we went to church to turn back the soft blankets and show off my little niece to everyone. Marie up-combed Cynthia’s hair into a little wisp on the top of her head, kind of like a Kewpie Doll.  And in addition to the feminine little dresses with rumba pants underneath (In case you don’t know, those were ruffled plastic covers for the cloth diapers), she wore cute little footed pajamas.  It was just like dressing a doll!

When it was meal time at Grandpa and Grandma’s, Cynthia sat in the old wooden family high chair right by Grandpa Huggins who would make sure she had a proper supper.  He would say, “Get this baby some meat!” as we all laughed because that baby didn’t even have any teeth! And Grandma Huggins would tie a clean dish cloth around Cynthia’s neck as a bib to make sure she didn’t soil her pretty little dress.  Talk about queen for a day!  We all loved to see the baby eat, making faces at some unfamiliar food or picking up a stray morsel on the tray with her tiny fingers that could zero in on the tiniest crumb.

When Cynthia was about a year old, her father’s employment at Tri-State Lumber in Rawlins transferred the family to Garland, Utah, for a short time.  Oh, how we missed baby Cynthia.  When we had a chance finally to go visit, here was baby Cynthia all grown up, walking and talking like a little girl!

Fortunately, Keith's work away from Rawlins brought them back again about a year later.  It was so nice to have the Eyres home—in their same little house where it was so convenient for me to stop in and rest on my way walking home from Church.  Just couldn’t get enough of that little girl who was more like my own little sister.  We would play together at my home, too, long hours down the basement where the doll furniture and play dishes were, along with my doll buggy which we would wheel around the neighborhood.

I didn’t get to be the official baby sitter, though for a long time.  One of my older sisters was right in line for that very responsible job when Cynthia’s parents Marie and Keith would go out for the evening.  First it was Glenda.  Then a few years later after Glenda grew up, Marcie got to be the real babysitter.  And a few years after that when Marcie was involved in other activities, it was my opportunity to tend Marie’s kids. Cynthia and now her little brother Paul, too.  Every Tuesday night when Keith and Marie went to the movies, I got to be the babysitter.

As time went by, Cynthia grew into the little school girl I’ll always remember wearing pigtails.  When she would come the two blocks up the street to visit, Grandpa Huggins would quiz Cynthia about school, and when she answered Grandpa would tell her she was a “sharp tack”. He called her Cynthie-girl.  Grandma Huggins was so proud of her, too.  She always had a little treat of mints tucked into the dishtowel drawer in the kitchen to share with Cynthia.

More years went by.  The Eyres moved into the big house on the lot when Keith’s mother passed away.  I loved to have sleep overs there because Cynthia’s room was in the attic!  We didn’t have an upstairs in our house, and having an attic room seemed like something straight out of the books I read.  You could look out the window and see the cars go by.  In time it was looking out the window with Cynthia to see if her boyfriend was driving by.  By then I was in college and she was enjoying high school.

Elementary school, junior high, high school.  Cynthia was not too far behind me all the way.  During those years there were a lot of memories of school programs, birthday parties, and holiday get-togethers.  I also have a lot of memories of being in the Snowy Range with my parents who were Grandpa and Grandma and Keith and Marie and Cynthia and Paul.

It was Cynthia I took to Denver with me for a visit after I graduated from College and accepted a job there.  Ross and I were planning to be married by then, so he took us all over Denver to show Cynthia around.  We had such a good time that weekend.

Cynthia got married herself the following year, and I was lucky enough to be visiting in Rawlins when Amy was born.  Our baby had a baby! 

After that there wasn’t much opportunity to spend time with Cynthia as her own family grew and so did mine.  Plus we lived in Denver.  I remember fleeting visits  in and out as Cynthia came by Marie’s to pick up her kids.  But I am sorry to say, there were never again the opportunities to sit down and really get to know each other, this time as adults talking about parenting or work or family.  We missed out on a lot not being able to do that.  However, I cherish those special first years with the family’s first grandchild, my little niece.  Nothing will ever replace those memories.

Though all of you remember Cynthia as the responsible woman and mother she became, I will always remember Cynthia as the cute little girl who was my first niece and my playmate for so many years.

I invite you to reflect on your own loving memories of Cynthia, either as sibling, mother, aunt, co-worker, or friend and be grateful for her example to you in so many different ways that have enriched your life.  It will be that legacy which will stand as a monument to her turn on earth.  Let that be comfort for your deep loss at this time.