CHANNELING CHRISTMAS WITH THE KRANKS.....

BEFORE...

About 15 years ago a movie came out that put a different spin on the commercialism of Christmas.  

The Kranks were empty nesters.  They decided rather than spend the money they would have spent on Christmas presents for each other, they would go on a cruise for Christmas instead.    

Fast forward to Christmas 2021 at the Nichols-Bateman household.  They are empty nesters.  They have spent many Christmas holidays apart while Georgia was a flight attendant with United Airlines.  There were also a handful of Christmas Day layovers  with United that included Louis.  Most memorable was the one in New Orleans, after Louis flew the whole trip on standby with Georgia.  Oh, there were a couple of years they spent parts of Christmas Day together, and in 2020 the first Christmas Georgia was retired, they spent the whole holiday together. 

They should have had a talk about just exactly HOW each wanted to celebrate--just like newlyweds have to determine.  Having already been married for nearly 20 years didn't count for anything when personal family traditions reared their tinseled heads.  Not great memories, that one....  

NOW...

This year after struggling with "should I or shouldn't I", I finally made the decision to display my beautiful collection of Nativity sets--probably for the last time.  It had been four years since the last one, and I was sure it wouldn't be easier when I was yet ANOTHER year older in 2022.

So, I forged ahead with the open house and turned the house into the magic and miracle of that one, wonderful night centuries ago.  The result was that every nook and cranny in every room in the house, except our bedroom and the laundry room, had some kind of Nativity display.  

Everything looked great.  But there was NO room to put presents under the tree (there was already a Nativity residing there!)  Nor was there any way to use the cooktop on the stove or even eat at the kitchen table which was decked out in the splendor of my new origami Nativity set.  We had been grabbing a burger here, a taco there.  Even some fried chicken or a salad or sub sandwich to go.

That was when Louis brought up a suggestion he had put forward months and months ago--let's go to the Gaylord Rockies Hotel for a little getaway.  This time it sounded like a solution to our dilema stemming from what we were going to do about celebrating Christmas at home.  That sounded like a good plan this time around.   Consequently, after Louis got off work on the 23rd, we headed to Denver International Airport to spend Christmas Eve Day and Christmas Day at the Gaylord Hotel.  (This hotel complex has the same parent company as The Grand Ole Opry.)

I had watched as it was being built two or three years before.  It isn't right off Pena Boulevard, but large enough that it certainly looks imposing in the distance.  I had already concluded it was someplace that would be WAY too fancy for us to stay.

Turns out with Louis' Marriott points, it wasn't too bad.  The rooms are just regular but the main and lower floors in the wings are each large enough to house a variety of restaurants, bars, grab and go food pick-ups, coffe houses, pizza, ice cream, and food trucks.  Then there are the year round features like the swimming pool, a spa, plus a retail store and market place with Colorado and Western attire and amenities.  Whew !

For winter the whole outside turns into Glacier Point which sports snow tubing, ice skating, snowdrift mini golf, ice bumper cars, snow merry go-round, and a snow play area.  Lots of chilly activities to choose from.  And the colorful lights!  It was a delight to see everything in sparkling colors.

Inside the hotel down one of the great halls is Mistletoe Village featuring the predictable shops you would imagine for the Christmas holiday.  Stops like Mrs. Claus' Christmas Traditions, Build-a-Bear Workshop, Yuletide Street Market , Gingerbread Decorating Corner, photos with Santa, and a Sweet Shop.  It took a fair bit ot time to stroll around and check out each different enterprise.

Because we had been eating fast food, we set our minds--and our appetites--to have dinner the first night at the Old Hickory Steak House.  Louis had called for reservations, but was told they weren't taking any until next year!  But...we could do a "walk-in" if we wanted.  

The double line of cars off the main road to the check-in canopy was moving at a snail's pace.  Professional driver that Louis is, he took a left turn into the self park area and approached the front doors of the hotel.  Right to the valet parking.  YIKES!   $39.00 FOR OVERNIGHT!  However, the alternative was that we would have to walk about a quarter of a mile from the only parking spaces that were left in an outlying area.  Louis was on crutches, and we were starving. We opted to pay for the valet. 

Check-in was quick for all the cars of people out there.  Turns out most of them were there for the fun stuff which you can do without being a hotel guest.  Up to our room and down to the steak place.  Aha!  Turns out the reason the restaurant wasn't taking any resesrvations for dinner is because all the time slots had already been completely resesrved until after the first of year.  And the walk-in wait?  Nearly two hours!  We decided the Italian place looked pretty good and had a really nice dinner there with NO waiting.

Christmas Eve day we had that steak dinner and went to the movies.  Christmas morning, we got up late and had a nice breakfast before checking out and heading home.  A nice sunny and snowless Christmas day.  It was even pretty warm with temps in the 50's.

Like the Kranks, we spent the money we would have on presents for the hotel get-away.  But unlike the Kranks, we didn't have to rush home and "Make Christms" for anyone.  We spent a quiet Christmas night in our pajamas all by ourselves.

Do I think I will ever do something like a Christmas get-away again.  Nah!  Probably not.  I pretty much like a traditional Christmas with special Christmas Eve festities,.  That is to say:  reading from Luke chapter 2 or acting out the Christmas story, a family dinner, and presents under the tree to open on Christmas morning.  Call me old-fashioned.

From now on, I'll be jockeying to channel the familiar traditions I grew up with and introduced to my own family from that very first Christmas in 1969 when my oldest was just two months old.  The NIchols Family had a lot of great times over the years, enjoying the old traditions and introducing new ones as our circumstances had to adapt to the "what and where" that was going on in our lives at that time.  

However, I am convinced that no matter HOW we celebrate, the spirit of Christmas in which we honor Christ's birth has to always be the focal point of our entire holiday experience.  And, though the trappings were different this year, it was!

FROM MESS TO MAGIC...!

"I BELIEVE IN CHRIST"

 ORIGAMI NATIVITY

 I think I bit off more than I could chew....

I started a Christmas tradition for myself several years ago when we still lived in Arvada to display all my beautiful Nativity sets and invite friends and neighbors to celebrate Christ's birth with me in that manner.

That worked pretty well for a while.  Because it was a lot of work, I began hosting the open house every other year.  Also, I didn't want it to become just a ho-hum thing that people weren't interested in coming to any more.

In 2019 when the bi-annual festival open house was supposed to be scheculed, my daughter and two teen-aged sons were living with us while their new home was being built.  There wasn't room to put up the display that year, so I planned for 2020.  Well, we all know what happened to that year--COVID pandemic.  Everyone was confined to home and not going out to socialize.  

Fast forward to this year--2021.  I vacillated.  Should I go ahead and spend all that time putting up the displays?  Would people come?  Could I do it all by myself?  

My children and families all came for Thanksgiving.  The house was full.  No way to begin the monumental task of removing everything from all the shelves, boxing it up, and preparing  space for Christmas details.  I was all set to begin the 29th of November and did a few things for a couple of days.  Then pow!  I found myself flat on my back in bed.  Not Covid.  Not bronchitis.  Not pneumonia.  All the illnesses the doctor tested me for.  But I was right down in bed.  It took until December 7th before I was able to begin in earnest.  Even then, as I was going through boxes, I kept thinking "Should I go ahead and do this?"  Especially when all those stacks of boxes were open and the place--both the basement and the upstairs--was a proper MESS!

I knew there was no way I could do it all myself.  In 2017 I had the sister missionaries come and decorate the two trees.  A monumental task in itself!  But we have Elders serving in our area now.  No way they would want to do that, though they did come and carry some of the big boxes upstairs for me.  The only alternative left was to hire someone.  Emma Jex ,13 years old and great at following directions, came for two hours six days in a row and did that big job for me--and also set up the "kids' room" where the little people are allowed to touch all they want.  Even then, it was still many, many days that went from eight hours to twelve, fourteen, sixteen hours.  Most mornings I began early and worked late.  My routine was just crawl out of bed, brush my teeth and  pull on my clothes to get started.   Three-thirty am to get up, 1 am to go to bed.  Whew!  And not one day that I went on my walk or even did my exercises.  (I'll be paying for THAT down the road for sure.)

I even managed to prepare flyers to take to the neighbors, Louis'work, the RS Facebook page--but not in the wide distribution like I did in other years.

Finally, the  minute arrived to throw open the doors and invite our friends and neighbors in.  The house looked great.  Suddenly all that mess had turned into the miracle of that "One, Wonderful Night" so long ago.  And it was all worth the time, energy, and crippled back and fingers that resulted from the tedious  labor of the previous 12 days.

Who says there is no such thing as MAGIC?

Merry Christmas

POUNDS AND OUNCES...

AN OUNCE OF MORNING IS WORTH A POUND OF AFTERNOON.

I first learned this pithy little truism nearly 50 years ago in a yearly Relief Society special event for all the women in the Arvada Colorado Stake, Church of Jesus Christ of Latterday-Saints.

It became my formula, my goal, and then my mantra for most of my adult life.  

I have a tendency to be lazy, procrastinate, and shy away from getting down to business, tackling the housework, or doing a particularly nasty assignment.  This guide helped me be productive and feel good about taking care of the myriad responsibilities of family and home.  During the 20 years I was a stay-at-home- Mom, I managed to do what needed to be done--when it needed to be done--without any lamenting that I should have done so and so, but didn't have time to do it.  My life ran pretty smoothly in spite of the bumps that were much easier to take in stride when the "basics" were already taken care of.

This little way of doing things has served me well.  But now that I am retired, I have given myself too many excuses to sleep in, put off until tomorrow what definitely should be done today....you get the picture.  And I feel bad about myself.  Things I would like to do, I have just gone off and done them, sometimes without taking care of stuff at home first.  Then I come home and face taking care of some job that could have so easily been done before I left IF I had only gotten myself in hand and gotten up early like I always did pre-retirement.

The early morning hours that were once so productive are now slipping by and before I know it, there isn't enough day left to do what needs to be done or do something I would like to do.  There just isn't enough time in the afternoon to do those big jobs which would have been much easier--and seem smaller--in the morning. 

The law of physics says that all hours are equal:  60 minutes each with 60 seconds in each minute.  But this "law" about an ounce of morning verses a pound of morning defies physics.  

It was a hard habit to break, the procrastination and laziness.  I struggle with that habit again and KNOW the benefits of starting early in the morning to take care of the business for the day.  I do pretty well for a few days, then fall off the wagon for whatever reason I manage to invent.  Each time it seems harder to begin all over again.  But I am determined to establish at least a smidgin of that old routine because an ounce is easier to carry around than a pound.  Plus I like the freedom I feel when what needs to be done gets done in a timely manner because I am well aware...

AN OUNCE OF MORNING IS WORTH A POUND OF AFTERNOON!

 

STINGS

Recently I read a memoir about a woman who wrote that she had been bitten by a Stingray while she was wading in the ocean in Southern California. On advice from the lifeguard, she was able to treat the sting and neutralize the venom. A poisonous result was averted. 

She said that not long after that encounter, however, she started to notice strange symptoms in her body. Pounding heart. Shortness of breath. Rapid weight loss. And loss of hair. The author was afraid it was an infection from the sting and went to the doctor who did a battery of tests—all of which came back negative. She went to another doctor, and another. Finally, she was diagnosed with hyperthyroidism which wasn’t related to the sting at all! 

After beginning treatment, her thyroid’s function returned to normal. The doctors had caught it early, treated it well, and the condition has rarely bothered her since. But she was clear to point out that if it hadn’t been for the stingray’s sting, which she had attributed for her strange symptoms, she probably wouldn’t have gone to the doctor, and the hyperthyroidism could have had serious consequences. 

She also went on to recount a couple of other experiences that would have turned out differently if her life had gone the way she had planned. So, the author concluded that she was grateful for those experiences because the Lord has a way of blessing us even with the “stings” of life. 

Over the years, I thought a lot about how sometimes the things I wanted and didn’t get were just paving the way to something better, just as this woman’s memoir recorded.

Probably the most dramatic example of that in my life happened over 40 years ago. My first husband Ross had finally finished his engineering degree after attending the University of Colorado for five and a half years while working full-time and traveling outside the country with his job. It had been a long haul for him and for the family. (We went from two kids when he began to four kids by the time he graduated!)

The next question was “what was he going to do now that he had completed his goal?” 

He applied for a job with FMC Corporation and accepted a position with them in southern Wyoming. But I wasn’t sure I wanted him to do that. I had grown up in Wyoming and didn’t necessarily want to move back. It had been ten years since I had graduated from college and gone to Denver to work. It was there I had met him and got married and where our kids were born. It was home. I loved everything about Denver and my life there. I was reluctant to give it up. 

Some weeks later after Ross met with the company officials in Wyoming who introduced him to their operations, and after I had explored to find a new home, good schools, and thought about being only two hours away from my parents, I saw the opportunity as a positive one. Then I was really excited to anticipate this change in our life. Just as we were getting ready to make that move, however, Ross decided that it wasn’t the right thing to do. Even though he had already given notice at his former employer (Ball Corporation), they readily took him back. He was relieved. 

Me? I was sorely disappointed and felt like an opportunity to move forward in a different direction had been cast aside. In addition, I was sad that I wouldn’t be living near enough to my parents for a day trip now and then to visit them. I was unhappy for a long time. Several months later, Ball Corporation tagged Ross to be part of the taskforce in Williamsburg, Virginia, where they were constructing a can manufacturing facility for Anheuser-Busch. That Virginia experience was the beginning of four wonderful temporary duty assignments Ross had in which the whole family participated…Virginia, Sweden, Upstate New York, and Berlin, West Germany. 

Now, I think what a blessing that “sting” of not moving to Wyoming was. We would never have had had the opportunities to experience the things we did during the next few years if Ross had taken that job with FMC in Wyoming. Not every “sting” can be put into the blessing slot, but I know most people can also identify times in their life when the expected didn’t happen, and the resultant outcome was far better than the original plan. 

“Stings” don’t have to keep stinging. Remember the Lord didn’t send those specific disappointments to you, but He will use them for your greater happiness and growth. The Presiding Bishop of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latterday Saints, Gerald Causse, said recently, “When we keep our covenants, the Lord will bring to pass His plan for us—not necessarily our plan, but His plan.” 

“After much tribulation come the blessings….” Doctrine and Covenants 58:4 

COURTING DISASTER

 HELP!!!

Every time I go into the kitchen, I court disaster.  That's just a fact of my life.  

I never much cared for cooking anyway, missed all the tutoring that my older sisters had from my mother, plus my dad expected plentiful food on the table at mealtime.  Best my mother take care of that for my father so he could go to or come home from his railroad job and have his energy replenished.  After all, he was the bread winner and responsible to go out and slay the dragons!  He needed fuel.

My job was to set the table (And I am CRACKER JACK about that!  Nice--and superior--even now.) and entertain the grandkids who weren't all that much younger than I was.  And at regular mealtime, my job was to dry the dishes.  No cooking.  Didn't bother me.  My puny attempts the times my mother was away tending one of my older sisters post baby delivery were not successful at all.  Not at all.

Years passed and I had a family that needed to be fed a healthy diet with well-balanced meals.  I had good intentions and good recipes. Yet, in spite of having these great mental images of how the finished food dish was going to turn out, my culinary expertise was ALWAYS fraught with some kind of failure.  And that became the story of my life.  And my mantra.  "I do not like to cook.  The failure rate is too high!"

My "now" husband, on the other hand, claims he doesn't mind cooking.  Told me he did all the cooking for his kids when he wasn't out on some assignment with the Army.  He just didn't like coming up with the "what" he was going to fix.  Claimed he and his kids would sit down together on the weekend and plan the meals for the following week.  Then they would go grocery shopping.  He regales me with all of his successes, and how much his kids loved what he fixed.

I've mentioned before how, since Louis and I have been together, he sees a recipe online and suddenly he is committed to prepare all these new dishes.  Then he goes out and purchases cookware to go with his latest whim.  Alas, that notion of becoming the household chef is short-lived when the reality of fatigue sets in after a long work day and no preparation for fixing a meal has been done.  Heck....not even the planning has been in real time.  These adventures have never gotten past the first recipe.

 Believe me, we have plenty of food in the house--and a cupboard full of great recipes.  Tasty stuff.  But it has to be prepared.  And I don't want to fix it.  All those years when I was at home going into the kitchen about 4:30 pm every day to fix a meal for eight people (and the horrendously lengthy clean-up afterward) was enough to last me a lifetime! That daily endeavor always gobbled at least three or four hours of the evening. 

And Louis really doesn't want to do all that either.  He would rather grab some fast food, order from a restaurant, or actually go out to an establishment to eat.  He has now come to prefer restaurant food over home-cooked.  But for me, eating out is no longer a treat.  It is an exercise in choosing which offering is the least gaggy at the moment.

However,  I finally got fed up with this constant need to go out and eat because we both were too tired (or too contrary) to go into the kitchen and prepare a meal.  Plus the food budget had burgeoned!  It needed to be shored up by regular shovels-full of money being poured into it.  (Isn't THAT a shocker!)

Some time ago I began receiving in my junk mail, advertisements for preassembled meals with all ingredients included--just add preparation and cooking.  It looked pretty expensive, and the dishes that were advertised seemed a little on the gourmet side. Those slick advertisements touted grand suppers for little effort.  I ignored all of this hype.  Then the glossy little advertisements, complete with incentives for FREE meals and FREE shiping, began to pop up in my neighborhood mailbox.  Still, I was not convinced it was a very economical or convenient service to suscribe to.  It was definitely for those with money to blow on the frills of life.

But when the amount of money we were spending on eating out morphed into a small fortune, I began to take a closer look at those superlative invitations.  Turns out it would be about $100/week for the two of us to order five different meals for a week.  I talked to Louis.  He thought it sounded like a good idea, too--and I thought he understood I wasn't going to be the ONLY one to prepare the meals.

I poured over the menu selections:  ukka fish or ingredients neither of us cared for or too fancy--until I found five meals I thought we could enjoy.  So, I picked them, processed the coupons for FREE shipping and fourteen FREE meals over the course of the next few weeks.  Pretty easy really.

Then when the meals came several days later, I was impressed how they were boxed in sturdy, foam-lined reclyclable cartons and bags with plenty of cold packs to keep them fresh.  Hence the Hello FRESH!

I looked over what I had chosen.  Elementary recipes with EVERY step clearly set out.  Prep times are listed at 5-10 minutes and cooking time from 30-40 minutes depending on the dish.  Every indredient has been pre-measured and sealed in its own bag or box.  Even items like 2 TBSP of sour cream, 1/4 C grated Parmesan cheese, and chicken stock concentrate.  Looked easy enough.

Chicken Sausage Spaghetti Bolognese was my first pick.  Never had zucchini in my spaghetti sauce before, but hey!  I'll try something once. And I figured Louis would like ANY kind of spaghetti.

Prep time: 5 minutes.  Cook time:  30 minutes.  Calories:  850 per serving.  Let's get cooking!  HAHAHA!

TWO hours later, I'm finally ready to set the table, slice the garlic bread, and cook a side dish of vegetables.  YIKES!

Cutting the zucchini into thin, thin half moon slices took 10 minutes alone.  Then I picked the wrong sized pan to cook the chicken sausage.  The pans we have were either too small or too large.  I picked "too small".  Caused problems later when I was supposed to put the crushed tomatoes, the butter, sour cream, and stock concentrate into the pan with the cooked sausage.  (But the meat is very, very lean so there are no dippings to drain.)  

And there was an even worse problem when I  realized I was supposed to add the cooked spaghetti and zucchini which had been cooking in the oven under the broiler into the meat sauce.  Pan not big enough!  Improvise with my standby pressure cooker pan which was big enough to toss all those ingredients together.  Then I poured the whole concoction into one of my large bowls, topped it with the Parmesan cheese and some reserved zucchini half moons.  Not bad....

At long last!  By that time Louis had been home from work for almost an hour, and I was grateful to finally sit down to eat.  Happily the food tasted good, and I liked the zucchini in the recipe because it had been cooked in some seasoned olive oil.  Something different that I wouldn't have done if I had been picking the recipe.

The other recipes have taken lots longer than the suggested time on the instruction cards, too.  I'm NOT liking all the time I am spending in the kitchen again.  However, here are the pluses:  The precisely measured ingredients for EVERY recipe are in their own separately labeled brown bag, (except for the meats). When I select a bag out of the refrigerator, everything I need to assemble is right there together. Here's another plus:  I don't have to go to the store for panko bread crumbs and have the rest of the box sitting on the shelf until it is unusable.  Same with chili flakes, a thumb of ginger, just two flatbreads, etc.  Just enough for each single recipe packed with the other ingredients for the same dish.  Clean up is pretty much a snap, too.  It's just that I am soooo out of practice with even the elementary cooking skills needed to fix a meal.  

We tried the first box.  The second one was scheduled before I knew what was happening and arrived yesterday.   (Hello Fresh's choices but no fish--thank goodness.)  At that point, I got smart enough to skip a couple of weeks while I figure this whole thing out and cook the rest of the meals that have arrived.  

So, this excercise in the kitchen may be just a "one hit wonder".  I'm not sure yet if it will make it to the "top of the charts" by easing the culinary disasters I usually court! 

Bon appetit!

IT'S COLUMBUS DAY!

 I have always loved Columbus Day!

Christopher Columbus

The very thought of honoring someone who had a whole lot to do with paving the way for the United States of America seemed like a really good idea to me.  Unfortunately  the school district I was in while growing up chose not to make that yearly commemoration a school holiday, even though the banks and federal government had a day off on October 12th.  When practically all the holidays moved to a Monday observance--and created a three day weekend--the celebratory day wasn't always the 12th.  Like this year, it was yesterday October 11th.  No matter.  I have spent some time today thinking  about the pictures of Christopher Columbus we colored or drew in elementary school and my History classes in the higher grades which revealed more about him and his voyages to the new world.  I thought--I think we all did--what a fearless explorer he was.

Since that time I have read excerpts from Christopher Columbus'  journals and some biographies by his peers and other historians, who came later, which have plainly laid out Columbus' more noble motive for his quest to find a passage to India.  

Tad R. Callister wrote:

"For many years Columbus sought financing for his desired voyage.  Finally,  Queen Isabella of Spain gave her approval. Even though the voyage would have profound financial benefits for Spain, Columbus was under no misapprehension about its purpose; he knew it was much more than a secular quest. He knew it was an integral part of God’s divine master plan. He was not alone in this understanding. Gonzalo Fernandez de Oviedo, Spain’s royal historian, referred to the king and queen’s “faithful service to Jesus Christ and their fervent desire for the spread of His holy faith.” He then added, “It was for this purpose that the Lord brought Christopher Columbus to their notice.”

Though fame and fortune may have contributed to his great endeavor to discover a route to the riches of the East, Columbus truly believed he was an instrument in God's hands.

He did seek for gold, but it was a spiritual quest to finance a crusade that would conquer jerusalem and rebuild the temple. Columbus did have his weaknesses, but he felt God worked through him by using his strengths to accomplish His purposes. 

Sadly there are many revisionist historians who have completely remade Columbus into someone he was not.  They quote from sources that are not primary and therefore cannot be wholly accurate.  And they oftern take out of context the real intent of some of Columbus' actions.

Yes, Columbus did send some slaves to Spain.  He wanted to civilize them and save them from their canabalistic  way of life.  He thought if they could be educated they could go back to their native home to teach other tribesmen about, and convert them to, Christianity.  Incidentally, Columbus never personally owned a slave in his entire life.  He wanted to make friends, not enemies, of the natives.  He truly brought them a better way of life.

The negative views brought forward by critics and natives at the end of the 1900's have the wrong perspective.  For them,  Columbus became the symbol of everything that went wrong, when in fact it was the people he left in charge when he went back to Spain who plundered, robbed, and raped the people.  The native people revered Columbus and brought him gifts.  Columbus told those left behind to respect the natives.  They did not.

Truthfully Columbus brought the natives a much better way of life--Christianity.  Instead of  Columbus destoying what "revisionists" call the Garden of Eden perfection the natives lived in, the truth is that they were often at war with one another.  Some were canibals, they had slaves, women were used as sex slaves, major diseases were prevalent, they practiced human sacrifice, practiced witchcraft, and were largely uneducated.   Christianity eradicated all that which improved every single instance of their existence noted above.

In spite that the current image and history of Columbus has been colored by "presentism", the evidence remains that documents support the fact he was the kind of person he claimed to be--a disciple of Jesus Christ.

Columbus' contributions to society, the United States of America,  and ultimately, the restoration of the gospel of Jesus Christ demand that he be honored and recognized for the person he truly was .  

That was the person we used to celebrate.  We need to stand up and still honor and recogonize that same person with celebration!  

I invite you to find primary historical sources that will reveal Columbus as that man he saw himself as--an instrument in the hand of God.  You will not be disappointed.

"In fourteen hundred and ninty-two Columbus sailed the ocean blue..."  and I rejoice that he did and for his fearless determination to serve God.

REMINISCENCES

A step into the past....

My husband and I recently went to his high school reunion in West Virginia. It was a great trip. The weather was perfect--beyond the heat and stifling humidity of a West Virginia summer. The days were mild and sunny. Couldn't ask for a better backdrop for the activities.

Louis got to visit with friends from long ago, and I got to see first hand some of the places and people he has talked about over the years. 

 First was a get-reacquainted afternoon with goodies from all the favorite high school hangout places like pizza from the joint across the street from the school and cookies from their favorite bakery, among other treats.

There was a Friday night football game that was a squeaker, with a great half-time performance by the band, the cheerleaders and the flag twirlers. I especially liked the outfits for the cheerleaders and the flag twirlers. They were modest and yet comfortable enough for the girls to do their routines. (I am so sick of seeing half naked girls prancing around while they are strutting their stuff for the crowd.) Louis told me it was because they are in the conservative South. I don't know what the requirements to participate are, but I LIKED the dress code.

Saturday morning was a tour of the high school given by one of the administrators who also graduated from that high school. It was impressive! True to Louis' description, it was more like a college building than a high school. A little background: West Virginia had a law on the books that no school could exceed three acres in size. But in 1917 a school official approached the state about this beautiful 27 acre tract of land and proposed that Parkersburg be allowed to purchase it and build a new high school. And so that's one reason for the size and the Tudor style influence. It was the only high school in the city until its population was about 3,000 and the 1965 graduating class numbered 1,137!  It remains the largest high school campus in the state of West Virginia.  Louis' class had 750 graduates. That number fell over the years to a low of 300+ last year, but the graduating classes coming up are slated for 400-500. 

 But it's not just the outside, the inside also exhibits some classy architectural highlights. There is a plaster bas relief mural that runs throughout a large part of the auditorium and some of the hallways. The auditorium itself is spacious with a full-sized stage and velvet curtains for all kinds of productions, including special events for the whole city like concerts, etc. Beautiful wood wainscoting is also incorporated into the design. The school is huge, with east and west wings. It is conceivable that a student might not have to even leave one wing during the school day. All classes and activities could be centered in just one wing.  There have been other additions, too, including a planetarium and a data processing center--both after Louis graduated.  Still impressive, though. 

 Unfortunately, the pictures of track, basketball, football, gymnastics and other teams with any records and awards for each no longer line the halls--that is the years before 2000. At some point the school decided to remove all those memories prior to 2000 and just display the teams, scores, and awards from 2000 forward. OOPS! There went the pictures of Louis on the track team, the records he broke, and his pictures on the gymnastics team and as a cheerleadeer. They were still up about 10 years ago when he took his kids to his grandmother's funeral. Alas, I didn't get to see all that.

Saturday evening we had a tasty buffet dinner at a swanky restaurant accomanied by the usual awards ceremony for who traveled the fartherest, number of kids, etc. One other class member had come from Colorado--Eagle. But the fartherest was San Diego. Most of the rest were either current residents of Parkersburg or from neighboring states like North Carolina, Virginia, and Tennessee. At least a few from Florida.

We have ten children in our blended family. Another couple in a blended family had twelve. They won. But Louis called out, "How about grandchildren? We have 18." The emcee said he wasn't to that part of the list yet, and put on another record to continue the dance. By 10 pm, people were pretty much into the realm of "one too many drinks", and we had to get up early the next morning to leave for home.   So we exited the party, before the rest of the contests were decided, amid goodbyes and keep in touch sentiments. (Louis found out later on Facebook we would have won the grandchildren contest--the winners only had 10. DANG!)

And THAT was the sum total of the reunion part of the weekend. Another thing I thought was great about it was that it didn't spill over into Sunday like my high school reunions have done.

Here are some other highlights: 

During the time we had which wasn't scheduled, Louis took me all over the places he had swum in the Ohio and Little Kanawha Rivers, the roads he ran between Parkersburg and the surrounding towns in Ohio.  We visited the cemetery where his parents are buried. We saw the Ohio Amish driving their horse-drawn buggies on the highways. And we got a snack at his memory-laden White Castle Burgers.

One unfortunate circumstance for our trip was Louis' sister, husband, and married son all were tested positive for COVID just days before we got there. So there was no opportunity to visit with them and other family members. 

But there was something really great that happened, too.  Louis' cheerleading partner Amy had died earlier that week of a massive heart attack. Her funeral was the morning of the day we arrived.  The night we went to the football game, a woman came up to us and introduced herself as Amy's sister.  She had been telling some of her friends at the ballgame about her sister's funeral and showing them pictures of Amy when she was in high school.  One was of Louis and Amy.  The other one was the whole gymnastics team in formation for one of their routines.  Someone she had been talking to interrupted her and said, "There he goes now!"  He had spotted Louis!  So, she came over to tell Louis about Amy and show us some pictures.  It was great for him to see the pictures and for me, too, as I hadn't seen these particular pictures.  I had Louis forward these two to me so I could share them with my kids, as they have heard him talk about his being a cheerleader in high school (and later at West Virginia University).

Louis and his partner Amy

    

Louis and his cheerleading squad

Now here are the highlights and reminiscences special for me....

We landed in Cincinnati the first day and spent some time that afternoon perusing some of their great museums before driving along the Appalacian Highway to Parkersburg.  

The day seemed perfect.  The view was spectacular.  The weather was mild.  Suddenly, I got thinking about our trip from Denver to Virginia when we moved there in the fall of 1979 for my first husband Ross' work with Ball Corporation.  I remember leaving Indianapolis, driving to Cincinnati and taking a break at a beautiful rest stop on our way to West Virginia.  I realized we had to have taken that exact same route between Cincinnati and West Virginia along the Appalacian Highway.  We drove through Louis' hometown of Parkersburg!  Who would have thought I would be driving along the same route  years later....  

It was almost the exact same day of September and everything looked precisely the same as it did 42 years ago.  I spent a wonderful couple of hours thinking about that time in my life and that leg of the trip we took over the scenic Appalacian Highway headed to our new home in Virginia.  

After the reunion we left early Sunday morning for the same drive back to Cincinnati where we met my son Schuyler and his family at Church and then spent a couple of hours with them before flying back to Denver. 

Truthfully, I was apprehensive about the whole trip, flying as a passenger, meeting so many new people.  Retirement has made me kind of timid about some of the constants of my former life with United Airlines.  But  the days we spent on this mini vacation were both fun and fulfilling.  

I'm glad I went....

LIKE RIDING A BIKE.....

 All my life I've heard people say something akin to "it's like riding a bike".  I guess it's supposed to mean that you never forget how to ride a bike once you learned how, or it is easy to recall how to do once you know.  So relax and whatever is stymying you will come back to your remembrance once you begin.  I probably said the same kind of thing myself to other people here and there over the years.  And, I believed it because no matter how long it had been since I had been on a bike, I could jump on and my body knew instinctively what it needed to do.  I had a feel for it.

That was then...

When I consistently rode a bike.  Oh, not the years we took those loooong rides  to the train tracks or the necessary rides to the chapel or piano lessons, etc. when the kids were growing up in Arvada--but the pleasant little jaunts here in Johnstown after we moved here.  I would go up to I-25 and back or around the neighborhood or down to the chapel for a meeting.  Just tame stuff, but still a pleasure once in a while.

Pretty soon, though, it had been at least a couple of years since I had been on my bike.  I don't know why.  Lazy maybe.  I do know once before that long hiatus, I had my daughter pump the tires for me so I could ride--and I did.  Later came the time when I was still flying, and I had some time at home where I could fit in a short ride--and didn't.  

Then my bike got pushed back to the nether parts of the garage where it became awkward to extract  from the jumble of yard tools, the kiddie pool, and the outdoor furniture including umbrellas.   As time went on it might have looked like I wasn't interested in riding.  That's when my bike got hung from a hook on a beam in the garage.  Then it was downright impossible to grab and coast off for a little ride.  I just couldn't lift it down without assistance.  A few times in the past I had asked for that help but  didn't persist when it wasn't forthcoming. So nothing happened.  

When summer rolled around this year, I emphatically asked if my bike could come down out of the rafters and get some air in the tires.  Sure....Then Louis did one better.  He took it to the bike shop and had them do a complete tune up and refurbish for some parts that were sketchy and needed help.  It took a couple of weeks, but when Louis brought the bike home it was practically brand new!  WOWEE!!  Except for the little nick in the seat upholstery, it WAS brand new.

This is now....

Unfortunately, I wasn't at the bike shop for the technician to adjust the seat to my height.  Turned out the seat was too high which made it impossible for me to stand up in the crotch of the bike, put my foot on the right pedal and be in control as I pushed off.  Though I rode it those first few days with the seat too high and was sure I was going to come crashing right down.  Same when it was time to stop and hop off the bike.  That darn seat was just in the way.  It took another few weeks after asking Louis to help me adjust it (the set screws were just too tight for my arthritic fingers!) before he was able to get to that little task.  

So, now the seat is lower , but I am having a heck of a time lifting my leg through the crotch to get set to mount the bike and ride.  What happened!?!?!  The bike no longer feels like it is connected to me, a sleek little vehicle which I feel at one with.  No, I'm afraid to raise my arm to signal.  I'm apprehensive about cars coming up behind me and passing.  I am holding my breath.  By the time I get back home, I have seriously wondered IF I was going to get back home safely.  Fifteen minutes, and I am shaking like a leaf!

In short, I am a beginner once again.   I literally have to take myself in hand to wheel the bike out of the garage and ride around the neighborhood for a short ride.  Guess the only solution is to just keep trying until the bike feels familiar once again.   Isn't that one of the mantras of life:  "If you fall off, just get back on and try again."  

I do love riding a bike!  Maybe there's still a future in it for me....

#52 Stories of Me: My Relationship with My Mother (week 22)

Number 22 on the list of #52 Stories of ME! asks the question “What is the best thing about your relationship with your mother?”

The answer is so multitudinous I can hardly even begin to make a list. There are so many “bests”.  Things like having fun together, her being my mentor as I was growing up and learning how to clean and make my surroundings inviting.  Her teaching me the basics of how to play the organ, her expertise as a seamstress when I was stumped with some sewing project—both when I was in 4-H and later as a young mother who had to make many of my children’s clothing.  More than these situations, though, I valued her input for many other endeavors wherein I needed an experienced opinion. I always respected her knowledge and ability as a homemaker.  

Also, having a listening ear when I came home from school was a big part of our relationship.  Mom was interested in hearing about my school day, and she always kept the confidences I shared with her.  She welcomed my friends into our home pampering, them as she did me.                                                                                                                                          I loved when she went as a chaperone on outings with the young women of our congregation. All the girls and leaders loved her and looked up to her, too.   And I was glad that she was always willing to make treats or a special dessert whenever I had volunteered to take something for a party.  I was proud, not only of her finished effort, but also of the classy way she presented it.

This list doesn’t even begin to exhaust the things I loved about my mother and my relationship with her.

About 15 years ago I wrote a little blurb about this relationship in the Nichols Family Newsletter that I created each month for my children.  It was the May 2005 edition, and I attempted to envision what I would choose to do if I could spend an entire day together with my mom.  That was the subject of an early morning radio talk show I had listened to on my way to work.  I began the article for the Newsletter with a little back-story about some of the special times I shared with my mother.  Here is what I wrote…

“I was the youngest of nine, born when my parents were 43 years old.  I had a lot of opportunities to spend entire days alone together with my mother.  After I got over the initial “homesickness” of missing my last sibling when she left to go to high school in Salt Lake City the year I was ten, I began to really enjoy the times my mother and I were home alone together.  Since my dad was often gone for 24 hours or more at a time for his work on the railroad, those were the times we “goofed off”.  My dad wasn’t too keen on horseplay, so we saved the fun time for when he was at work.  I don’t remember all that we did, but I do remember that we often played tricks on each other and enjoyed each other’s company.  I thought of my mother as my friend.

As I got older and in high school, I still enjoyed my mother’s company, but I spent a lot of time with my friends leaving my mother home alone to sew or watch TV while both my dad and I were gone.  One night I was invited to a dance—and it was her birthday.  My dad was gone on his railroad assignment, and my mother asked me if I would please stay home with her and bake her a birthday cake.  I was a “snot”, telling her if she wanted a birthday cake, she should bake it herself as she was a far better cook than I was.  And I went to the dance.  I have felt bad about that many times in years since. 

However, there were some really great times I DID have with her during those teenaged years, too. 

When I was getting ready to go to Brigham Young University for my Freshman year, I wanted some fabulous clothes to take with me. My hometown of Rawlins, Wyoming, didn’t have any great selection of “cool clothes” for sure.  So, we planned a trip to Casper, Wyoming, (about 150 miles to the north of Rawlins) to go shopping. It necessitated an overnight stay which my dad generously said he would pay for, as well as the gas for my car.

This was in the late summer of 1964 before department store chains like Mervyn’s, Kohl’s, Foley’s, Dillard’s and the specialty stores now like Gap and Banana Republic and all the rest which homogenize the country with exactly the same thing in every store in every city.  Casper was big enough to have some nice dress shops, and different enough selections from the clothes in Utah and California to make me stand out just a little from the rest of the girls that year at BYU.

There was a little nest egg of money I had saved from my summer job cleaning rooms at the Bucking Horse Lodge motel, and my mother encouraged me on that shopping trip to buy fun things for my dorm room and cute clothes, too.  I was surprised at her contemporary tastes!  The most memorable purchase was a beige and brown wool plaid “paper doll” coat—this was the 60’s and much in style—with a fur collar.  I don’t remember any of the other clothes, but I remember I felt so stylish when I arrived at BYU.  And, I felt especially stylish when I wore that coat.  Lots of compliments, too!

I had such great memories of that trip, in fact, I decided I would like to repeat it a couple of years later.  So, once again my mother and I made an overnight trip to Casper to shop for college clothes for me.  One restaurant we ate at had paper placemats printed with the different brands for local ranches.  There were instructions how to read those brands and also how to make up your own brand. 

We laughed over the “brands” we concocted like the “Lazy Bar H”, the “Rocking G”, and the “M Side Bar M”.  (Interpretation:  Lazy Bar H—the H was lying horizontal instead of vertical, obviously because I could sometimes be really lazy!  Rocking G was a capital G with a rocker underneath the letter.  Also in reference to me.  M  Bar M was my mom—her first and middle names:  Maude dash Marie.)

That was the shopping trip I purchased the Fall-1966 color-of-the-season- Burgundy wardrobe.  Coat, Hat, linen dress with lace bodice overlay and tiny buttons, sweater dress, and other burgundy-colored items.  Oh, I was stylin’ that year back at BYU!

But, if I had an entire day alone with my mother now, the first thing I would do would be to bake her a cake—lemon with a hard chocolate-shell frosting that she liked so much.  Then I would ask her to tell me more about her girlhood, and being a young mother, and how she coped when her kids all grew up and went their separate ways.  And I would definitely ask her about my brother Harold and how she managed the grief of his accidental death.  I would want her to open her cedar chest and share with me all the things she thought were special enough to tuck away in there.  

                                                I would have her sing “Poor Babes in the Wood” to me once again.  That one was sad and always made me cry.  She didn’t have a good singing voice.  It was thin and reedy, but when she sang that song and others I heard over and over as I was growing up, I thought she was a wonderful singer. 

Perhaps I would treat her to lunch—she didn’t get  to eat out very often.  And I would maybe like to go to the temple with her one more time.  I just know I would like to make it a positive, meaningful, and memorable day together.”

Looking back now, I know there were not enough of those special days spent with her—just my mom and I.  And, if I had it to do over, I would be smart enough to remember this little quote and invite my mother to hang with me one more time.

“Keeping it all in perspective means that sometimes we put everything down, look into the eyes of the ones we love, and say, ‘Let’s spend some time together today—what would you like to do?’”

 

#52 STORIES OF ME: WHAT DID YOU ENJOY DOING WITH YOUR FATHER WHEN YOU WERE A CHILD? week 24

 My husband Louis tells me he has never known anyone who can identify the make and model of old cars or the variety of garden flowers or the names of geographic features like I do.  Oh, I'm sure there are plenty of people out there who also know the same bits of trivial information.  But my storehouse came to me because of my dad.  Spending time with him was an ongoing education--a fun one!

When I was little I used to go with my dad in his old blue Ford pickup truck that had a floor stick shift.  On his days home from his railroad run, he would back the truck to our kitchen door which was about midway on the 100 foot driveway and beep the horn. When I rushed to the door he would ask if I wanted to go with him.  YES! and I would jump in ready for any adventure to go to the dump, to the car dealership, to see a friend from the railroad, to visit the building site for new construction (no OSHA then), to the hardware store, or to the greenhouse.  He often called me Chum.  But my favorite name he had for me was Chicky Pete.  I don't know where he got that moniker, but I loved having him call me that.

It was during those great times together that he would point out the cars on the road as they passed.  Of course, they didn't speed by at 80 mph, so it was easy to call my attention to them.  Then when we saw those cars again as they passed, my dad would  quiz me as to their names. Long drives on vacations gave lots of opportunity to play this game.  Every time I gave a correct answer, my dad would say, "You're a sharp tack!"  It took me awhile to figure out it meant he thought I was clever to remember what he had taught me.

Our yard was beautiful, well-cared for, and so inviting.  Dad spent much of his time between trips on the railroad hand watering, weeding, planting and pruning in the yard.  When I was with my dad while he worked, he always kept up a running commentary.  He taught me how to recognize our Chinese Elm, Birch, and ornamental plum and crabapple trees by their leaves and their bark.  The evergreens by their needles, shape, and color.  The pansies, sweet peas, asters, delphiniums, cosmos, bachelor buttons, and other varieties of flowers that cheered the immaculate flower beds with their fragrant blossoms.  Honeysuckle, lilac and Bridal Wreath bushes which filled in along the driveway and north side of our yard between our house and the neighbor's were all part of the plant identity he helped me with, too.  On Memorial Day I went with my dad to purchase the peonies and gladiolas we later placed in large containers on my brother's grave.  And always the quizzes--what kind of flower (tree, bush, etc.) is this?  I also learned that a tree needed to be pruned until the crotch of the tree was the height of a man--then all the growth would go to the heighth instead of the width of a tree.

Dad loved geography and history.  I was the recipient of his vast store of knowledge from the World Book Encyclopedias I often saw him reading.  His interest in the world and the earth took him all over the United States by train and on a cruise ship to Hawaii (and in his waning years  on a plane to Sweden to visit me and my family while we were living there).  My parents were 43 when I was born, so I went along on the later vacations including the one to Hawaii with my mom and my older sister. Along the way on all these vacations, Dad taught me the names of the places, the rivers, the mountains, and the other interesting features found on the maps.  Again he quizzed me from time to time on vacation and just driving in the car.  He was particularly pleased when I could recall "hard" names like Snoqualmie, the beautiful falls in Washington State or the Pali Overlook in Hawaii.

My dad didn't read stories to me when I was a little girl.  He didn't get down on the floor and play with me.  He didn't take me to the movies.  But I knew he thought I was a pretty cool kid from the compliments he gave me about my successes in school, my triumphs playing the piano including at my annual recital, at Church (beginning in the Junior Sunday School when I was 11 years old), for Rotary Club, school choirs, and as an accompanist for solo singers and those who played instruments.  And he always spoke with me like I was on an equal footing with him--not "talking down" to me.  

As I got older, Dad gave me opportunities for grown up responsibility which he knew I could handle.  For example he took me out to the gravel pits north of our town and taught me to drive his old blue pick up truck with the floor stick shift when I was just eleven years old.  From then on our trips together for errands included opportunity for me to practice my driving skills.  My mother didn't drive, and I know he wanted to make sure she had a way to get around town when he was gone with his railroad trip.  It didn't seem odd at all that those driving experiences morphed into taking my mom to Salt Lake City a time or two when I was in high school.  Even though I  was apprehensive about those assignments, Dad didn't bat an eye when he told me I was skilled enough for him to trust me to do that.  I believed him.

Clearly my awareness and enjoyment of life, and the world near and far, are directly proportional to the time I spent with my dad when I was a child.  He was a great teacher!

Thanks, Dad!

 

RETIREMENT BLUES...

 I could hardly wait to retire. 

I imagined having big chunks of time to do some of the "want to" kinds of projects I have either had to put off for YEARS or dabble in here and there with no signifigant progress.   And read....now there would be time to read.  But "retired life" didn't turn out that way at all.

First, I was retiring during the first six months of the COVID pandemic.  Not a lot of freedom to go here and there to have a reunion witih my friends from B.R.O.A.D.S.--my bookclub for almost 28 years--get reacquainted with my nieces, visit my own children, etc.  Limitations all over the place.

Second, I spent the school year attached to an early morning assignment to teach a religious education class to local high school students at 6 am.  Rise time was 4:15 a.m. to do exercises, get ready, and walk to the chapel for class each morning.  There was an enormous amount of pressure, preparation, and presentation to contend with.  Some of that was conducted as a ZOOM connection from home for about three months when the schools didn't even have classes in a building.

Third, I actually conducted a garage sale under the auspices of the whole neighborhood event.  Only I didn't get the help I requested to assist me in hauling EVERYTHING out of the basement to the garage.  Louis did clean the garage for me (something I had to do by myself the last time I got so brave to have a garage sale) but the rest I had to do on my own.  Hauling, lugging, dragging furniture and boxes up from the basement to set up in some sort of display fashion.  But I petered out.  Not everything I wanted to get rid of even made it to the garage.  I was exhausted!  And then without looking at any of the left overs a second time (good for you, Georgia!) I packed up the car and went straight to the thrift sore.  

Fourth, after planting the outside pots with seeds for the last few years, I decided to go back to bedding plants. They are so much prettier.  But, also more work and have to depend on the right kind of weather to get planted which at first was so wet I couldn't do anything.  Then it turned into a furnace overnight and it was too hot (for me) to spend a lot of time outside.  And...lest I forget the hail storm which decimated not only lots of newly planted flats of blossoms, but also several that were waiting to be planted which I had "safely" put next to the garage on the north side for shelter.  That is precisely the direction the storm came from and pelted those tender shoots until there was no salvaging them.  Plus, it took quite a while for the cushions on the outdoor furniture to dry out after the deluge of water during that monsoon we had.  When I finally got the patio put together, it has been too hot to even go out there and sit.  

Have to beat myself to a pulp to even do the very most BASIC housekeeping tasks.  Forget the big house cleaning jobs.  Not going to touch those AT ALL!

Oh, there's more.  I don't want to go anywhere.  I don't want to get into the car and drive even to the grocery store.  I have no one to talk to but myself for several hours of the day.  Quite a change from speaking with sometimes hundreds of people a day at my job.  

And the post-retirement list?  Not only am I not interested in jumping into a project here and there, I truly have NO desire to do so.  The picture box?  Who cares?  The recipe files?  Why bother.  The 2nd volume of  Visiting Teaching letters I wrote in the last ten years after the first compilation?  Who would be interested in reading them anyway?  The boxes and boxes down the basement that I pledged I would go through one carton at a time to sort, file, or trash?  Don't have the energy to even begin.

I think I have watched more TV during the last year than I have in my ENTIRE life.  It has made me lethargic.  As I always told my kids, "Lethary begets lethargy.  If you watch too much T.V., then you don't have the ambition to even get up and do something . Let alone get out of the chair and go to bed."  That turned out to be ME!  All the while I am sitting there watching some program, I am thinking what a waste of time.  I could have been ....well, productive.

I wander from room to room, not really doing anything at all.  I did start writing "to do" lists again to see if THAT would jump-start me.  Nada!  Some of those lists still have unchecked items on them.

Instead I go to bed at night practically dreading that I have to get up in the morning and start all over again....and know that I am not going to get anything accomplished.

What happened?  Not sure.  Did find out I have some kind of weary valve on my heart.  Took a stress test and a lung test, too. The results of which were both NORMAL. Then WHY do I feel so enervated? 

Along about the first of June I noticed that my shoulders and upper arms weren't functioning properly.  No range of motion like I have always been used to.  Couldn't even hook my bra strap or tuck in a shirt without excruciating pain.  There would have been no way I could have swung my suitcase up into  an overhead bin multiple times a day.  But....I thought  eventually that condition would ease.  Didn't. Then after waiting three weeks for an appointment with my PCP, found out that I have "frozen shoulder".  At least it's not inflammatory arthritis or something worse.  Anyway, that's the verdict for now until I see the specialist.

So...RETIREMENT?  Not at all what I expected.  It's lonely some days.  And I do wonder if I have stepped over the line into "OLD age".  That'd be just MY luck after killing myself off for years staying active waiting for a rest!  Talk about retirement blues. I've got them!

But just to be fair...let's blame it on COVID for wrecking my life!  Maybe when that spectre gets better,  I'll get better.  HAHAHA!

                                                 

PATRIOTISM

 

                                                                 

I always thought I was a patriotic person. 

I loved to see the American flag flying on flagpoles all over our small town.  I had on display in my bedroom a miniature silk flag which had been a present from the crew when my family went on a cruise ship to Hawaii in 1951.  I could recite the Pledge of Allegiance.  I could sing “The Star Spangled Banner”, “My Country ‘Tis of Thee”, and “America the Beautiful”.   I loved to hear stories about the early colonists and their fight in the Revolutionary War to become a free nation.  I was particularly keen on the details about Francis Scott Key penning the words to “The Star Spangled Banner” after he saw the American flag still waving over Fort McHenry following an attack by the British one night during the War of 1812.  I was fascinated with the beautiful bursts of fireworks to celebrate July 4^th every year.  I had been to some historic places where American history was recounted and exhibited.  I was proud to be an American!

But…I had no idea what patriotism was until our little family moved to Virginia in 1979.  There we lived in the cradle of some of America’s most important history.  Every weekend, and usually one evening during the week, we would put the kids into the car and go to one of those famous historical sites.  One weekend about the middle of November we went to the Yorktown Victory center which had been built for the Nation’s Bicentennial in 1976.  In 1979 it was still an interactive exhibit with different displays recounting the varied contributions of countless men and women of many nationalities and races to America’s six-year struggle for freedom.

At the Victory Center we saw and heard the printer at the Tidewater Gazette as he discussed the vivid reports of the explosive situation in Boston.  Just a few steps away, a changing diorama recreated the tempestuous events of Boston in 1773 , the year of the “Tea Party”.

Then we entered an authentically reproduced copy of Washington’s campaign tent where the military events of the revolution unfolded before us in another life-sized diorama.  Following that, there were six other displays in chronological order as we walked down Liberty Street including a 12-foot tall reproduction of the Declaration of Independence.

The concluding display was a series of glass cases with historic artifacts and treasured objects on loan from private and state collections in America and other countries.  When the interactive button at each was pushed, there was a recording of what significance those objects had which led to the American victory on the nearby battlefield of Yorktown.

The very last glass case displayed simple objects like tin cups, buttons, utensils, and other personal items found on the battlefields themselves.  When I pushed the button to hear the background for this display, I was instantly brought to tears as a narrator read excerpts from letters by the soldiers themselves written home to families—mothers, and other loved ones—about  the deprivations of this war and what they encountered in battle.  There were words of pride and determination to prevail, but there were also yearnings for home and fear of the unknown.

Here, perhaps for the first time in my own personal life, the realities of hardship and sacrifice of the Revolutionary war were tangible things.  Freedom had not been free.  It had been hard won by young soldiers, and by everyone else who believed in the principles of freedom and liberty.

Perhaps my feelings that day were a bit more tender than normal because just five days before, a picture of two Iranians carrying garbage out of the U.S. Embassy in Tehran during the hostage crisis in that country flashed across TV screens all over the world.  And the garbage receptacle they were using?  It was the American flag!  I remember feeling assaulted personally and as a nation that day. 

So, when I saw re-creations at the Victory Center of the prices paid for that freedom and liberty in the United States, I was humbled and very grateful for that gift!  I later wrote in the family journal that our visit to Yorktown would remain one of the most moving experiences of my life.  It remains so to this day….

That day in November 1979, I learned that patriotism is a blend of knowledge, devotion, and loyalty.  Patriotism is vital to keeping the free FREE.  One writer said, “Patriotism brings citizens together in a common cause and builds stronger, more cohesive communities that unite a nation.”

In April 2021 General Conference of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter day Saints, President Dallin H. Oaks taught, “God has given His children moral agency—the power to decide and to act. The most desirable condition for the exercise of that agency is maximum freedom for men and women to act according to their individual choices.”

Take away agency and there is no freedom, no liberty.  And most definitely, they are NOT free.  These virtues need to be maintained with vigilance and accountability.

The survival and success of freedom and liberty are up to us.  I invite you—and me, too—to cultivate our personal patriotism in order to protect and defend the United States and to teach our children of the responsibility we each have to do that, as well.