MEMORIAL DAY....AND MEMORIES

Sometimes I wish I could turn back the clock.

Memorial Day is just about my favorite holiday.  It brings back so many memories of different times in my life that made it such a great occasion.  Not to mention it comes at the end of May AFTER school is out and summer is officially--or unofficially--ready to begin.

As a little girl it was the opportunity to be with my dad when he went down to the florist to pick up the fresh flowers he had ordered to decorate my brother Harold's grave.  It was always an early prospect with a definite chill in the air when we started out. After all this was Wyoming in May.  Then it was home to arrange the flowers in the huge crocks which were stored for just this ritual every year.  All was ready before breakfast so we could get out to the Rawlins cemetery as early as possible.  

Marcia and I liked to visit the graves which had the most interesting headstones.  My favorite was George Eliopoulos, the local Greek boy who had been appointed a commission at West Point.  He was killed when another cadet accidentally stabbed him with his bayonet during a marching drill.  His marker was tall with a picture of him in his white dress uniform.  The metal frame was oval and had a cover which could be moved back to reveal the photograph.  He was a handsome young man. 

By the time Marce and I got back to Harold's grave,  all the flowers had been arranged, and we would go home to prepare the rest of our picnic lunch, which we usually had in the back yard.  The mountains were still too snowy to go there.  It was always fun, nevertheless.

As I got older, the family still went to the cemetery to put flowers on Harold's grave but I would also sometimes spend time with my friends.  No stores were open, so no shopping and mega sales like nowadays.  But we had a good time getting together for board games or an impromptu mini picnic at one or another's homes. 

Memorial Day was still observed on May 30th in 1968 when I graduated from BYU.  I went home for a quick trip after finals to zip down to Denver to find a job and a place to live (neither materialized) but I had a good time with my friend who drove and showed me around Denver.  When we got back to Rawlins, I then celebrated with my family.   Graduation day was May 31st, the day after Memorial Day, so I must have traveled on that day to get to Provo in time for my convocation.

It wasn't until 1971 that Memorial Day holiday has been officially observed on the last Monday in May.  During the next few years after I got married,  Ross and I would go back to Rawlins for Memorial Day to celebrate with the Huggins family.  Then we began staying at home, probably when Ross was going to college, and celebrated by ourselves.

As the years rolled by Memorial Day became a day to clean the garage, sometimes wash the windows inside and out, and then celebrate our hard work and our clean house by having a picnic in our clean and cooler-than-the-house garage followed by games in our own backyard.  I remember those holidays with great fondness.

Three times we STILL celebrated Memorial Day even though we were in Virginia, Sweden, and West Berlin.  Those were family affairs for sure!

Then Jeremy died and we began making our own trek to  a cemetery to put flowers on his grave--this time in Golden.

Next came the Bolder Boulder era, starting first with myself running the 10K race with Mel Casper and then in the years to follow with the kids.  At first Harold and Brice were on their missions.  When they came home they ran, too.  Harold finished that first time in about 40 minutes, if I remember correctly.  Brice was always out to have a good time and usually stopped for donuts along the way as he ran.  Burgandy would run in her hiking boots!  And her feet were in sad shape when we finished.  We nearly had to carry her to the car when the race was over.

I am a walker, but on that one day of the year for the Bolder Boulder 10K race, I jogged.  Even though there is a wave for walkers, I just couldn't walk like some wimp.  I HATE running, though, so I wasn't very good at it.  My finish time was always around an hour-twenty.  One year I decided  I would "train" so I could break an hour.  That was my personal goal.  To get in shape for the last month before the race, I would walk my 3.5 miles every morning, but run from Quaker Street home.  Then I would jump on my bike and ride the exact same route. 

When race day came, I reminded the family--actually Britty, because everyone else was faster than I was--that I wasn't going to go slow just to be with her.  I told her that I would stick with her for the first mile, then I would go on ahead. 

Now as I look back, I can't believe I did that.  I ran with her for the first mile like I said, then forged on ahead calling over my shoulder, "Bye, Britty.  See you at the finish line!"  There were thousands of people in the race and thousands more watching.  It wasn't until later when I DID cross the finish line that I began to regret that I had left her behind.  My mind began imagining all kinds of scenarios.  But, she stuck with it and crossed the finish line sometime later.  I was a wreck until I saw her trudging along all by herself.

And MY finish time that year?  Just OVER one hour because I had such a stitch in my side from jogging that I decided to walk from mile five to mile six then run the last stretch into the stadium ( you don't want to be the one walking  into the stadium).  All that effort and I still didn't break an hour!  If I had just started to run about 500 feet earlier, I would have clocked 59 minutes instead of one hour and two or three minutes.  Oh, well. But I wasn't interested in beating my own record anymore (too much work).  However, Britty got better and better every year.  (Now look at her....she runs marathons!)

I have had to fly most of the Memorial Day holidays in the 17 years since I began with United.  And I have never run the Bolder Boulder since 2000.  But the few years I have had it off, the Colorado Nichols would get together for a picnic and sometimes be joined by the Utah Nichols.  I really enjoyed those years feasting, funning, and being with family.  We even had one of Momma G's  summer super-fests during a Memorial Day holiday weekend.  That year it was "The Grands Go Hawaiian". 

So, today I reminisced.  I would have liked to go back in a time machine to one of those earlier years and feel that same exhilaration about Memorial Day that I used to....because today was an absolute NOTHING....didn't even take flowers to Jeremy's grave.  The day was lackluster and non-descript.

Yes, sometimes I wish I could turn back the clock.  But just maybe...next year's Memorial Day will be another memory-making event.  Hope so!

"A SHIP IN HARBOR IS SAFE....

BUT THAT IS NOT WHAT SHIPS ARE BUILT FOR."


The young man who spoke at Mackson Nichols' graduation from Payson High School last Thursday, May 25, 2017, at the UVU event center in Orem quoted this well-known aphorism by American professor and writer John A. Shedd. 


What a fitting subject for over 400 students who were "commencing" their new life that day. 


Is that life going to be scary, hard, fun, problematic, challenging, discouraging,  fantastic, fulfilling, or enriching?  Probably all of that...and more.  But not one of those students, or any of us for that matter, really realize our potential when we never venture far from what is comfortable and known in our little corner of the world.


Heck, even Moana had to go beyond the reef to find her true destiny.  And we all know the frightful and funny stuff she had to endure in order to do that.  Are we any less than a Disney princess or a great ship of the sea?  I think not. 


This was a good reminder to do some sailing a little bit farther away from our own safe harbor.  Sometimes we talk ourselves out of the "harder right" as President Monson put it, but there is no personal development or increase in that.  Not a picnic to experience, to be sure, but certainly an accomplishment as we look back and see the growth we have sustained in those hard moments. Often it is during the more perilous trips, fraught with the proverbial wind, rain, and high seas, that we learn how resilient and strong we really are. 


"A ship in harbor is safe, but that is not what ships are built for."  And neither are we.


So, sail on!

P.S.
 I was interested in seeing more about this quote, and read the following online at "Quote Investigator" after Harold shared that site with me.
"Here are additional selected citations....
.
The adage above has a natural metaphorical interpretation which encourages individuals to be more adventuresome. In 1901 a literal statement was published in a Duluth, Minnesota newspaper that displayed some thematic similarities. Warships should be kept moving and should not be left in harbor according to the statement. These ships at sea face some of the greatest risks; yet, interestingly, even a ship in harbor may “rust and rot”. The concept was ascribed to Theodore Roosevelt though the wording used was not attributed to him:

'President Roosevelt thinks that warships are not built to rust and rot in harbor. He wants them kept moving so that crews can keep in full practice at their seamanship, gunnery, etc. That sounds like hard sense.'"

 

CENTIPEDES WITH LIGHTED FEET....

I live in a bedroom community. 

By that I mean I live in a suburban area like hundreds of others throughout the country, which has an original town consisting of four or more square blocks over a hundred years old for its roots, but it no longer supports any business or industry.  Therefore, most of the residents leave every day to drive elsewhere for work and then commute home ten to twelve hours later.  That generates an almost constant stream of traffic out of and into our little town, the heaviest of which you can imagine happens in the early morning and the early evening.  (In the East these people would be on commuter trains like when we lived in Saratoga Springs, New York, where I first heard the designation of "bedroom community".)

I know because I am often right there in the thick of it every morning that I wake up in Johnstown.  But...I am not in my car.  I experience it when I walk out of my Carlson Farm neighborhood and along Highway 60 to the I-25 Interchange and back. 

Early morning dark is not scary.  It is actually very peaceful and studded with a starry, starry sky if I get out of bed soon enough to experience that beautiful pre-dawn reminder given to Moses and Abraham about the numberless stars in the heavens. It is a wonderful time to praise God for His glorious creations and have heartfelt communion with Him...even though literally hundreds of cars whoosh past me on their daily journey.  I am in a reverie of my own.  (But...be assured I am not unaware of my surroundings as I walk.)

About four-thirty to five a.m. the procession driving west starts out as a trickle but quickly turns into a literal wave of vehicles carrying their occupants to diverse locations of employment.  The east bound lanes are relatively quiet until six a.m. when the people who run the schools, the McDonalds' employees, the workers who are building new homes, and the professionals in the doctor and dentist offices begin to arrive for their daily occupations.  Then the traffic in both directions is heavy and constant.

When I get to the Interchange stop light, I turn around and head east.  (It was at this point I used to say to D. R., "Well, we got ourselves here.  Now we better get ourselves home.")

And that's when I see a virtual miles-long centipede with lighted feet creeping out of Johnstown proper four miles away and descend into a small valley before making the steady climb up the last little hill to I-25. 

It's quite a sight to see!  And it never fails to bring a smile to my face at the display of so much horse power which literally looks like a centipede with lighted feet against a backdrop of the sun's first rays announcing another gloriously beautiful day in the Mountain West.

There are days I am grateful for the treadmill down the basement, but that's not REALLY an experience.  It's just marking time and steps.  My walking outside--starting in 1986 when President Rockwood asked the Arvada Stake RS Presidency to teach the sisters that "Fit doesn't mean NOT fat", and I had to make myself do something first to improve my health before I could ask the sisters to do the same--has become a source of personal satisfaction on many levels.

People I know--and don't know--honk and wave.  Some have stopped to introduce themselves.  And others have asked me to look for items that they have lost along that route for some reason.  I have found driver's licenses, an insurance card, and homework assignments which I have been able to return to their owners by mail.  Other items like keys, CDs, etc. I have had no way to know to whom they belonged.  So, they remained where I discovered them.

In spite of the fact some have expressed concern that I walk along a busy road, it has all the safety earmarks we learned at United to keep us safe when we are out and about on a layover:  well-lighted and well-peopled.  Plus, I am well-"reflected" with my safety vest, safety jacket, and safety pullover shirt for summer.  So, I am well-seen, too.

I kid the people at Church that they would probably never have the opportunity to be "The Good Johnstownian" because anyone needing help at the side of the road out on Highway 60 would be first seen by me.  That's my domain.  Here is where I observe the earth at eye-level.  I am aware of the first plowing and planting.   I watch the fields turn green.  I note the growth of the corn and eagerly anticipate when the ears tassel.  I await the harvesting and the final combing of each acre in preparation for it's long winter nap.  I love seeing the seasons come and go in this way.

All of this gives me a kind of ownership and a satisfying euphoria.  By the time I walk into the front door at Sweetbriar, I feel like I have visited with friends and have already accomplished something for the day ahead.  It's a great start.

Best of all I like it when people at Church and in our little community say to me, "I always see you out walking."  Yep!  That would be me!

1300...

I had a layover in Riverside, California (Ontario Airport) last week for the first time since we merged with Continental several years ago and all that flying between Denver and Ontario we used to do went to the RJ's at United Express.  No more mainline United for all that time!

Seventeen years ago when I started with United and was based in Chicago, our layover hotel was a Holiday Inn in Riverside.  Then it changed to a Sheraton in Ontario not too far from the airport because we always got there in the dark of night and left there in the dark of the next morning.  In spite of the fact there was an In 'n Out Burger at the very extreme corner of the hotel complex parking lot, I never got to go because it was always closed during the hours we were there. 

So, when I got my assignment for March last month, I saw that I had a pretty decent layover after an evening flight to Ontario at the beginning of a four-day trip.  I was actually going to be there until noon when our contracted pick-up service would be there to drive us back to the Ontario Airport.

It was a pretty long drive from the airport to this new layover hotel.  As we sped through the night, both sides of the freeway were bright with the twinkling lights of small communities and lots of  garish light at retail centers.  Maybe this would turn out to be a decent layover after all.  I do like to poke around curious little shops and antique/thrift stores.  But we passed all of those as we drove on into the late evening.

We finally reached our destination 25 minutes later, and as we turned from the main street in old town Riverside around the corner to the Hilton Hotel, I saw the sign for a Curves exercise facility just across the street.  Huge letters spelling C U R V E S were painted on the back wall of a strip mall. 

Now, it has been a long, long time since I went to Curves on any layover.  The Curves facilities I used to frequent in Chicago, Boston, San Antonio, Calgary, Detroit, and Boise, among others, are all closed now--just like most of them around the Denver-Fort Collins-Colorado Springs area.  So, I was fully expecting this location to be permanently closed, as well.

But when I called it the next morning about 6:30, a real live person answered and assured me, "Yes, that Curves was not only still operating, it was open."  I called my Curves in Loveland to see what I needed to do to go to someone else's club.  I used to carry a traveling pass, then we got nationwide tie-in through a computer system that is triggered by each members personal key tag.  Only my key tag was in my exercise shoes in my car at the employee parking lot at DIA.  All the Curves I knew of on previous layovers were long gone.  Why carry one more thing on my trip I didn't need?!?!?!  Lona at Loveland told me to have the owner call her and she would verify my membership.

The Curves facility was in a gentrified downtown walking area of Riverside.  It was an attractive street with lots of shops that didn't open until 10 or 11 am.  That was a bummer, but for the first time in years I could exercise away from home like I used to.  And the owner....she took one glance at me and said I looked like a Curves member, so no need to call my home club in Loveland.  She believed me.  Only had to fill out the requisite health release for their files. Then here was the frosting on the cake.....that particular visit turned the counting machine over to my 1300th visit since I began going to Curves in March 2007!

Oh, I used to be so diligent.  I would go work out when I got home from United or to a club along the way home in Brighton, North Glenn, Fort Lupton, Firestone, etc. etc..  I would go on my layovers.  I would go EVERY day that Curves was open on my days off and on the days before I had to leave for DIA for a trip.  I would push myself to do more than the machines demanded.  I always did the stretching exercises after.  I maxed myself in every way.   Most of the time I went at least three times a week, lots of months four times a week, and sometimes I set a goal to go all six days in a week if at all possible with my schedule! In short, I was a poster child for Curves.  And by now I should have reached the 1500 mark except that....

.....one by one the clubs started shuttering their doors.  There was no longer any place to work out on my way home from DIA.  And then by the time I got home, it would be too late to drive up to Curves in Loveland to my own club.  Then it was skip going all together when I had something more pressing to do at home--like the Christmas season I put up the Nativity sets in three solid 15 hour days.  I didn't even leave the house on those days.  Sometimes when I arrived at Curves I would just do one time around the circuit instead of doing everything twice.  When Curves affiliated itself first with Jillian Michaels of the Biggest Loser fame, then with Jenny Craig diets, I really lost interest.  There is all this extraneous stuff like Zumba, five minute intense workouts, body challenges.  Not interested!  Too bad my advancing age AND the fact I have petered out have combined to make my body a doughy soft replica of its former self.  I don't like how I have come to look.  But not enough to get back into better habits and a healthier me.  Hate to think of how much more I will deteriorate once I am no longer an active flight attendant as I  go skidding along to the next decade of my life.

Hey, sometimes it is all I can do to get myself into the car and go there at all!  I have been known to DRIVE INTO THE PARKING LOT then turn around and DRIVE RIGHT AWAY FROM THERE.  Exercise is NOT my forte.  And no, I don't just "feel so good"  (like Louis says he does) when I am pushing myself in an exercise routine.  Plus, I've never broken a sweat in my life.  I feel the best when I am finished and walking out the door knowing I don't have to make the attempt again until my next available 90 minutes which includes drive time AND the 30 minute circuit.  These days I give myself credit just for showing up!

Let's face it, my idea of exercise always was, and always will be, simply turning the pages of a dang good book! Still 1300 times I actually made it to Curves in the last seven years IS pretty remarkable for me. 

So, when the counter struck 1300, I gave myself a pat on the back and went looking for a donut shop to celebrate!