WORK! #52 STORIES OF ME...(week 13)

QUESTION:  WHO TAUGHT ME HOW TO WORK?  

      WHAT WOULD I WANT MY CHILDREN AND GRADCHILDREN TO LEARN   FROM MY EXAMPLE?


My mother and father taught me to work.  

I would like my children and grand people to learn from my example that work is a good thing.  

That there is satisfaction in a job well-done, and do whatever it takes to give their living space a feeling of welcoming rest and peace without clutter and mess.  And on Sundays, do what you need to do to make your home have that Sabbath feeling.

My mother taught me the homemaking arts, as well as an insight about how to accompany congregations, choirs, soloists and ensembles on the organ and piano.  And practicing the piano IS work!

Her most memorable phrase was "Clean the corners first.  After you do that, you will want to finish the job."  When we cleaned we removed everything off shelves, counters, and up from the floor.  We used clean rags and the appropriate cleaning agent  and water to rinse it clean.  Anything else was just "wiping up".   If it wasn't a day we could do "deep cleaning", she said we were giving the work a "lick and a promise. "Finish the job for the day.  No one wants to get up in the morning and face yesterday's work."  My mother never went to bed with dirty dishes in the sink, clothes or other items strewn about, or any other scenario that would make us feel uncomfortable because of mess.  Even when she was in the middle of a sewing or cooking project, she always straightened things up and made her work space look inviting for the next day.

My dad preached by teaching and by his example:  If you promised that you would do something, then you dang well better complete what it was you promised--or die trying!  

A full day's work for a fair day's wages.  His creed was integrity, hard work, and satisfaction in doing a good job.  

My parents were good teachers.                                                                                    I hope I can be considered a good learner.

#52 STORIES OF ME ...week 12

QUESTION:  What hobbies, interests, and talents do you have in common with your parents, grandparents, and other ancestors?

Well, I am going to confine this answer to  just my parents.  I didn't really KNOW my grandparents.  My grandfathers were both dead by the time I was born.  And, my grandmothers died when I was eight and twelve years old.  They lived in Utah.  We lived in Wyoming.  Limited, limited time around them--and never, ever one on one.  Truthfully, I don't think they even knew my name.  I was always referred to as "Maude's youngest"  or "Meb's youngest".  And as far as other ancestors....don't have a clue.  So, this is going to be short.

My dad loved to read.  He loved to read the newspaper, biographies, history and geography.  I learned all that from him.  Maybe there is a reading gene, especially one that guides to learning about people and places because that is truly what I like, too.

When we were in the car driving somewhere my dad would quiz me as to the makes and models of vehicles, interesting geographical features we were passing through, and the names of the states and their capitals plus their industry, etc.  It was all a game. He praised me.  He told me I was a "sharp tack".  I loved to see the big grin on his face when I remembered something particularly  obscure.  Those little games helped me be observant and honed my memory.

I learned from my dad how pleasant it is just to go for a drive in the car--and have a treat somewhere along the way.  From these little day trips I learned to love and appreciate the beauty of the earth because he always pointed out some "beautiful" thing I might not have even noticed because it didn't jump out at me. I realize his work allowed him to have whole days at home where we could do that kind of fun stuff on weekdays, not just the weekend.   He would back the "town car" out of the garage to the back door, honk the horn, and when one of us came out of the house to see what he wanted, he would ask if we'd like to go for a drive.  Y.E.S!   because his work could never be depended upon to have him home for any special meeting, a school event, a recital, a party or celebration, or Christmas even.  This then was a welcome compensation.

My dad loved his job!  That is his Union Pacific job working with trains, first as a fireman and then when I was little and until he retired, as an engineer.   Before that he had run the gamut from sheepherder to store clerk to miner and other types of employment in between, I'm sure. Not crazy about any of them but had the integrity to work hard and do his best to support his family.  He did NOT like farming or ranching.  I have often said I have the same genes as my dad. Just in love with a different mode of transportation.

Integrity, keeping promises, doing a full days work for a full wage.  Those were all character traits I had an interest in.  Because they meant a lot to my dad and he modeled them every day, they became mine, too.

The biggest interest I got from my mother was playing well-thought-out and prepared preludes on the organ.  I have come to love organ callings and service from her example.  I did not share her creative joy with sewing.  I truly DID NOT have an interest.  But when I did sew--and I did sew a great deal of my young married life--I was as particular as she was.  I did inherit her attention to detail.  From her I was interested in keeping a clean home, using refinement when we set the table and in other areas of our home, and in impeccable personal grooming.  (Not that I AM all the time!)

I did not inherit my mother's compassion (she used to call me Frankie), her aptitude as an excellent cook, or her ability to be such a gracious hostess--inviting people for a meal and to have a bed at a second's notice.  I didn't do any of THAT even when I had plenty of time to prepare.  For me, just putting a meal on the table for the family all those years was strenuous.  And most of the time it left a lot to be desired, if it wasn't a downright disaster.

I did share my mother's interest in the stories of the Bible.  She had a large volume titled Hurburt's Stories of the Bible which she read to me--not often as she wasn't a bedtime story reader, but in preparation for her Sunday School class.  She was my teacher for some time, I think.  I really liked those stories and was just a wee bit disappointed when I read them straight from the scriptures.  They didn't seem half as entertaining as the story book.  She loved the Discourses of Brigham Young and DID read often from that.  She had a simple testimony.  She wasn't a gospel scholar, but she knew what was important to know--follow the Savior.

My mother made chores and our work around the house a game. Beat the clock was a favorite of mine (probably because I was so lazy, but my mother also realized I was competitive.  I wanted to BEAT that clock!)   I did like that and I tried to do the same thing with my own children.  She used to teach us the books of the Bible as we were doing dishes--she washing and I was drying them--as well as little verses like "The Lost Sheep", "Judge Not!" and others I just have snippets of in my head.

Sitting down to the piano just to play for enjoyment was one thing for which I did not share my mother's enthusiasm.  It seemed like it was all I could do was get through the daily practice HOUR!  But now I love to sit down and play.  There is always a piece of music open on the piano.  She said when you did that, it was an invitation to sit down and play.  Mine open on the piano is my musical etude to keep my fingers moving.  And, the hymns.  My hymnbook is there, too.  My mother used to sit down and play ragtime like "The Maple Leaf Rag"  or other pieces she had memorized.  She taught me "Beautiful Dreamer" long before I ever took piano lessons, and I used to be able to sit down and play that and "Rustles of Spring" and "The Robin's Departure".  I can't do any of that any more.  But I am a terrific sight reader.  My mother was , too.  Plus I have a good feel for the hymns like she did, too.  I became an old workhorse of an accompanist there for the duration, as she described herself, instead of a prancing pony who just came in and made a show but couldn't stay the course.

So, there you have it!  There is probably more, but I can't think of it right now.

In the big picture, it looks like I am kind of a composite of a few interests and talents my parents had.

REPEAT!!

SHE DID IT AGAIN!

PLAYER

OF THE GAME

CAMERON NICHOLS

Brighton @ Prairie View

April 17, 2018

                       Congratulations to #8 Cameron Nichols for being selected                         the Prairie View Girls Soccer Player of the Game

Cam Nichols is the most unique defender I have ever seen.  She is deserving of POG honors following every Thunderhawk game, because of her natural capacity to thwart offensive opportunities.  She has a vision and a judgement that is uncoachable.   Consequently, she makes some of the most difficult defensive plays (especially intercepting seemingly perfect passes) look routine.  There is an effortless grace to her defensive talents that many other defenders do no seem to possess, which is exhibited in the fact that she is able to stop nearly everything that confronts her without being overly physical or violent.  Defending is not a simple skill to learn and perfect, yet she makes defending look incredibly easy.  As a result, she is often times taken for granted or not given the credit she deserves.  Her body may be slight, but she counteracts it with her unparalleled fearlessness and competitive drive.  In tonight's game, Cam played flawlessly and she was credited with over 10 defensive stops.

Cameron Nichols--Junior  Graduates in 2019                                                    Prairie View High School, Henderson, CO

(Courtesy of www.maxpreps.com)

NOTE FROM MOMMA G:

These 2GNK (Second Generation Nichols Kids) continue to be ALL stars!  And in a great diversity of areas, too.  Each is a standout in whatever is being pursued.  Proud applause for all our grand people!  You all rock!

We need to hear more of their awards, recognition, and participation in school, church, and work!  Send your submissions to me at mommuzamom@msn.com.  I want to fill this BLOG with good news!

#52 STORIES OF ME...week 11

QUESTION:  DO I LIKE TO DABBLE IN LOTS OF DIFFERENT HOBBIES?

ANSWER:  A RESOUNDING "NO!"

Other than writing--I'm an essay writer and I really liked doing the family newsletter for 10 years, after all, I am a cracker-jack wordsmith--the only other thing I like to do is prepare lessons and present them, and do little dioramas when I set up the Nativity displays.  I think I could have done pretty decent work in a museum or as a window dresser or something like that.

Not into crafts.  Stuff usually comes out of the ends of my fingers EXACTLY  the way it did when I was in grade school.  Awkward, clumsy and primitive.  Not at all the way the plan is in my head.  And that goes for most of the sewing I did over my lifetime.  I was a good seamstress in the technical aspect.  Not so for actually constructing the garment or item I had in mind.  Such a disappointment--always!

And that's about it!  B.O.R.I.N.G !

#52 STORIES OF ME....week 10

QUESTION:  WHAT WERE YOUR FAVORITE HOBBIES AND PASTIMES IN YOUR CHILDHOOD?
   

Reading.  Hands down MOST favorite.  I could hardly wait to pick those black marks off the page and READ!  Have had a love affair with it ever since.  I am the kind of reader that reads the medicine inserts, the small print, the directions, etc.  I read all placards at a museum display, etc, ad nauseam, to the irritation of others who might want to just move along.  Began early on with Nancy Drew mysteries.  Liked stories of real life people, but also remember liking stories about rabbits and squirrels and forest animals that acted like people.  The Jennifer books-- my sister Marie loved those as an adult.  And after I read each one, I would take it to her to read.  It wasn't long before I was reading stuff that was waaay beyond my grade level and years life Daphne du Maurier.  That's about the era I read Jane Eyre for the first time.  I liked the stories in Greek and Roman mythology, some other kinds of fairy tales.  Funny.  Now I can't stand anything like that.  Even when I got to college when Lord of the Rings was SO popular, not interested.  No Harry Potter.  None of that stuff now that permeates the big and little screens.  Oh, I was even into a good detective novel now and then.  But after I read all those required books for an  English major and graduated from college, it took years before I could read anything more than a magazine.  The thought of sitting down to an entire book seemed too overwhelming.  I got over that.

Dolls and playing house.  From the time I can remember, I was always fussing over some doll and making a play house with bits of furniture and scraps.  The basement had the remnants of my older sisters' cupboard--with windows--and crib set my dad made them for Christmas when they were little.  But the basement was dreary.  So, my dad made a place in the one side of the garage that had his tools.  I put down a "carpet" and made my home there.  I had to compete with blue-bottle flies, but the sun came in through the garage windows and I liked that lots better.  I still have many of the dolls I had when I was little--the Toni doll Marie made all those cute clothes for.  The Madame Alexander doll Beth gave me with the little blue metal chest.  The baby doll Lois gave me when I was born but I wasn't allowed to play with--it was too nice.  The little black doll Amosandra named after the comedy duo Amos and Andy which was on the radio at the time.

Jump rope.  Never learned any of the fancy stuff like Double Dutch. Just plain jumping.  I liked it.

Jacks.  As my hands and fingers got more dexterous, it just so happened that Linda Magnum moved in around the corner from me.  That was about the 5th grade.  Not only was she a Mormon and went to Church with us, she KNEW Jacks.  And she didn't diddle with those wimpy little things.  She played with heavy duty jacks and a golf ball.  She taught us all everything she knew and all the different games.  I played even through college and still love to pick up jacks and a ball now and then, though the Arthritis in my right hand finger would make it almost impossible to grab up and the jacks AND the ball at the same time.

Roller skating.  This was the clip-on-your-shoes kind of skates.  Again no fancy stuff like backwards or anything.  I just liked swooping down the sidewalk.  And ours were the smoothest on the block.  My dad had really troweled them without pockmarks.  Slick as snot in the winter, though, when they were icy.  Great in the summertime.

Riding my bike.  But not anything over the top like a loooong bike ride.  I was satisfied to bike to school, the library, down to the chapel for Primary, to my piano lesson, up the street to my sister Lois' and down the street to my sister Marie's.  Those kinds of things.  The big bike rides didn't come until my parents brought my old Elliot Ness White-wall bike that I got for Christmas in the 3rd grade to Arvada when we moved into our Welch Court house.

Stamps and coins.  My sister Marie collected stamps and coins.  I got interested through watching her and had a nice little amateur collection of both.  And both are still down the basement--somewhere.

Paper dolls.  The old time kind where the cover of the booklet was the heavy cardboard part with the perforated dolls.  The inside papers were the printed dresses that had to be cut out.  That took a lot of practice and skill to make those decent without cutting off important tabs to hold the dresses onto the dolls or leaving white when the lines of the dress called for precision scissoring.

Storybook dolls.  These were not the kinds of dolls you dressed and undressed and played with.  They were usually fairy tale characters or dolls depicting other cultures.  Mine were in boxes, but I always wished I had a fancy glass display like my cousin Lynn did to showcase hers.

And anything miniature!  Obsessed with the teeny and the tiny.  Still am.  My house is full of it, either on display or in boxes down the basement.  Some things you never grow out of !

Oh, I'm sure there were some other things I dabbled in.  Remember liking to color.  Scrapbooks--enough to do a decent job at my Treasures of Truth book for Mutual.  Tried my hand at embroidery.  It was a big thing for girls to do.  Designs on pillowcases and dishtowels.  My sisters were really good at it.  I wasn't--at all!  But without really thinking too hard about it, the above is pretty much it.  And that generally exhibits that I was a fairly sedentary and reclusive kid who spent a lot of time ALONE.

#52 STORIES OF ME....week 9

QUESTION:  What qualities in friends do you most admire?



Here is the short list.  Not necessarily in order of importance.  Everything else is pretty much tied up in these.

LOYALTY                                                               

DEPENABILITY

INTEGRITY

COMPASSION

FRIENDLINESS

FLEXIBILE

FUN-LOVING

RESPECTFULNESS

#52 STORIES OF ME.....week 8

QUESTION:  WHO WAS YOUR BEST FRIEND AND ARE YOU STILL IN CONTACT WITH EACH OTHER?

ANSWER:  FRIENDS, NOT  FRIEND!

Over the years I have had a lot of friends.  Really good ones, too, whose relationship with me has meant a lot in the long-term scheme of things in my life.  But, I was never one to have just a single best friend.  I liked having a lot of friends in my circle, not exclusivity with just one...except in the following instances.

CHILDHOOD:  Anne Campbell
Anne was the closest I ever came  to having a BFF when I was young.  And it only lasted a few years in grade school, junior high, and then waned in high school as she went on to exclusively date just one different boy each of our high school years.  That didn't leave a lot of room for girl friendships.

Anne and I had been inseparable for years before, during, and after school.  We also spent the night a lot at each other's houses.  Anne often went with my family on trips to the mountains and other vacations. It was a big loss for me when I didn't have her anymore to chum around with.  I look back now from this perspective and see that I even grieved over the end of that BFF era. It hurt for a long period.   But as time went on, I got used to it. 

When we went away to college it was to different worlds.  Anne went to the University of Wyoming.  I went to Brigham Young University.  However, after our freshman year we became close again that summer, and I convinced Anne to come to BYU with me for her Sophomore year.  She did.  But we didn't live close to each other, and not having been really active in the Church EVER in her life, and probably doing some "sorority stuff" while she was at Wyoming, she didn't feel comfortable and transferred back to Laramie for second semester.  There she picked up with Mike McClesky from Rawlins and married him in our senior year.

In spite of all that lack of association following the sublime years of "girl friend" status, I still have great love for Anne.  True fact, I have often wished she would somehow become interested in the gospel and come back to realize the Church is a big part of our journey here on earth.  She isn't even close to anything like that at this time, though I wrote to her once about the illustrious church life one of her ancestors had as an early convert in the Church.  He was Joel Hills Johnson who wrote one of the hymns we sing at our meetings.  I learned a lot about his devout service and devotion as a missionary, and I shared that in a letter with Anne-- who never acknowledged it.  She told me later she really didn't know what to say in response...so didn't.

Our interactions over the ensuing years have been at class reunions, and a couple of meet and greet opportunities when I have had layovers in Portland and she--AND Mike--have come to my hotel for a bite to eat.  A few times we exchanged heartfelt letters, but mostly it's pretty superficial like exchanging birthday greetings and holiday cards.  But I do still enjoy hearing from her.


YOUNG MARRIED THROUGH OLD AGE:  Rosalie Hall
Rosalie moved to Arvada when Brice was two months old, and we had been living on Welch Court since he was a week old.  She moved into one of the "big" Wood Brothers Homes straight up Ward Road hill--also on Welch Court.  I don't know what got into my head, but the Halls were introduced at church as a new family in the ward, and I somehow got the idea to welcome Rosalie to the neighborhood.

It was a hot August day when I pushed Brice in the stroller and pulled nearly two-year old Harold along by the hand up steep Ward Road Hill in the blistering afternoon sun.  I'm sure I took along some paltry plate of cookies or some such other offering to welcome them--not knowing Rosalie was one of the best cooks I would ever know in my lifetime.

I'm not sure what it was--my two darling blond boys, my audacity, or some other out of the ordinary thing that created some kind of connection which bonded over the years until it became one of those friendships that will move right with me into the eternities.  I am grateful that a loving Heavenly Father recognizes the importance of good friends--forever!  As that is what Rosalie is, my BFF and F.

It wasn't long before Rosalie and her family moved to the more prestigious Wood Brothers homes in an even newer neighborhood north of 72nd and West of Simms Street near the Grange building.  But that didn't interfere with our bond.  During the years I lived in Arvada we survived three or four ward boundary changes that kept us in the same ward.  That last one divided us as to ward, but we were in the same stake and still close enough through that and Book Club to maintain and build more ties.  They are eternal.  Rosalie always had other close friendships with women more her own age.  There were times I was even a teeny bit envious of those friendships.  But for some reason ours is the one which has outlasted probably dozens of others in Colorado.

It was Rosalie who took me in her car during the "real" emergencies, including a trip to the hospital when Brice had croup.  She watched my kids when I went to the hospital to have new babies, and we went to Wisconsin to Grandma Nichols' funeral.  When Brice came home with a hole in his head and I went to pieces, it was Rosalie I called on the phone to know what to do.  Her line was busy (we had no technology then to answer a different call when we were on the phone) so I bundled Brice into his coat, wrapped his head in a towel and biked him up to Rosalie's where she answered the door with the phone still in her hand.  She cleansed the wound, shaved his head, and put a butterfly patch on it.  At another time she picked up Harold from school when he was running on the playground and nearly knocked himself out when he ran into the flagpole at top speed and the school said to come and get him.  She loaned me her car the very few times I was so desperate to go to a store or somewhere just by myself for thirty minutes.  

She was always willing help in other ways, too. I had more strength in my legs because of the constant biking we did out of necessity, but Rosalie had strength in her arms and shoulders which I didn't have and she generously shoveled and even laid out decorative rock around our house.

Rosalie was working at Lutheran Hospital when Grandma Nichols was there so long before she died.  She treated both Grandma and Grandpa with respect, though Grandpa's outbursts at doctors and staff made it difficult to deal with him.  And, it was to her house we were invited for Thanksgiving dinner that year so Ross and I could spend maximum time at the hospital and the kids would be with someone and not at home alone.

We asked Rosalie to take care of our Secrest  Court house the first couple of times we went away with Ball Corporation to Virginia and Sweden--maybe even New York, too.  She bought the groceries we wanted from the States--including the Marlboro cigarettes and Coors beer the others insisted on having shipped if the Nichols got a box--packed it and the mail and regularly took those things up to Westminster for Ball to ship to us.  She made our house appear lived in by changing the lights, watering the lawn, and shoveling the snow for months and months and month into years. She even described to me over the phone one day what the house looked like inside because we had only camped out in it six days before we left for Virginia.  I couldn't even remember.

 For all those things she did for me--and there were far more than can even fit into a suitcase--it was I who listened endlessly to long one-sided conversations when she needed to let off steam from challenges with her employment, her calling, or just had a need to talk to someone who usually didn't cross her or her ideas with argument or challenge.  I was there when the sad events in her own life unfolded, a silent support in her trials at that time.  Rosalie knew she had a listening ear and sensitive heart in me.

I was the one Rosalie asked to speak at the day-long Young Women event she was in charge of for the stake when Harold and Brice were just little.  Years later I was her choice for Stake Relief Society Counselor even though we were living in Berlin.  She told President Rockwood she would shoulder the burden of her calling AND mine if they would wait until the Nichols Family returned so they could extend that calling to me and we could work together in the Arvada Stake Relief Society Presidency.

As extension of me, it was Ross they relied on for the mechanical things they needed done with their cars, the rescuing of their teen age sons when it involved a broken car, and other jobs that only Ross was uniquely suited for.  But in return Rosalie was always generous with her gifts as cook.  There was the crock pot full of spaghetti and all the accompaniments for supper one night as thanks for Ross' expertise--and the crock pot was ours!  A real gift which I had wanted for a long time.  There were "Rosalie's Rolls" and a myriad of other recipes she brought to us or served to us over the years.

Probably because Rosalie is 11 years older than I, I always thought of her more like one of my older sisters.  Only this "sister" saw me as an equal, not as a "little sister".  My children love Rosalie and have fond memories of their own about her and her special treatment of them.  They wanted her to cater their weddings.  They asked for her recipes.  They were proprietary about her with other kids in the ward.  They thought of her as their "aunt" with a capital "A", as they never had a real aunt that filled such a beautiful place in their lives.  They still inquire after her.

She was my Yin. I was her Yang. 

But it was her absolute compassion and care for me--and for us all--when Jeremy died that will be her crowning glory  when judgement day comes.  Their family was on vacation when they heard the news about Jeremy.  No question but that they cut the vacation short and came straight to the hospital, arriving just minutes before Jeremy died. 

Rosalie will hold a place in the Celestial Kingdom for sure because of the hours and hours of love she extended--day, night, weeks and months--with never a trite "Everything will be fine" or "He's in a better place" or anything but a sincere and loving, "I know you are hurting and I care how you feel."

Rosalie moved to Farmington, Utah, a few years ago.  She's in her mid-eighties now and still cares for her 50 plus daughter whose ski injuries some years ago have left her unable to live on her own.  Plus, Rosalie's husband Darrell has some real health problems, as well, for which Rosalie has to make up the difference.  Some of her illnesses make it difficult for her to hold a pen and write, but we keep in touch now and then.  Sometimes more often than others.  But she still remembers how Jeremy loved elephants, so she remembers me with something about them--a card or a stuffed animal or the like--now and then, as well.  I am always happy when I received something in the mail addressed to "Georgialita" because I know it is from "Rosalita",  my BFF and F.

BEST FRIEIND NEIGHBOR I EVER HAD:  Cathy Callahan

When we pulled the Mustang up in front of the house at 7328 Secrest Court in Arvada, and our five kids spilled out onto the driveway, a woman about my age came running over from her yard next door to ask us breathlessly if we were the new neighbors.

Thus began the relationship I have had with Cathy Callahan for almost the past 39 years.  I learned from Cathy how to be a neighbor.  I didn't have a clue before that.  My mother had not been one to traipse around the neighborhood visiting with this woman or that woman during the morning hours. She was at home doing the stupendous work that came with having a large family.  I followed in her footsteps.

When we lived on Welch Court, I watched--while I was doing my own stupendous amount of work-- as the neighbors gathered at one front porch or another to have a cup of coffee or just sit on the stoop in good weather and visit.  That was foreign to me.  I was definitely  "an ounce of morning is worth a pound of afternoon" kind of person.  Lollygagging like that for an hour or two when there were jobs to be done just made me weary when finally they HAD to be confronted.  Best to get up and get things done before I talked myself out of them (like I do now in 2018--HAHAHA!).

But with  Cathy I learned how to adjust my outlook and open my arms--and the door to the food storage room--when she would call and ask me "Is this the Nichols Grocery Store"?  We always laughed at the something she had forgotten to purchase--but we had on the shelf.  We reciprocated on many things--as did Ross and Tom.  Ross did all their fixing of sprinklers, machinery, garage doors, etc. in return for allowing us to use their power yard tools like the roto-tiller and other machines too expensive for us to purchase at that time.

Cathy didn't stop to see whether I wanted to be friends or not, she just assumed I did.  And we moved forward from that premise.  It was a long-term commitment for both of us.  Through thick and thin.

The Callahan boys were the same ages as Harold, Brice, and Burgandy.  So, we had some built in neighborhood friendships, though Cathy drove them every day to Campbell School and they had friends from there instead of from Stott like our kids. So, the kids weren't "best" friends.

We had only "camped out" in the house for six days before we left to live in Virginia where Schuyler was born a few weeks later, but when we returned the following year, it seemed there was no gap in our friendship.  The same when we went to Sweden and then to upstate New York.  Cathy and I  just picked up where we left off every time our family returned to our Secrest Court house.

Then when Cathy made that historic ride to St. Anthony Central Hospital with me and Ross in the Mustang, careening down McIntyre Street at 60 miles an hour HOPING to get picked so we could have a police escort while we were on our way for Brittany's birth, that pretty much cemented the "forever" part of the friendship between us.

Cathy was in the delivery room with me when Britty was born, so Britty was her special person.  She hosted a fun baby shower when we came home from the hospital and always made a fuss over Britty.  Cathy freaked when Britty was in the playpen on our back porch and the boys found a snake in the bushes.  She was always delighted to see the baby and  always made a fuss over her, continuing even when Britty had her own family.

Cathy arranged movie dates for our two families of kids so they could see the big ones like "Annie". And the day she took all of us to the airport when we left for Berlin, she fed us a yummy breakfast including her pecan rolls which have become a staple in the Nichols Family Eats cookbook.

It was a sad day the following year when we learned the Callahans were going to be moving to Philadelphia just before we returned from Berlin.  Their house was empty for a long time before someone bought it, and it seemed even more lonesome for no one being there.

Then Jeremy died and Cathy was ready to jump on a plane and come as soon as she heard.  But I asked her to wait until after all the others had forgotten about the life-changing events that had happened to our family. So, she did.  She came to spend a week with the kids when Ross and I went back to Berlin for three weeks when he had to do some work there in August 1987.

It was during that time that something I had written in my journal about her husband came to light, and she decided she didn't want to have anything to do with me.  I was crushed!  I was devastated.  I pleaded, cried, begged forgiveness, said I was sorry.  All to no avail.

I wrote to her every month during the next year telling her about what was happening on our end.  No response. Finally I told her I wouldn't write any more.  I didn't.

Later when I went to work at Data National, we often went to Philadelphia on business.  I arranged to go see her on one of those work visits.  I called to ask if I could come.  I was apprehensive.  And surprised when she said I could.  We were cordial to each other, but not close.  She told me all about her work there with the Red Cross.

Some time later, a couple years perhaps, I got a wedding invitation from them for their oldest son who was getting married in Rock Springs.  I drove up by myself to Green River and stayed with my sister and husband so I could attend the wedding that Saturday.  I was the only person on the "Groom's Side".  It was like old times--we laughed, we talked, we were giddy.

Then after ten years in Philadelphia, the Callahans moved back to Arvada to one of their rental houses.  Bit by bit we rebuilt our friendship into a solid foundation of loving concern and true sisterhood one lunch at a time.

Cathy is no longer a religious skeptic but a person who in her own words, "finally picked up the phone when God called".  She and Tom had been life-long Catholics, attending Parochial School and even a Catholic College.  But she used to be quick to tell me--Recovering Catholic.  Now that is behind her.  She is active in her parish, heavily into service in the community, and very quick to volunteer when people need a lift, a push, a loving pat--or anything else.  She loves the Lord and  knows He has a place in her life, guiding her and caring for her and her family.

When the Fort Collins Temple open house began, Cathy came with me on the very first day and loved seeing all the beauty and spiritual impress of the paintings and the purposes.  I invited her to a community Mormon/Catholic discourse on politics.  She accepted.  We can talk "gospel". 

She came on a "tour for one" to my Nativity open house and spent over an hour, lingering at each display and delighting in the presentation and the expressions on faces and the arrangement of figures.  Afterward she wrote me a special note :

"What a wonderful tribute your display is to the Lord and how your love of Him may inspire others after seeing the article in the news and visiting your home.  You have touched many hearts this Christmas season and have done what Christ asks of all of us--to share and spread His word and love to His people."

Last May her husband Tom died just three days before their 50th wedding anniversary.  She has been challenged by having to raise a teen-aged grandson, too.  But, she is still active in her church and the community, though she told me recently over lunch that after she sets her grandson Drew on his way, she thinks she is ready to be with Tom.  It hasn't been a year yet.  And I know that year anniversary is a tough one.  Maybe she will feel differently in time.

As for me, I still want her around.  Cathy has been the best neighbor I've ever had.  BFN  I look forward to the lunches we schedule about every two months.