Horror in Sugarhouse

It was a typical storefront building attached to similar buildings in downtown Sugarhouse. Unlike the adjacent retail businesses, the display window of this building was covered with curtains that concealed the torture going on within. On the window, in glimmering gold letters outlined in black, were the words "Lorin L. Richards, DDS. Those words brought sheer panic to me as a young girl. Let me give you a little background.

Although money was always scarce at my house, my parents insisted that we children receive regular dental care. That just seems like normal health care by today's standards, but for us with limited finances, it was a luxury. My parents were influenced to indulge in this "luxury" by the fact that both of them had genetic dental problems that resulted in their having to have full dentures in their early thirties. They hoped that frequent exams and care would lessen the likelihood of similar problems in their children. (It didn't help me too much as I had to have upper dentures in my early thirties and lower ones in my fifties.) The problem was not only soft enamel that resulted in frequent cavities, but fissures that developed in the teeth causing pieces to break off. Today the treatment would be to just cap the teeth as early as possible at a cost of about $1,000 per tooth. That became available later on in my life, but my teeth were too far gone by then, and besides, we could never have afforded it.

So when I was about five years old I began going to the dentist. I never remember my dentist, Dr. Richards, smiling...not once. And all the equipment that surrounded him were to me instruments of pure torture. Compared to those used by dentists today, that's exactly what they were. The drills were operated by a series fine cables around discs that resembled pulleys. There were no sprays of cool water at the end of the drill so the drill would get hot causing more pain. There was no suction hose to drain water and saliva from your mouth, so rolls of cotton were stuffed against the salivary gland to soak up saliva. And to wash the ground up material from your mouth, the dentist would use a little water hose to spray your mouth, and then you would have to spit it out into a little basin by the side of you. There were no dental assistants. The dentist did everything by himself.

Even though we went to the dentist every six months most of the time, the least amount of cavities I ever remember having was four. It was usually six to eight. The pain of having those cavities filled was pure torture to me. Yes, novocaine had just been introduced to deaden pain, but my dad wouldn't let us have it. His reasoning was, "I don't want to make babies out of my girls". I don't want you to believe that my dad was sadistic. I honestly believe he felt that he was helping us to be able to deal with pain in our lives. I certainly don't agree with that philosophy. I believe that there is enough pain in this life which we can't avoid. So if there is some way we can eliminate it, I'm all for it! The only thing having this avoidable pain did for me was to make going to the dentist the most traumatic thing I have ever dealt with. We often had to go alone as appointments weren't always available on Saturdays when my dad could take us. I can remember staying awake most of the night before having an appointment and finding it hard to concentrate in school the day of. While sitting on the bus on the way (by myself) I found myself hoping it would break down or that the dentist, somehow, wouldn't be there. That never happened. Then when I arrived, there was that dreaded question the dentist would ask before beginning his work, "Do you want novocaine?" to which I would obediently answer,"No". Even though in my adult years I had the benefit of updated equipment all different kinds of "deadening", anesthesia, and even hypnosis (I think I tried them all) and sympathetic dentists, I never got over the trauma of going to the dentist. You know, dentures aren't that bad!

You Wouldn't Have Wanted to Get Sick In My Day!

Health care was very different when I was young. You just didn't go to the doctor with every sniffle, but if you were really sick, the doctor would actually come to your home. I'm afraid those days are gone forever. In my home Mother practiced what was felt at the time some preventative measures. Today we give our children vitamins and try to get them to eat a healthy diet. It was cod liver oil, a fairly healthy diet, and warm clothing (remember those long stockings) when I was a child. Cod liver oil was considered the miracle elixir to prevent every possible kind of illness. And boy, was it nasty! We had to swallow a spoonful every night followed by a candy mint with a green chewy center to keep us from throwing it back up. Although dietary knowledge was not nearly as available as it is today, we ate pretty healthy according to today's standard. That is mainly because we grew our own fruit and vegetables, and raised our own meat. Did we always eat everything that was put on our plates? Do yours? Neither did we unless Dad was paying attention. He insisted we put some of everything on our plates and eat all of whatever we took. Like most kids, we weren't too crazy about those veggies, so we made sure we didn't take too many of them. However, one pea was not acceptable. Actually I love peas...raw. When we had to pick them in the garden, I ate more than I brought in the house. But I don't ever remember my parents complaining.

If we got sick we were treated with home remedies. For a fever it was a cold bath, bed rest, and maybe an aspirin. For a cold it was a warm vaporizer with Mentholatum - a greasy substance with menthol, much like Vicks today). If it was croup or bronchitis it was a mustard plaster...the very WORST treatment. It was made of powdered mustard, flour, and water or egg whites. It was stirred into a paste and then spread on a piece of fabric, usually flannel and placed, cloth side down, on your chest. It would create heat that was supposed to penetrate into the lungs, but more often than not it would also burn the skin. And it smelled SO bad. For a cough, it was homemade cough syrup made of lemon juice and honey. Actually that worked pretty well. There were only a very few times that I remember going to a doctor, so I guess I was pretty healthy as a child.

It is not too common today for children to get communicable diseases such as measles, mumps, chicken pox, diphtheria, etc. But they were very common back in the nineteen thirties and forties. I had them all, except diphtheria. Once you were diagnosed with one of these diseases, it was required by the state health board that you put a sign in a front window which said, "QUARANTINE - Measles," or "Mumps" or whatever disease was in your household. This was to warn any visitors to your home that they would be exposed to a contagious disease.

Besides the usual colds, occasional flu, upset stomach, sore throat etc. that are common today, there was tonsillitis. Even that is pretty prevalent today. But the difference between then and now is that at the first sign of infected tonsils, out they came. It was an accepted fact that all children would have to have their tonsils removed at some time. It was believed that tonsils served no purpose after infancy anyway, so no big deal. I remember well when mine were taken out in the doctors office when I was about five years old. It hurt!.. and I got a lot of sympathy and a lot of ice cream. I think that treatment works just as well today as it did then. Grandma Bernards called and asked if there was anything I would like to which I answered, "Some of your noodle soup". (That was the meat ball and noodle soup we so lovingly call "Grandma's soup" of which most of you are familiar.) That evening she came from Bountiful with a quart of the soup with instructions that it was all for me, and I didn't have to share it. Don't we love grandmas!!!!

This was my early health bio, with the exception of my eczema problems which I have already related... and my dental experiences as a child. That horror story will have to wait until another day.

Stockings, Snuggies, and Rags ...Oh My!

First, I'd like to apologize for the "dry spell" in writing. I was "baby sitting" Peter for a a few days, and when I returned my computer went on the blink and wouldn't let me on to my own blog. It's still not working so I 'm having to e-mail my writings to Carrie and have her publish them on the blog. Thanks Carrie!

If you can't guess what the subject of this new writing is going to be, I'll give you a few more minutes to try and figure it out-----------------Time's up. It's all about dressing and grooming during my grade school years. You have to remember that there were three girls in our family with a mother who had to keep things simple and inexpensive and who was a little paranoid about our catching a cold, or worse yet, pneumonia. Let's start with our clothes. Pants were not acceptable for girls to wear to school, so it was dresses for us...mostly home made dresses. Cotton was pretty inexpensive back then, patterns were about $.15 (I remember that they were about $.25 when I first started sewing for my girls) and Mother was able to sit and sew. Most of the the time we only had two or three "school" dresses a piece, and one for Sunday (Grandma Bernards used to buy us these). And since we only did laundry once a week, each dress had to be worn more than once. But even that few amount meant that Mother would have to iron at least nine dresses each week. (I remember ironing 21 dresses a week for my first three girls when they were little). Then there were the slips and under shirts that went under them and those awful LONG STOCKINGS and SNUGGIES. Long stockings where just what you might think. They were long...up to our thighs, made of some thick shiny fabric, probably rayon, and ugly brown in color. You couldn't miss seeing them if you tried. And the worst part of all was wearing those ugly suspenders under your dress to hold them up. These consisted of elastic straps that went over the shoulder, connected to an elastic band that went around the waist, from which hung four more elastic straps with fasteners on the end. These connected to the stocking, one in front and one in back, to hold them up. I have one horrible memory connected to these stockings that I will tell at a later time. Suffice it now to say that they were not only awful, but that we were the only ones in the whole school that I ever saw wear them. And the snuggies? They were the under the thick cotton underpants that came down to mid thigh where they would meet up with the long stockings. Thank goodness they weren't visible to the naked eye, but we knew they were there. And thank goodness they and the stockings were only required on cold days and all winter.

Since my parents believed that the proper development of feet was dependent on good shoes during childhood, we always had "good" which defined meant "ugly" and "expensive" They were always purchased at Paris Department Store in downtown Salt Lake, I think because that was the only store in which we had credit. Even though I hated the shoes we always bought, it was fun trying them on and looking through the fluoroscope to see it they fit right. This was an x-ray machine you tucked your foot into so you could see all your foot bones inside the shoe. Pretty cool. This awesome machine was right there in the shoe department but disappeared years later when it was discovered that excessive x-rays could do damage.

To keep it easy for Mom, our hair styles were kept very simple. My sister's hair was braided during the week, and I had a Dutch cut which only required a quick comb through. My hair was thin and slow to grow so that seemed the best style for me. In case you are not familiar with what a Dutch cut is, it is just squared off bangs and squared off sides, just below the ear...not too attractive. But for Sunday our hair was curled, either in rags on Saturday night or with a curling iron on Sunday morning. Yes, we had curling irons back then, but time did not always permit Mom curling three heads of hair on Sunday morning, so it was usually rags on Saturday night. I'm sure by now you're wondering by now how rags were used to curl hair. First of all, let me explain that the only curlers available were big metal ones that would be uncomfortable, if not impossible to sleep on, so Mom would tear up an old sheet or pillow case into strips about four inches long and two inches wide. The end of a section of hair was placed in the center of the "rag", the rag folded over and rolled up to the scalp...much like end papers when getting a perm. The ends of the rag was then tied in a single knot over the piece of hair. This was repeated until all the hair was rolled. I want you to imagine what the hair might look like the next day when those home-made curlers were removed. Right! Major FRIZZ! But with a lot of brushing, the curls would relax some and even last another day.

I know that in America today it is customary for well-groomed citizens to bathe every day. Not so back then...even for dirty little kids. Don't get me wrong. My mom insisted that her children look neat and clean. But that was accomplished by washing arms up to the shoulders, legs from feet to above the knees and faces including the neck and behind the ears with soap and water every night before going to bed. But this was all done in a basin full of water. Bath nights were Wednesday and Saturday when hair was also washed. Of course if we fell in the muddy ditch or somehow got extra dirty playing, an additional bath during the week was required and encouraged.

All in all, we children were kept clean and neat. My dad is Dutch, you know, and they have a reputation to maintain. We could never claim setting a fashion trend, and sometimes other children at school made fun of us...mostly those long stockings! But then that builds character, or so they say.

Fun! Fun! Fun!

I think I was a very normal child. I hated to work and loved to play. But both are necessary for a truly happy, healthy, and balanced life. We did have time to play, but not until our work was done. What did I do for fun?

• Run and pick wild flowers on the hill behind us in the spring and summer.

• Sleigh ride on those same hills in the winter. Sometimes Dad would come with us so we could go sledding on the street where we could go really fast because of the well packed snow.
  

• Friday night movies at the church. The reward for paying your ward budget assessment was tickets for the family to attend the movie at the church. Being able to attend those movies was a great incentive for us to get our Friday work done. Work not finished...no movie.

• Occasional Saturday matinee at a theatre in Sugarhouse where there was always an exciting serial shown along with the regular movies. Ever heard of the "Perils of Pauline"?

• Rollerskating on our long driveway and back patio. I was pretty darn good! And once in a while, Dad would take us to the roller rink where we could skate to music and watch the good skaters dance to the music. When there were "girls only" skates we could really break loose without fear of being knocked down by rowdy boys.

• "Fishing" or wading in the irrigation ditch.

• Trips to "Black Rock", a beach on the Great Salt Lake. It was called Black Rock because, as the name suggests, there was a huge black rock jutting up from the beach. Stairs were built up the side that took you to the flat top from where you could look out over the lake. There was a refreshment stand at the base of the rock where we were occasionally allowed to buy a hot dog or candy treat. But most of the time we took a picnic lunch. Dad built a trailer with a covered wagon type top in which we could change in and out of our bathing suits. Yes, we would float in the salty water for fun. It was kind of painful for me to get into that salty water because of the open sores of eczema, but if I just suffered through it for a few minutes, the pain would go away. There were showers on the beach to wash off the salt when getting out of the water, but even that "clear" water was a little salty.

• Playing in our basement "playhouse" on cold or stormy days. A section of the basement was set aside for us to play "house". There was a little cupboard with dishes, small table and chairs, towel draped orange crates for furniture, and cradles for our dolls. There were always paper, pencils and crayons down there as well. We never had a shortage of paper because Dad and Grandpa were printers and there was always plenty of scrap paper.

• Playing paper dolls. Do you know what paper dolls were? Just what they say. They were cardboard figures with paper clothes that had to be cut out before you could play with them. My very favorite ones were Blondie and Dagwood with their children, Alexander and Cookie. When I played with them, Cookie was just a baby.

• Playing Jacks, Hop Scotch, and Jump Rope

• Taking swim lessons at the Deseret Gymnasium in downtown Salt Lake. (There were no Park and Rec. classes back then, and very few public pools.) The gym was located on South Temple between Hotel Utah and the old Church Administration Building. Dad insisted that we all learn to swim. He considered that a practical skill and was willing to pay for us to learn. We not only learned how to swim, but to do all the different strokes with emphasis on correct form. I believe we took lessons for about three years. I did enjoy swimming, and still do today and am grateful for the opportunity I had to learn. But if I had had a choice at the time, I would much rather have taken dance lessons which were taught upstairs in the same building. Occasionally I would sneak upstairs just to watch. I would picture myself out on the floor with flowing long scarves draped around my arms suspended in the air as I floated across the floor. I watched the dancers do that one day and thought it was so beautiful. But swimming was definitely fun for me.
  

• Family Night, as it was called back then. Yes, Family Home Evening has been around a long time, but there wasn't a designated day for it, and there were no manuals. It was more of a time for families just to spend time together having fun. We weren't very consistent in doing this, but when we did it was great fun because we just usually played board game and ate "goodies" (Don't those two things make FHE the best today?) I don't remember ever having a "lesson" as such, but I'm sure my mom injected some of her spiritual wisdom here and there. That is because I still remember some quotes and bits of scripture that she instilled in my mind at some time.

• Visiting our grandparents on Sunday afternoon. Grandpa Bernards taught us songs in Dutch, and if we sang them for him when we visited, he would give us a nickel. Grandma would always have her wonderful Dutch butter cookies for us, and we would play "secretary" in the basement with all those wonderful pads of paper which were always available. When we visited Grandma Knapp, there was always that wonderful spice cake topped with white meringue icing and sliced bananas. The part of eating that cake that I liked best was exposing the beautiful tray it was always placed on as the cake disappeared. The glass top of that tray covered an array of real dried flowers. I used to wonder how that flowers got under that glass, and why they didn't die. The colors always seemed to stay the same and still do today. That tray was the one thing I really wanted when Grandma passed away, and I got it. It has since been passed on to Debbie.

• Stopping to see a dear old lady on my way home from school. I don't remember her name or how we actually began visiting. What I do remember is her standing in front of her very old stone house waving at the children as they walked home from school. We (me and some of my friends) must have started talking to her and she must have invited us in. However it started it became one of my favorite things to do. I would have to get permission from Mom if I wanted to stop that day, and I don't ever remember her telling me no unless there was some reason she needed me home right after school. This sweet, white-haired old lady would tell us stories of her youth and always had cookies and milk for us. I REALLY, REALLY, loved spending time there. Yes, it was fun! To this day I still love talking to "old" people. I put that in quotes because I'm fast becoming one of them, but I don't feel old.......yet.

Well, these are some of the things I did for fun. As you see, very few of fun activities involved toys. We had very few of them. The one thing I did always have was a doll. I loved dolls and I loved playing Mom. And I still do today. Being a mom, a grandma, and a great grandma has been and is the greatest joy of my life, second only to being the eternal companion of the most wonderful and loving man I could ever have found. Notice I didn't say "perfect", but wonderful because he is always working towards that. Aren't we all.

Child Abuse?

Child abuse? We might have thought so when we were growing up. Child labor? Well yeah! We were children, and we were taught to work. We were part of family and as such were expected to contribute to the needs of that family. We probably had more responsibilities than most children of our day even though more was expected of all children back then than is expected today. Because of our Mother's limited capacity, my dad needed help in sustaining the needs of the family. Dad worked so hard and was so loving and protective of Mom. I will always respect and admire him for that. And he did try hard to make our lives as normal as possible, but he needed help, and we were it. Mom felt so badly that she was unable to do more, and I remember sometimes finding her softly crying in the bedroom on her "bad"days. We all know what those are, don't we. She tried hard to compensate for her lack of physical work by spending time reading to us, teaching us, talking with us and supervising our work. And she was the "spiritual giant" in our home.

Having this as background I will tell you of the daily and weekly chores that were required of us while we were of elementary school age. Before leaving for school breakfast dishes had to be cleared, rinsed and put in the sink for Mom to wash, our beds had to be made and the animals fed. When we came home it was play with J.D. so Mom could take a nap, weed our row in the garden, and pick a job from a list that Mother made out. These would be things like, sweep the kitchen floor, dust the living room, change the beds, etc. much like the lists you make today. Of course on Monday, we did the laundry. Mother did all the ironing because she could sit and do it on her mangle iron. For those who have never heard of a mangle iron it consisted of a large padded roller about three feet long that when activated by a knee control would roll and press against a heated back plate of the same size. You would put the article to be pressed on the roller and then activate it, pressing the article against the the metal plate as it rolled. It was absolutely amazing what mom could do with that iron. She did everything...Dad's white shirts, our dresses (even the ones with puffed sleeves) pants, jackets...yes, everything. When we got a little older, about eight as I remember, we girls ironed the pillow cases, sheets, and Dad's handkerchiefs on that iron. (Yes, we ironed sheets and pillow cases.) I remember once trying to do the ironing on the mangle for Mom to surprise her. What a joke! After scorching several items, I gave up. When we were a little older we began doing our own ironing with a regular iron. Almost everything that went into the wash had to be ironed back then. Mother also prepared dinner, but as most children do, we had to set and clear the table and do the dishes (no dishwashers).

Fridays and Saturdays were the "clean good" days. On Friday our room had to be cleaned good. That meant the beds had to be moved and the floor cleaned first with a dust mop and then on our hands and knees with a damp rag to finish the job. About once a month we had to clean the floor with a special a paste wax for hardwood floors. On Saturday, the rest of the house had to be cleaned. The kitchen floor had to be mopped on hands and knees with a paring knife in hand to scrape up stuck on "goo" and to get the dirt out of corners. The rug in the living room had to be vacuumed and the floors throughout the rest of the house (which were also hardwood) had to be dusted. And the bathroom had to be thoroughly cleaned. Mother always checked our work to make sure it was done right. Sometimes we also had to clean the animal cages, mostly the rabbits.

I'm sure we all complained, as children do today, that we were having to work too hard...but never in front of Dad. He grew up having to work hard, and was glad he had learned its' advantages in his life. I am glad, too, that I have learned the value of hard work. It has made my life much easier. That may not make sense to you now, but I guarantee it will some day. I think that it is great disservice to children when parents choose not to teach their children to work The work ethic in our society today is so sad. I see so many young people who want it all, but don't want to have to work for it.

I don't want to leave you thinking that my life was all work and no play...that I had no time to just be a kid. I definitely did, but that's another story.

Wash Day

I thank God for the invention of automatic washers in my life, even though the first one I ever owned was not until I had three children and twins on the way. And it wasn't until the twins were about six months old that I had a dryer. Let me tell you what wash day was like when I was a child. I remember well because I began helping my sisters do the laundry when I was about six years old. And we did it by ourselves because Mother was unable to lift the water-soaked clothes as was necessary with the old "spin-dry" or "wringer-type" washers of our day. Let me explain.

First of all, laundry was only done one day a week, usually Monday, so there were always six to eight loads to be done. One load was always sheets because one sheet from every bed changed every week. When bed linens were changed, the top sheet was put on the bottom and the bottom sheet was removed and washed. This was possible because there were no fitted sheets at this time. To make the bottom sheet fit well, we had to make square corners when making the bed. If you don't know what those are, ask your mom or a nurse who has to make hospital beds.

The first washer I remember had a tub with an agitator and an attached small compartment that would spin to take the water out of the clothes...but could only take a portion of the load at a time. Loads were sorted by color, and all were washed in the same soapy water in the large tub. The soap we used was not the powder or liquid type we use today. It was a large bar, brown in color, that had to be cut with a knife into small pieces that would dissolve in the hot water. I remember the name of the soap was Fels Naptha. One by one, each load was placed in the washing machine, washed for about ten minutes, then lifted by hand into the spin tub to whirl out the water, then lifted again into a tub of rinse water. This tub was actually two connected tubs which stood on four legs, raising them to about waist high. The clothes were then swished around by hand to rinse the soap out and then lifted back into the spinner to whirl again. Then they were ready to be hung on a line to dry...that is except the "whites". They were put into the second tub which contained bluing. "Bluing" was a dark blue colored liquid that came in a small bottle. A small amount was placed in the tub of water, the purpose of which was to make white articles look whiter. Then it was back to the spinner to whirl out the bluing water, ready for hanging...that is except for any cottons that needed to be starched. This included Dad's shirts and pants, and our dresses (we wore only dresses to school). We made starch by boiling the powdered starch that came in a box, in water until it became thick. Then this liquid was diluted in yet another tub of water in which those items needing starch were swished and then whirled...except for Dad's white shirts. The collars and cuffs of those shirts had to be dipped in the thick starch before it was diluted.

This process was continued until all loads were done. Usually the rinse water would have to be changed once or twice because it would get too soapy. When my brother was born we had to do his laundry separately in Ivory soap (it, too, came in bars that had to be cut up). There were no disposable diapers, so the cloth ones had to be pre-rinsed and then washed using the same process. After washing, the clothes had to be placed in a laundry basket and carried up the stairs and hung on lines outside to dry... except in the winter when they were hung in the basement. Of course when they were dry they all had to be taken down and folded or, in the case of clothes that needed to be ironed (which was practically everything because "wash and wear" had not yet been created) sprinkled with water, rolled up, and wrapped in a towel. This readied them to be ironed. Ironing had to be done within a day or two at the most or the clothes would begin to mildew. It usually took us at least three hours to complete this weekly task.

It was several years before we got an updated "wringer" washer which had two rollers through which the clothes were fed to squeeze out the water. That way we could feed the clothes directly from the washing machine into the rinse tub, and from the rinse tub into the bluing tub. The roller mechanism could swing around to make this possible. When I was a teen we REALLY felt that we were rich when my parents purchased a Dexter Twin Tub which had two large connected tubs, both with agitators...one for washing and the other for rinsing. We still had to use the other two tubs for bluing and starch.

As you may suppose, there wasn't much play time after school on wash day. By the time we were through, it was dinner time. And then there was that row of garden to weed. But by the end of September that chore was usually over because all the crops had been harvested. Dad would then just use his small plow to plow up all the ground before winter. You can see why I so appreciated the modern convenience of an automatic washer and dryer. As I said I was using the old method until the twins were born. And during most of that time I had to carry the laundry and three little kids down two flights of stairs from our apartment to the basement and try to watch them while going through this long process. AND there were no such thing as disposable diapers. So I had a lot of laundry to do with at least two at a time in diapers. I hope by reading this you will appreciate the luxuries we have today. I know I do!

He Lives

Because of the sacred events that we celebrate during the Easter weekend, my thoughts for the past several days have been ones of gratitude for my Savior. Since that is what is so strongly in my mind at this time, I would like to share with you my personal love for and testimony of Jesus Christ. I KNOW there is a Heavenly Father and that Jesus Christ is his son and our brother, for we are also sons and daughters of Heavenly Father. How do I know? I know because I have felt them very close to me when I needed them, and they have spoken to me...not in audible voices but by feelings of comfort and peace and in thoughts and ideas that have come into my mind. There have also come promptings, impressions and instructions to so something that can't be put out of my mind until I act. The Lord can speak to us in many ways if we are trying to live righteous lives and learn how to listen for answers when we pray. I testify that God and Christ live, that they know us individually and love us. They are closer to us than we realize, and will always answer our prayer.

At Easter time, I always read the words of Melvin J. Ballard in his talk "The Agony of Christ" because it reminds me not only of great sacrifice made by the Saviour in my behalf but also the pain and suffering of our Father in Heaven as he watched his beloved son go through such agony of body and spirit yet loved us enough not to interfere. Can you imagine as a parent how you could watch your child go through such suffering and not do anything to help? Can you imagine how God must have felt when Christ called out to Him, "My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?"

If you have a copy of "Grandma's Favorite Christmas Stories", this talk is in there. It is too long for me to include in this blog. Get it out and read it. I promise it will give you an appreciation of what the Saviour has done for us and a love of Heavenly Father that you have never felt before. If you don't have this talk available to you and would like it, I will go ahead and put it on the blog in spite of the length.

May you all have a blessed Easter, and take time to meditate, ponder, and show appreciation for the great love shown to you through the atonement of Jesus Christ by the righteous lives you live.

Culture At Home

Mom was a "lady", as was her mother, Grandma Knapp. Grandma was raised in a wealthy family and had many of the luxuries that were not too common in her time. The rest of her life did not follow suit when she married Grandpa who was of modest means. But she always had the qualities of someone raised with a little class. Mom had those same qualities, and desired to bring some of that culture into our home, even if funds to cover the cost were scarce. A old used piano was purchased and Claire began taking lessons. Georgia began playing the violin ( I don't remember where we got the violin), and when I was about seven or eight, I too, began taking piano lessons. I guess I didn't do that well, or didn't practice or something because my lessons didn't last that long. I know I didn't have a lot of natural talent for music...probably none, but I did have a love of good music even when I was young. That is probably because of a great music program at my elementary school, where we were introduced to good music early. Prokofiev's "Peter and the Wolf" was a favorite of mine. I remember the melodies which represented the animals, Peter, and the Grandfather to this day. I still love classical and semi-classical music, much of which I played in orchestras in school. When I was in high school, my group of friends had season's tickets to the Utah Symphony Orchestra instead of going to movies or dances.

In the fourth grade we were introduced to various instruments owned by the school district. Withe the help of a music instructor, we were allowed to try out the ones that seemed interesting to us. That is how I was introduced to the cello. I liked it, and Mom thought it would blend well with piano and violin that my sisters played. I was able to rent the cello from the district for a very nominal fee. Free instruction was given every week by music teachers in the district for the next three years. When Mom was satisfied that I was serious about playing the cello, she talked Dad into buying one of my own. So by the time I went to Jr. high school I had my own instrument. When I was in the fifth grade I actually played a duet with Jerold Ottley (former director of the Tabernacle Choir) who played a trombone. Our music teacher said it was the only two instruments he could match up that played in the bass clef. It was a very "interesting" duet. I went all the way through school (elementary, Jr. high and high school) with Jerold playing with him in the Jr. high and high school orchestras. I really wasn't that good and never had private lessons until I was old enough to pay for them myself.

Mother made sure we always had good books to read. She was an avid reader and wanted us to become the same. The Junior Classics, the Harvard Classics, and encyclopedias were some of the books that were purchased for us. I'm afraid I was a disappointment to Mom because I never was that interested in reading just for the joy of it. I do remember reading some of the stories in the Junior Classics which included the classic Fairy Tales, Aesop's Fables, Hans Christian Andersen stories, stories of great Americans and scientists, and poetry. But I never read even one of the Harvard Classics which contained the works of all of the most famous and gifted authors. I am still not a great reader of fiction, but when I do, it is always historical novels or a book that someone highly recommends. I whizzed through all nine volumes of "The Work and the Glory" and loved them. I also enjoyed "The Zion Chronicles", which were a series of five books about the return of the Jews to the Holy Land after World War II, and the "Kingdom and the Crown" series.

One art form I always wanted to try was dance. But that was really too frivolous for my dad. More on that subject to come later.

Pigtails in the Ink!

Have you ever watched an episode of Little House On the Prairie or read in a story in which a mischievous little boy took the braid of a little girl sitting in front of him in school and dipped it in the inkwell on his desk? This would have been a real possibility in my school because all of the desks were connected together and in a row. And yes, there were inkwells on every desk and the person sitting in front of you was well within arm's reach. But you didn't have ink in those wells until fourth grade when you were required to begin writing some papers in ink. You young ones might ask, "But why would you need ink?" or maybe even, "What is ink?" Well, back in the "olden days" ballpoint pens had not been invented. So we used what was called "fountain pens". They had a small tube inside that held ink which would run out and would have to be refilled. This was done by pulling down a little leaver on the outside of the pen and slowly raising it to cause suction in the tip of the pen, thus sucking ink into the tube. There was no way of telling when the pen was about to run out of ink so you always had to have a supply of ink on your desk. I didn't have to worry about that for a few years, however, because I was just beginning first grade.

School was in session every day regardless of weather...and so was outdoor recess. We walked to school in rain, snow, or hail. Sometimes that meant walking on top of snowbanks if the snowplow had come because there were no sidewalks. We would be bundled up in snowsuits, boots and gloves to get to school. And we would don all that same gear again to go for recess. It took half of our recess time just to dress.

My class was in the semi-basement of the building, so the windows were small and up high so didn't let in much light. I just remember it always being a little dark, especially when we went out in the open space between classrooms for music. Yes, we had a music program even in the first grade. My teacher, Mrs. Bishop, played the piano, and the children were given rhythm instruments to play along with her. The "instruments" consisted of lots of sticks, a few triangles and only two coveted tambourines. All of us wanted those special tambourines, but most of us just got sticks. I can't remember ever getting one that whole first grade year. I guess this traumatized me more than I thought because when I brought rhythm instruments to Lake Lopez I was expecting a fight over the one tambourine I had. But it seemed to be no big deal to the grandchildren. They were happy with anything they got. How could that be? I was tempted to take it for myself!

The usual first grade subjects were taught in my school. But in addition to reading (we learned by phonics) math, and science (yes, we had science in first grade) we also began penmanship exercises which were a series of "push-pull" motions and connected circles which were supposed to look like a spring. These had to be done within designated lines. The teacher had complete control of the class and could discipline if needed.

Now about that special experience I had that first year of school. My mom had been teaching me to crochet at home, and one day I brought my thread and hook to school to practice making chains during recess. I sat out by the tennis court and crocheted until the bell rang. Then I put my things in a sack and ran to class only to discover that my hook had torn through the sack and was missing. You may think, "no big deal", but it was a big deal to me. I was expected to take care of things that were given to me. My teacher said I could go out and look for it. I guess she could tell that I was really upset. Anyway, I retraced my steps on the playground to no avail. So I knelt down beside the rock drinking fountain near the tennis courts and said a prayer. As I walked back towards the school I looked down, and there, right by my foot was the hook. I will never forget that answer to prayer, as minor as it may seem. It was my first real testimony that God lives, loves His children, especially His little ones, and that nothing we may feel a need to pray about is too small or insignificant that he will not hear and answer. That is still my testimony after all these years.

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