The Longest Year of My Life

Nineteen fifty three was the longest year of my life. I was home from school, and that was a nice break from the stress of studying, writing papers, and especially TESTS! And I enjoyed spending more time with Mom. I knew her days were numbered by the fact that I had been called home twice during the school year as Mom had been rushed to the hospital and was not expected to live. But both times she recovered enough to go back home. But her condition continued to decline, and she was now restricted to a wheelchair. The doctor indicated that it was only her will to live to see my brother raised that was keeping her alive. By his medical knowledge and diagnosis he told the family that she had already lived ten years beyond what he would have predicted.

As soon as I returned home from school I began looking for a job. I really didn't have any job skills, and fast food restaurants hadn't caught on yet so those weren't even an option. Fortunately I was hired by the DMV (Department of Motor Vehicles) as a file clerk. I COULD alphabetize so that worked for me. The DMV was located in the basement of the Capitol Building at the top of State Street in Salt Lake City, so I was able to ride to and from work with my dad. I made new friends in that department, two of which were special to me. One was an older woman who kind of adopted me as a daughter (I still have some edgings that she tatted for me), and the other was Joanne Starr who was like a sister. In fact, she was one of my bridesmaids at my wedding.

Because of my experience at school of having to hand write all of my papers I decided to take a typing class in the evening at a business school. We didn't have a typewriter at that time, but Dad would occasionally bring one home from work. I never became great at typing, but it helped later on in my life when I did some typing for Jim's work and for my kids (mostly Jon) when they had papers due. And especially now I can use the keyboard of my computer. I never regretted the time and money I spent learning to type.

Most of my evenings this year were spent preparing a trousseau. It was tradition for prospective brides to have most of their linens and basic essentials for married life already purchased or made before the wedding. I spent hours embroidering pillow cases, sheets (yes, sheets), and even dishtowels. The pillow cases and sheets were not only embroidered but had crocheted edgings and the dishtowels were decorated with themed pictures and days of the week. Before I got married the next spring, my cedar chest was full. It wasn't too long after we were married, however, that Jim let me know that the embellished sheets and pillow cases were very uncomfortable to sleep on, so all my "beautiful" hand work stayed stored in the linen closet until I gave it away. He did let me dry dishes with the towels, however.

My dad did printing work for a jewelry store which allowed him a discount on any merchandise he purchased there. He had only used that privilege several times when he bought my mother a pin and we girls a rhinestone necklace for Christmas one year. When I discovered that this store carried silverware I imposed on dad to use his discount for me. I selected a full set (service for twelve) of silver plate with an orchid design on the handles. I loved orchids...the big, purple, delicate ones...the same ones on my silverware. An added bonus was that it came in a silver TABLE, not just a chest. But the best part of this purchase was that the jeweler let me have it at half price and allowed me to make payments. As I remember, the total price was $50.00. I was also very fortunate in acquiring dishes for my trousseau because on one of his R and R trips to Japan while he was overseas, Jim sent me a whole set of china...service for twelve. During that year he also sent me beautiful cut-work linens from the Philippines.

Although I tried to keep busy, this was the longest year of my life. I could appreciate what waiting for a missionary must be like. I wrote letters to Jim nearly every day and received one from him nearly every day. I lived for those letters and have kept many of them to this day. I still pull them out on occasion and read them, and I still get the same loving feelings as I had then. But even more special is the fact that those feelings I have for my sweetheart are more deep now after spending nearly fifty-four years with him than they were then. And that is how it should be. As the time drew closer to his return, the excitement of seeing him and the preparations for a wedding escalated, but the time seemed to drag even slower.