First Day of Advent - 2008

Today I have been feeling somewhat nostalgic and, yes, a little melancholy. Although it's technically still November (November 30) it is the first day of advent, the four Sundays preceding the celebration of the birth of our Saviour, Jesus Christ. I remember when our children were still at home how I looked forward to those four Sunday evenings together when I could get away from the stresses of the holidays and focus on the real meaning of Christmas. It was a time when I could really feel those spiritual feelings that so easily escaped me during the busy week days as I struggled to get every other material need met for the family. Tonight I ached to have that same peaceful feeling that I had on those Advent Sundays years ago, but instead I find my mind racing with the thoughts of the things I still NEED to do and the things I would LIKE to before Christmas. The thought came to mind, "Why not?". Dad and I could spend these Sundays together reading about the Saviour. The New December issue of the Ensign is full of inspiring stories we could read together. We could turn off the lights and listen to Christmas music, and I could even make a Christmas dessert. Lighting a candle would be pushing it a bit with Jim. He was always a little paranoid about lighting candles in the house.

Today I put on some Christmas music and tonight we listened to a beautiful classical concert of three opera stars including Placido Domingo KCET. I know Jim doesn't particularly enjoy this kind of music, but he knows I do, and he made the sacrifice for me. As the concert concluded I felt it had set the mood (at least for me) to bring up the subject of spending the rest of the evening focused on the spirit of Christmas and of Christ even though I hadn't planned a special dessert. But when he began flipping through the channels to find something to watch and he picked "Monk" followed by the comment, "The Unit is on tonight", I knew it was over for me. He would probably have agreed to my suggestion, but I know he would have resented having to miss his favorite TV show and the spirit I wanted us both to feel would not be there.

It is sometimes difficult for me to understand how you can come home from church having been fed with spiritual food from the lessons, speakers, and partaking of the sacrament and then fill your home with violence, objectionable language and immorality coming from the TV. I just can't do it. So I find myself alone in my room on Sunday evenings reading or writing on this blog. I certainly don't want this to sound like a criticism of Jim. He is a wonderful loving person and is so good to me. I know he has a testimony of the gospel but just doesn't always see or feel things the way I do. And that's OK. But I have to be true to my own conscience.

So tonight after I finish this post I plan to play my Christmas music on my tape recorder here in my room, read the editorial in the December Ensign and from the scriptures as Jim did on those Advent Sundays, and maybe I'll even find a Christmas story that will make me cry. But I'll have to skip the dessert. Maybe next week.

I hope each of you, in your own way will make an effort to bring the spirit of Christmas into your own homes in whatever way it works for you. I know some of my children and grandchildren are celebrating Christmas this year by giving rather than receiving...a wonderful way to show your love of Christ and receive the spirit in your home. Maybe some of you are celebrating Advent with your children, or finding ways to include your children in sacrificing for others. Whatever you do, especially you moms, take time to rejuvenate your body and spirit by setting aside time to draw near to the Lord during this busy season. Ask yourself this question, "Does what I'm so busy doing really matter in the eternal scheme of things?" You'll find out that there are lot of things you can just let go.

My sweetheart just brought me in a cup of hot chocolate. How could you not just love that guy! Maybe I will go ask him to join me after all.

The Offer!!!

With graduation in sight we began fantasizing about being able to buy a home of our own. It turned out to be just that...a fantasy. But it was fun driving around looking for homes for sale. I only remember one that was really my "dream house". It was at top of one of the Avenues in Salt Lake. The "Avenues" were streets named "A", "B", "C" etc. which ran north from South Temple to the top of a steep hill. Once you reached the top you could look over the whole city. The view was spectacular. It was at the top of "I" St. that Jim formally proposed to me. I don't remember what letter street that this house was on, but maybe it was just nostalgia that made me like it so much. It was brick with three bedrooms, two bathrooms (a rarity back then) and a full finished basement. There was a passageway that went from the basement to a workshop under the garage. Jim really liked that. But we knew that even if Jim got one of the top job offers we could never afford the whopping $25,000 that the owners were asking. But it was nice to dream. And it never entered my mind that we would not live in Salt Lake forever.

Recruiters from companies all over the country came to the University of Utah to interview engineering graduates. I had never even heard of half the companies, but Jim was familiar with most of them...at least the bigger ones. He interviewed with many of the larger ones which he knew would pay the highest salaries, but was realistic enough to interview with the smaller ones as well. He didn't want to end up with no offers at all.

Offers began to come in to the students and it was no surprise that the top students got offers from the the big companies. They were very free at letting their competitors, fellow students, how much they had been offered. I have to think that Jim was a bit envious, that was until he received an offer from Hughes Aircraft Company, a very large company in Los Angeles. He could hardly believe what they were willing to pay him. It was the second highest offer of all the graduating engineers...$580 a month. It seems that they had taken into account all of his Air Force experience. And I like to believe that they also took into account the fact that he had gone through school while working and supporting a family.

I had mixed feelings about the offer. I could see how excited Jim was. He had worked so hard to reach this point and now all of his effort had been validated by this offer. I was glad for him. But I didn't want to move to California, especially to Los Angeles. I didn't like it much when I saw it on that first visit with Uncle LeGrande. And I remember Dad having nothing good to say about it when he returned to Salt Lake after Mother died. I voiced my concerns to Jim, but I could tell my words went right over his head. To this day I'm sure he would tell you that I was as excited as he was, but I really didn't want to leave "my home in the valley". I never said any more after he accepted the offer. He had earned the right to live wherever he felt he could best support his family. And I knew I could be happy anywhere as long as I had Jim and my family.

Where Do We Go for Help?

Jim's car accident was quite a blow, but we were thankful that he wasn't hurt and that it happened so close to graduation...we were only about two months away. We would soon have a livable salary (we hoped and prayed for a good job offer), and we would get caught up with all our bills. But then came another hard blow. The senior electrical engineering students were informed that they would be required to take a "field trip" to the bay area of California where a number of large electric companies such as IBM, Westinghouse, Hewlett Packard, General Electric, etc. were located. Today we call this area "Silicon Valley".

This trip was not optional. You either went or would not graduate. We were caught totally unawares. It wasn't any syllabus we had read, and the cost was $260. That paid for the bus and hotel, but eating would be additional. Then there was the fact that Jim would miss a week's work without pay. That would mean getting even farther behind on our bills. We figured we would need to have at least $500 to pay for the trip and to meet make up for lost work. It might just has well have been $5000 with no resources to come up with the money. My dad didn't have a lot of savings, and besides, my dad had never been too encouraging about any of us going on to college. His attitude had always been, "If you want an education you are going to have to pay for it." If he did loan us the money, he would make sure we felt guilty and obligated to him the rest of our lives. We didn't want that. As for Jesse and Jean, we knew that they had no savings and were struggling just to get by. They were always helping us in ways that they could...feeding us when our food money ran out, making clothes for the girls, and letting us charge gas to their account. But we knew that asking for financial help, regardless of how supportive they had been, would just be impossible for them. But where else could we go? It is so hard to ask for help when you have been trained all your life to be independent and self sufficient. Maybe we just needed to be humbled a bit and made to realize that all of God's children at one time or another need to ask for help. And if we don't ask, we are denying someone of the blessings that come from helping someone out. We would not be asking for a handout, only a loan until we got on our feet.

We fasted and prayed about what we should do. The answer came... my UNCLE KEN. He was my mom's younger brother who had always championed education even though he was never able to complete his own higher education. In spite of that he had been very successful in his business career. They lived in Ogden, as had we, right after we were married. He and Aunt Ina had been so good to us, encouraging us to go on to school when we got out of the military.
They had had us over to dinner often, and it was Aunt Ina who taught me how to make the famous orange rolls. I just knew they would understand and be supportive.

It was very hard for me to get up the courage to ask, but when I did, it was without hesitation that he wrote out a check. I can't tell you the gratitude (and the relief) that I felt and still feel.
Uncle Ken has since passed away, but Aunt Ina is still with us.

Jim went on that required trip, I stayed home with the girls, and all the bills got paid that month. When he returned home it was time to begin the interviews with recruiters who were now beginning to look for new competent employees for their companies. How would Jim measure up to the standards and requirements for available jobs. He knew that grades were not his strong point...adequate, but definitely not in the top ten percent. Would his other strengths and experience compensate for top grades? He could only wait and see.

An apology

So sorry it has been so long since you've heard from me on this blog...especially since I left you "hanging". I could take the time to give you all of my excuses, but I'm sure that would be very boring. On second thought, this might be a good time to at least explain part of the problem. It would come up later, anyway a little later in my life story.

Some of you who know me may be aware that I "suffer" from clinical depression. I have had periods of depression for most of my life, but wasn't diagnosed until later in my life when those dark episodes came more often and lasted longer. I mentioned it once to my doctor when I heard about Prozac which was touted as THE drug to combat depression. It didn't work for me, so I figured I must just be moody or a little crazy, not depressed. After all, I didn't have any real reason to be depressed. I had a wonderful loving husband, a great family and no major problems...just the normal everyday stresses that are a part of every one's daily life. And the only medication that I was aware of for the treatment of depression didn't work. So I went on with my life.

It wasn't until Jeanie who at the time was a married adult with children began to have some major stress in her life and was diagnosed with clinical depression. She had been wise enough to seek help, and it was through her that I learned that there are many medications to help people like me. People with "clinical" depression lack certain chemicals in the brain that produce the feeling of well being. The chemical or chemicals that are missing can vary in different diagnosed sufferers. There is no test to determine which chemical is the culprit. So it is only by trial and error with all the different medications out there until it is determined which one will work for you. I sought out the help of a psychiatrist and it took trying three different drugs before she came up with one that worked for me. What a difference that and counseling made in my life!!!

Now, why am I telling you all this? And what has this to do with the drought of my creative writing? In counseling I was told to avoid as much stress in my life as possible. My counselor told me that stress is the real enemy of people with clinical depression...even if they are on meds. Too much of it can trigger an episode. Well, over the period of two weeks I had at five very stressful events occur, which caused me to have a minor "melt down". I could have handled one or two events and been OK. But five put me over the edge, and before I could fully recover, I have been through the stress of Jim's surgery. When I'm in one of these "downers" my brain has no desire to think or remember. Consequently, no writing. I'm OK now...not all the way there yet, but at least here I am at the computer. That is a good sign.

I know in the last blog I kind of left you hanging. I promise that I will get you off that rope this week, hopefully tomorrow. But for now I want to give you all some advice. Never feel guilty for getting help with mental problems. For so long there has been such a stigma bout seeing a psychiatrist that few sought their help. And if they did they kept hush, hush about it because they were afraid people would think they were crazy. The best analogy I have heard is that if you were diabetic you would have no trouble getting to a doctor to get insulin. It is the same for people who lack other chemicals in other organs of the body. Many people who suffer from depression are able to get off medication after a while. Others will have to take it all their life. I am one of these. But I have promised myself that I would never hesitate to reveal my problem, and I would be an advocate for those with mental health issues. So far I think I hve done that.

Things Get Tough(er)

Life was indeed more difficult for me with three little ones to care for. Walks to the park became less and less. It was just too much work. And even necessary trips to the grocery store were an ordeal rather than a welcomed excuse to get out of the house. Going to church was even worse on the Sundays that Jim had to work. Trying to keep a three-year old, a two-year old, and a baby quiet and under control was nearly impossible. You would think in a ward of predominantly older people there would be "grandmas" who would love to hold a baby or entertain a toddler. But sad to say, I don't remember even once anyone offering to help me out. I dreaded going to church, but I did. And somehow I even managed to do my visiting teaching...dragging along my three little girls. I 'm not so sure the sisters appreciated my visits, rightly so.

The thing that would make me quit feeling sorry for myself was to wonder how it would feel to change places with Jim. How would I like to be under the pressure he must be feeling trying to keep up with his demanding work schedule while trying to do well in school? Now in his senior year the classes were extremely difficult and competitive because only the best of the best remained in the program. Soon interviewers would be coming to the school to recruit the best graduates for the higher paying jobs. And he knew grades counted a lot. As I thought about all of these things I was grateful for my job of being a mom and a loyal supporter of loving companion who was going through all of this for us, his family, so that we would have a better life. His sacrifice was so much more than mine.

This last semester was probably the most challenging of all. First, Jim was in a car accident on the way home from work one night. Someone ran a red light and broadsided him, totalling the car... our only car. The car had to be towed and the officers who came to the scene wouldn't even give Jim a ride, so he had to walk about five miles home at midnight. I was worried sick wondering why he was so late getting home. I always waited up for him. In our prayers that night we sincerely expressed our gratitude for His protecting Jim from serious injury. We would leave worrying about what to do about transportation until morning.

Thankfully, the car was pretty old and probably due to break down at anytime, anyway. And the insurance money, though not much, gave us a down payment on a "new" used car...a red Buick. But now we had a car payment to make. That was not in our meager budget. So I began rotating other monthly payments, slipping a different one each month in order to make the payment. I figured that it would only be a few more months until we would have a real job with a "big" income and could catch everything up before collectors started knocking. We had no other choice. Jim HAD to have a car for school and work. And then.....

And Then There Were Three

Since I got off my story line in my last blog, I'm sure you wondering if Jim and I ever resolved the problem with my dad. I have to admit that it was Dad that made the first step by having my brother deliver a bushel of peaches to my door a few weeks later. Many nowadays don't even know how much a bushel is. It is a lot! Since few people can fruit anymore, they by fruit by the pound or, at most, a "lug" or peck. A bushel is four times that amount. My dad had a peach orchard so he graciously gave us free fruit to can each year and we were grateful. But this year in the heat of a Utah August, living in an upstairs apartment with no air conditioning, and being eight and half months pregnant I wasn't so grateful. I know he meant well, and I appreciated this sign of reconciliation but I could hardly face the idea of having to can all those peaches in the heat with two little toddlers running around. I wanted to cry. But instead, I called Dad and thanked him, trying very hard to sound sincere. Nothing was said about the problem we had had, and he never did apologize. I never suspected that he would because he had always been a proud man, needing to feel right in order to have the respect of his children. That would change in his later years. But for now we just decided to let bygones be bygones and move on.

I gave away as many peaches as I could to our landlady and to Jesse and Jean, but they only wanted enough to eat, not can. The words of my mother kept passing through my mind as I tried to find some excuse to just let the fruit sit and rot. "God expects us to use the resources he has provided for us wisely. Waste is not acceptable in His eyes." So I got out my canner, washed and sterilized dozens of bottles, filled the sink with boiling water to slip the skins off the peaches, and began cutting the fruit into the sugar water in each bottle. I don't remember how many quarts I filled that day, but it took "forever" as my canner would only hold seven quarts at a time. I do remember feeling so hot and so tired as I lifted that last seven quarts of peaches out of the steaming water that I just wanted to die. But I also remember the feeling of accomplishment as I looked at all those quarts of beautiful yellow fruit sitting on the counter the next day. I just left them there the rest of the week so I could admire them.

On September 11, another beautiful little girl was born into our family. Weighing in at eight and half pounds, this baby was definitely her Daddy's girl...black hair, dark skin (actually very red at first) and dark brown eyes. Jim insists that I apologized to him for having another girl, but I can't imagine my ever saying that. Neither of us had ever said that we hoped for a boy. And Jim really loved those two little girls. I knew he would fall in love with this one, too, as I had done the first time she was placed in my arms. I remember thinking to myself as I looked at her that I could put her in a cradle board, strap her to a "Squaw", and nobody would even question that she was and Indian baby.

Needless to say my life was a little crazy for a while with two in diapers. I knew I would have to get serious about potty training Debbie. She hadn't been too cooperative in the past, but now I was not going to give her a choice. Doing laundry became even more difficult trying to shuffle three children up and down all those stairs. I knew the first thing I was going to buy when Jim graduated in the spring and got a "real" job was an automatic washer. It was harder for me to get out of the house because I didn't have a stroller...only that "buggy". Jeanie and Debbie had to walk wherever we went, and that was hard for a two and three year-old. But we could now see the end of the tunnel with only one more semester to go. We were both ready for our school days to end and begin life with a "together" family.