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His is the last birthday of the year for our family. He says he's not really into birthdays. But what is he into?
Well, I know he loves Rach. And he loves his children. And he loves the Gospel. And he's good at his work. (Whether he loves it or not, I'm not certain.) I know that he is proud of his home and has helped Rach do a lot of things to make it even more wonderful.
What do I know about him? He was born in Modesto, CA, and grew up there. Served his mission in Brazil and is still chummy with some of his friends from that period in his life. He graduated with a Masters in Accounting from BYU, which is where he met Rach. He has served as Ward Mission leader and served in the Bishopric twice. (That is what he is doing now.) I also know he is a worrier and stresses a lot.
Most of all I know that he is good to his family and provides for them. And I know that they all love him.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO JEFF!
She is the second in-law. Interesting that our first three in-laws were born in December. They met at the Y, as did all of the first four. But, she lived in Bountiful...so that was nice. I don't know what her most memorable birthday is, but the birthday of hers I remember the most was the first December they were in Guam. The typhoon that left them without power for 28 days hit on her birthday. She was a trooper all through that.
She is the mother of our first granddaughter. And they lived in Bountiful for the first year of Chelsea's life. (That was the first and only time we had a grandchild live that close.) Now she is the mother of three and they are growing up and they are beautiful.
We wish her a HAPPY BIRTHDAY.
The fifth child, third son. We were pretty certain we were having a boy. He was due in mid November, but of course he wasn't born then. At 2:15am on the morning of Dec. 4, 1975, he was born. He weighed 8lbs 131/2 oz and was 22 inches long. Lucas Nelson Eastman. The Nelson is after Mama's maiden name, carrying on the Family History tradition with our names.
Dad's mother came to help. Some of our friends brought dinner and one of them brought a delicious green jello. That was the beginning of 'slime' for us.
We called him the child of the apartment. We sold our first home in Sept. 1975 and moved to the apartment by the church on 8th West just below 4th North in Oct., and started building this house in Nov. 1975. The apartment had 1 really large bedroom and 1 closet size bedroom, big enough for the crib. Samantha, Matthew and Rach were in the big bedroom. Alex was in the crib. Our water bed was in the living room. So we put Luke in the cradle by us, in the living room. We lived there from Oct. 1975 to July 1976, when we moved into our new house.
Luke always had the most beautiful hair. I could hardly stand to have it cut, but when someone at the park thought he was a girl dressed in boys clothes, I figured it was time to get rid of the curls. He is the only one of our children to have broken a bone. When he was in the third grade he broke his ankle on a trampoline in Cub Scouts.
When he was sixteen he flew to Samantha's in St. Louis to visit for a week. Tyler's effort to say Luke came out Yupp. So that's why we sometimes call him Yupp.
He and the other six have always been what I consider some of the Lord's most 'tender mercies.'
He was the first in-law. A new experience for us, and one we could have done better with. (Oops! I ended a sentence with a preposition.) He is also the father of our first grandchild. Over the years we have watched him progress. He has always been good to Samantha. Is good to his kids. Loves the gospel and takes every opportunity he can to share it. And he has improved himself from job to job.
Today he is 48 years old! I don't think I'll comment on that. But we do wish him a Happy Birthday!
A few weeks ago Dad and I went to the Family History library with our neighbors, Mark and Sherrie Mccleery. I was specifically looking for the marriage record of my great grandfather, Richard Brimley and his wife, Ann Southworth. I wanted to see how his father's name was listed, because in our records that is where the name changes start. So Mark helped me look in census records. We found Richard in his father's home until after he got married in 1845. We also saw him with his own family. We found one record that listed him as an agricultural worker and a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Mark had never seen membership listed like that on a government census. We wondered if Richard worked on a church farm, or something. But we never found a marriage record. Mark had had success sending to England for marriage records for his own ancestors, so he sent for a marriage record for Richard and Ann.
Yesterday he brought over the envelope for me to open. He was as excited as I was. Here are some of the things we learn. Not the bride, groom nor the witnesses could read or write. At the time of the marriage, Richard was living in Farington and he was a servant. His father's name is John BRIMLEY, and he was a weaver as was Ann. (We already knew his father was a weaver.) Ann's father, Sylvester Southworth was a farmer. While at the library Mark and I looked at LDS church records for the time and found that Sylvester was the first baptism listed on the record. His wife, Ann Clitheroe, was second. We also saw the baptism record for Richard and the following year for Ann. All of this research has been done before, but it is exciting to see the names of the people who got us where we are.
I know that Daddy talked and wrote about how much he loved his grandmother. I am grateful to all of these people for listening to the missionaries, Heber C. Kimball and Orson Hyde, and recognizing the truth and also for making the effort to travel to this country.
He is the seventh and last. Twenty-nine years ago we had our last child. He was due Oct. 1, so I was more than ready. Mama had died on Sept. 23. Soon after that Dr. Brown sent me to bed, threatening toxemia, he said. I had always thought it would be great to have someone tell me to stay in bed, but with six children already, it wasn't that much fun.
So once again it was a Sunday evening. Dad and I drove in to the hospital and left Samanth
a in charge. On and on through the night and not much happened. Monday morning Dr. Brown told us we were looking at a C-section. He had been asking us with each of the last few children if that wasn't enough. We had just about decided it was, but the C-section news helped us decide for sure. I was nervous. How could they be sure they weren't going to cut the baby. Dumb, huh? Dad held my hand and at 10:23am, Monday morning, Oct. 22, he was born. It's another boy, they said. Five sons and two daughters. Dad wondered what we would name him. I had it all planned. "William Jedediah", I said, "after my father's father. We'll call him 'Jed'." We had always avoided calling the kids by a middle name. That happened to both of us. But this was different.
William Jedediah it was. He weighed 10lbs 6oz. I was done. We stayed in the hospital a day or two longer becaus
e of the surgery and then we went home. The first baby my mother would never see. It was hard. I have always said that Jed saved my life. I had a husband and six other children, but this baby needed me 24 hrs. a day. I used to go downstairs to do laundry and cry my heart out, missing my mother so much. Then I would go back upstairs and get to work.
He was the last. That was not easy to accept, either. But the LAST DIAPER made it easier. The last day of Elementary School helped, too. But the last day of JR. HIGH and CAR POOL assured me we had done the right thing.
Daddy didn't know him for long, but he called him 'little Jeddy'. I think he was proud that we named him after his father.
Jed's all grown up, now, as are they all. Has done so many good things in his life and is happy. I have always been grateful to him for saving my life---even if he didn't know that is what he was doing.
I thought I should write something about the day Mama died. Twenty-nine years ago today. She has been on my mind all day and half of last night.
It was a Sunday afternoon. She had been put in LDS on Saturday morning. She was having trouble with her heart--the doctor had discovered that she had several small heart attacks before they moved up here. Lots of scar tissue. So she was in the hospital, worrying about who would play the organ the next day in church, and who would take care of Daddy. I called Sat. night and checked on her and again Sunday morning. Couldn't speak to her but the nurses updated me. Dad and I decided we would go in to see her Sunday after Sacrament Mtg. During that meeting Uncle Bill came walking in and told us to come out. He said if we ever wanted to see Mama again we should come now. I think we had left the kids at home since we were planning to go in to see Mama straight from church. We went home to check on them and tell them what was up.
So we went in to the hospital. Uncle Bill was there; Daddy was there, and Aunt Janeen. Uncle Ster was picking up Aunt Carol who was flying down from Boise. Mama was in ICU so only one person could go in at a time every hour. The doctors were in with her when we got there, so none of the family was with her. When the doctors came out they told us about her conditon and I asked if they were giving up on her. "Oh no," one of them said. "She's a fighter."
I assumed that meant she would be fine. She was my mother, after all.
After a while it was my turn to go in. Mama was asleep. She looked so tired. I think I touched her pretty hair, but didn't wake her. I stood and watched her for my allotted 5 minutes and then left. Because we knew she was going to be fine, Aunt Janeen and Dad and I went to get something to eat. When we got back Dad dropped us off in front and went to park the car. We went up to the floor and Mama was gone. I remember standing in the hall screaming and moaning. When Dad got there they asked him to take me into a room so that everyone would not hear me. We all gathered in a room and cried. (I'm not sure, but I think someone had taken Daddy home by this time.)
I never said goodbye. Twenty-nine years later I sit here sobbing as I think about her. I felt so guilty for being away from the hospital when she died. Dad has always said it was the Lord's way of protecting me from what was about to happen. It didn't help.
Some years ago Aunt Carol challenged me to write a poem or something about her. I include it here.
Dear Mama,
Life without you goes on.
Children grow up – ours have.
Grandchildren come – twelve so far.
I try to treat them like you did mine.
Missionaries come and go;
all five sons. But still it is life
without you. You and I
never said goodbye.
Goodbye Mama,
Your baby girl
Number six. The fourth son. It was a Sunday afternoon. We had been to church and had dinner and then the pains started. So it was once again time to go to the hospital and have a baby. We had decided to try to get along this time without Mama and Daddy coming to help. (They were at Lake Tahoe with Aunt Janeen for a few days.) We had a young friend named Cindy Eastman (no relation) who came to stay with the other kids while Dad and I went to the hospital. So he was born at 11:30 Sunday night. Mama and Daddy came soon after to visit. He was the last grandchild born before Mama died.
We named him Heber Christian, after Mama's dad. But we had assumed all along that HE was a SHE. We even took a dress to the hospital to bring him home in. Dad had to return it and bring something a little more appropriate. He was the first baby we brought home to this house. We put the crib in Samantha's room and they were roommates for a while.
He was a great baby. Started doing everything early. Nearly walking at almost 8 months. And then the weekend of Mother's Day, 1978 he started getting sick. I assumed it was an ear infection because he wasn't nursing much. So Monday morning I took him in to Bryner Clinic. Our regular pediatrician there was Dr. Richards, but Monday was his day off so we saw Dr. Evans. It wasn't an ear infection. He wasn't sure, thought maybe some sores in his mouth. He told me to try giving him juices and call if he didn't get better. Two days later I took him in again and he saw him in his personal office. Still couldn't say what it was, but he could see Hebe was getting worse. The next day I called and told him Hebe wasn't drinking anything and really couldn't hold up his head anymore. He told me to meet him at Primary Children's. I called Dad and he met us there from work.
And so it began. Questions and tests. What had he eaten...nothing much; he was still nursing, mostly. Did he drool a lot?...yes. I stayed in his room all night and dozed in a chair. Dad went home to be with everyone else. The next morning (I think it was Friday or Saturday, Dad came back to the hospital and made me go home to relax and clean up. While we were home they called from the hospital and said they had moved Hebe into Intensive Care. It was Infant Botulism. They assured us they didn't lose babies with Infant Botulism, if caught in time, but that he would hit bottom before he started getting better. And he did. He lost all muscle strength. Couldn't swallow, couldn't hold his head up and couldn't breath. They fed him through a tube in his nose. He was on a ventilator. A therapist came in several times a day to pound on him to keep his lung clear. We went to the hospital every day and could see him once an hour for five or ten minutes.
After two weeks he was well enough to move to semi-intensive care. That was a big deal. That meant we could see him anytime. We even brought all the kids in a time or two to visit him. By this time Mama and Daddy had moved from Calif. to Bountiful (they did that in Feb. 1978). It was such a blessing to have them so close. Once school was out on many I days I took the kids to stay with them and I went in to the hospital for the day.
Then about four weeks later, early one Sunday morning in July, I was walking into the hospital and met Dr. Joel Thompson coming out. He was in charge of Hebe's care. He told me Hebe had pulled out his feeding tube, again. That had been happening a lot. I said, "why don't you just let me take him home?" He said that would probably be OK. So the next day we left the hospital and went home. That was a GREAT day! I had to keep track of everything that went into him and everything that came out. Had to call Dr. Evans every day and report. (I want to mention that at this time 
we had Health insurance. After we took Hebe home Dr. Evans and Dr. Thompson both said that whatever the insurance paid, was it. If there was any amount unpaid, they would write it off. And they did. Wonderful men.)
And so he was better. It took a little while to build up his strength, but then he was good as new. Took right off again. Was soon walking and doing everything else that was age appropriate. I took him in for Dr. Thompson to check some months later and he was amazed. Hebe changed the thinking about Infant Botulism at the time. Doctors had issued warnings about dipping pacifiers in honey for babies under three months. Hebe was the oldest baby they had seen with the illness at the time. (By the way, Hebe never used a pacifier.)
So this was our miracle. One of many.......
He is child number four. Or in other words, the middle child. Once in a while there was some discussion as to the number of children we would have in our family. Dad's family has three and my family, five, so we talked about compromising and having four. That would have made Alex the last. But once he was here we never thought of him as the last.
Alex was born on Friday, the day after Rach turned 2. He was the first birth Dad was able to witness. It was nice to have dad be part of it. At birth, Alex weighed 8lbs 1oz, and when we went home he weighed less than 8lbs. He seemed so small. Before he was born Uncle Bill was helping us with a project in our house and he wanted to know what names we had chosen. We said if it's a boy, Alexander Eric. He said, "let's pray it's a girl." He thought Alexander Eric was too big a mouthful. (Maybe I should mention he named his boys Jim, John and Bill.) So, he was born and that is the name he got. Dad's father's name was Arthur Alexander; that's where the Alexander came from. So Alex's initials are the same as Dad's, aee.
Now he's a father himself and he knows the joy of holding a son and a daughter in his arms. Amazing blessings for him and Sarah.
She is child number three. She is the first child born after we moved to West Bountiful. Let's talk about her birth.
She was due the first of September. But of course she wasn't born then. Dad had a new job with Singer and was scheduled to go on a business trip to San Jose, leaving Sunday, Sept. 12. He was to be gone for three weeks. So we made alternate plans for getting to the hospital. Grandma and Grandpa were staying with us for the birth. So Dad left Sunday afternoon. Middle of that night I was ready to go. I called him and told him if I had known all that needed to happen was for him to leave town, he should have left a few weeks sooner. Uncle Ster drove me into LDS and Rach was born about 2:30 Monday afternoon. Uncle Bill came to visit while I was
in recovery. (I think the staff felt sorry for me, since Dad was not there.) She weighed 9lbs 7oz , dark hair, and her face was red. I was so glad to get her here. By the time Dad got home and saw her she was all grown up. A baby changes a lot in three weeks.
Now she's really grown up. But she still loves baseball, as she always has. She's a lot like Grandma--always painting some room or decorating another. She loves being a wife and mother and she's very good at it. Before Maggie was born Rach was so worried about mothering a daughter. It came to her, just as everything else has.
She's the newest addition to the Eastman clan. A nice addition.
What do I know about Heather? I know she is a twin. I know that her twin sister has twins. I know she grew up in Grantsville, got her degree in HR at Utah State. I know she loves Logan. I know s
he is so outgoing and gregarious. I know she's not afraid of change. When we landed at JFK last month, I looked around the terminal and said, "kudos to Heather for not turning right around and refusing to live in NY."
I now know that her birthday is Sept. 12, which is the day before Rach's, which is the day before Alex's, which is four days before Hebe's. (So it's a big week.)
I know some other things, too. But most of all I know she loves Jed and makes him happy. What more could a mother ask?
It's no secret that I am not a Walmart fan. They may have cheap prices, but they have too many stores. I don't think we need 18 of them along the Wasatch front. But, anyway, Dad had to renew his prescription yesterday. Something he does once a month at the Savon Drug inside the Albertsons store on Parrish Lane, which is right across the street from the new Walmart. Last year it was $16 each time. This year, after he changed doctors, it was $18.75. So yesterday he went in to pick it up and it was $4. The girl said, "we're giving you the Walmart price. And by the way, when you are in Walmart and see something you know we carry, check the price and tell us and we will match it." Dad didn't have the heart to tell her that he will never be in Walmart, afraid she would then wonder why she just gave him the Walmart price. So as long as we mention it, she said he would be getting that price. (Now I find myself wondering if I will be getting the Walmart price when I renew.) We now find ourselves taking advantage of the fact that we have a Walmart in our neighborhood. Go figure!
She was the first. From the time she was born I have had the title of Mother. That's what I wanted--to be a mother. She was born on a Wednesday afternoon at Good Samaritan Hospital in Los Angeles. The only one of our children not born at LDS Hospital in Salt Lake. (Is that why she's different?) We drove to the hospital early that morning and everything stopped. Since she was already a month late, the doctor told the nurses to start things going and I stayed. Dad read to me from Steinbeck's "Travels With Charley" for a while until the doctor came. (Dr. Ireland.) He told dad it would be a while, so maybe he should go home and rest. So dad did go home and rest. He came back in time for her birth, but dads couldn't come in the delivery room in those days, anyway.
We named her Samantha. There was a TV show at the time called Bewitched. The lead character was named Samantha and she was a Witch. Most people assumed we had named our daughter after the TV character. But it is a family name. My grandmother was Samantha Madsen Nelson and my mother was Lola Samantha Nelson Brimley. Dad was reluctant about the name so I said we could call her Mandy or some such thing. Well, I couldn't then, nor since, call her anything but Samantha. And no one else can call her anything but Sam. (Can you imagine her as Mandy?)
We took her home Saturday morning. Mama and Daddy fell for her immediately. (She called Daddy, Wilford, as soon as she was able.) When she was 9 mos. old we moved to Utah so that Dad could finish school. I will never forget the look on my mother's face as we pulled out in our Dodge Dart pulling a huge Uhaul. It was on this trip that Samantha got sick with her first ear infection. We didn't find out what was wrong until we got to Salt Lake two days later.
Being a mother was a dream come true. I can't say I have always been the best, but I can say I have always loved it.
Samantha is the child who first made me a grandmother, too. So the cycle goes on. I watch her -- mother, serve, and befriend and I thank my Heavenly Father for sending us children who would teach us so much and be such great examples.
I thought we should have a permanent record of the actual wound. Samantha has taken
pictures of it several times in an effort to let Matthew get a good look at it. This one seems to be the best. We haven't taken any pictures of his knee. Part of the tank must have hit his knee. It is swollen and bruised. So let this be a lesson. I'm not sure what the lesson is, but let it be a lesson.
It has been a while. Not that nothing has happened. Dad's birthday, my birthday, Father's Day and everything else. But the summer in Utah means mowing the lawn, pruning roses, and on and on. So here I am again. We are in Virginia. We have witnessed Lanie's baptism, Tyler becoming an Elder and receiving his Patriarchal Blessing. All events were wonderful. Now we spend a few days just doing stuff.
Yesterday was our 43rd Anniversary. To celebrate, Dad was working on the demolition of Samantha's bathroom downstairs. The toilet needed to be removed. He couldn't loosen all of the bolts, so he pulled and pulled. Guess he's stronger than he thought. Broke the tank in bits. In the process he cut his wrist badly. After he carried a bunch of stuff to the garbage can, he r
ealized he was leaving a trail of blood. He had a deep cut on his wrist about 3 inches long. (Actually it turned out to be 4 centimeters.) Samantha took us to Patient First. As soon as they saw what had happened they took him right back and started the treatment. Ten stitches and a tetanus shot later, he seems to be fine. He's all bandaged up and taking antibiotics. And now he's ready to continue with the demolition. (Let's hope without incident.)
I am so grateful. To have been with him all these years. To have the family we have. We learn so much from all of you every day. And to have His watchful care at all times.
It's all I ever wanted to do. Long before I was old enough to understand that in order to be a mother, I would need a husband, I wanted to be a mother. I'm not sure why. Maybe because I loved my mother so. But more than that, I think the spirit let me know it was what I was to be. And so it happened. A husband and children. And who could ask for anything more! The best husband.and seven of the best children. Dad always says the Lord gave us such great kids because He knew we wouldn't ruin them. (At least He hoped we wouldn't.)
Not long ago I said I never remember needing to get away from my family. I know I did get away, but it wasn't because I needed or wanted to. And now look. They all got away from me. (Serves me right, I guess.) But all are happy and productive. That's what matters. And we are all a phone call, or Skype, away.
And so on this Mother's Day I thank you all. My children and their spouses and children. You are the ones who have made my dream of motherhood come true. Your need for mothering from me has long since gone. But it is still a blessing to be your mother, mother-in-law, and grandmother.
Today is Sarah's birthday. I don't know much about her early life, except that she was born in Walnut Creek, Calif. But I know that she met Alex during the Fall semester 1995 at BYU. She lived in a home across the street from Liberty Square.
I remember the day she lost her engagement ring. We were in Provo at the time in Alex's apt. I don't remember if she called Alex and told him or if she ran over and told him. But she was upset and we all ran to her place. She had already looked everyplace and we all looked again. I think I remember that Dad and Alex took the drain apart but I can't remember if it was in the pipe or som
eplace else. I just know they found it. She was so relieved. It was a traumatic moment.
What I do know is that she is a wonderful mother. She and Alex give their children every opportunity to see and do the things around them. And she helps them do the most creative things. I also know that she and Alex love to cook together and are not afraid to try new things. That's a good thing, too. Having Sarah as an Eastman is a great thing.
I know that William Jedediah Brimley is my grandfather. I know I never met him. He died in
April 1943. I know that my grandmother is Margaret Kirk. I never met her. She died in 1930. In the 1880 census in Salt Lake they were both shown living with their families in the "5th Ward." She was 13 and he 24. (It says 24, but our records would make him 23.) His occupation was listed as "teamster." Aunt Janeen thinks he delivered groceries from their store in the wagon. In 1885 they married and in July 1891 they were sealed in the Manti Temple. My Dad was born in Manti in 1891, the fourth child. Aunt Janeen says they lived in Manti for one year. I also know that my Dad loved his father very much and that he practically worshiped his mother.
What I didn't know is: on September 20, 1927 William Jedediah was sealed in the Salt Lake Temple to Elizabeth Helen Evans, who died in 1883 at the age of 19. Dad and I looked at the actual Temple record of this event yesterday at the Family History Library. We know the name of the officiator, the names of the witnesses, the name of the proxy who stood in for Elizabeth, and we know that William Jedediah stood for himself. What we don't know is who this woman was and how she knew my grandfather.
Looking at the census records has told me some things. I know that in 1880 Elizabeth lived with her parents in Salt Lake, in the "4th Ward." She worked as a servant for a family that lived in the "7th Ward." There was a child in the home where she worked who had measles at the time of the census. I saw a lot of measles on the censuses and in those days it was often fatal. So...if these two were married when they were young, it was only for a short while. They may have been sweethearts and never had a chance to marry. I am going to try to find a death certificate for her (so far, no luck) and see if it lists her as single or married at the time of her death.
Aunt Janeen has spoken to some of William Jedediah"s grandchildren in Arizona and they never heard of such a thing.
So we have a mystery! The new Family Search has uncovered several mysteries, but this one is ours. Suddenly I care about this woman. And I care more about my grandmother, Margaret Kirk, whose husband had to get at least verbal permission from her to have this sealing performed. I am learning that this is one of the most important results of Family History. We get to know these people and we learn to care about them a great deal. Elizabeth Helen Evans is no relation to me, but she must have meant something to my grandfather!
Today is Mama's birthday. March 2, 1899. Some of you remember her, a lot of you don't. She was the only child of Samantha and Heber C. She was talented and industrious and little. I'm not sure why we called her "Mama" and not Mom. Maybe it was Daddy that set that pattern. I can still hear him say "your little Mama." She led choirs, taught piano lessons all the years I knew her, painted and wallpapered our house many times, and cooked fabulous spreads for their friends and ours. Most of all, she taught me the Gospel and helped me gain a testimony. She attended school in Preston, ID at the Oneida Academy. Her friends were Harold B. Lee, Ezra Taft Benson and many others. Her parents moved from Idaho to SLC so she would have more opportunities with her music. She died Sept. 23, 1979. I didn't like it then, and I don't like it now. Some years ago Aunt Carol challenged me to write something about Mama. Here it is:
Dear Mama, Life without you goes on.
Children grow up – ours have.
Grandchildren come – twelve so far.
I try to treat them like you did mine.
Missionaries come and go;
all five sons. But still it is life
without you. You and I
never said goodbye.
Goodbye Mama,
Your baby girl
I have so missed being able to share your lives with her. I know she knows about all of you and all of the great things you and your families are doing. It's hard to not be able to have conversations, though.
Today is Matthew's birthday. 39 years ago today, I was ready to have a baby. Boy, was I ready. I'd like to write a few things about that day.
It's 10am now. At this time 39 years ago I was heading to the doctor for another appointment. I was already a week overdue. Matthew is the second child and I had Samantha 1month late, so I didn't want to see a pattern. (It was a pattern, though, that carried through all 7 times.) My parents were in town and had to be leaving. So I had decided to push the doctor for some help. He gave in and said he would meet us at the hospital at 5pm. I came to realize that the only reason he agreed was
because he could see I was already in the early stages of labor. So I went home and let things happen. There was a girl in our University ward that was pregnant and we were racing each other to see who would go first. I called her to give her the news and she was already in the hospital. But Matthew was born first. 5:35pm Feb. 4, 1969.
In 1969 father's were not allowed in the delivery room. Old school, I know. This was our first experience at LDS Hospital, since Samantha was born in LA. All the rest of our children were born at LDS and John Z. Brown was the OB all the time. He died some years ago. He was a good doctor and had a sense of humor, so we got along.
At the time of Matthew's birth we lived on Whitlock Ave. in Sugar House. It was a two bedroom home, big back yard, and we paid $110 a month. Dad was working for the church as a computer programmer and going to school at the U with help from the GI Bill. He graduated in May of 1969.
We were so grateful to have a son to go with our daughter. We had no idea then that we would be so blessed with so many fabulous kids. Tender mercies from the Lord.
Last night we went to the Jazz game. Rach gave us tickets for Christmas. We had a huge snowstorm yesterday but it was over and the roads were pretty-much cleared by the time we went. The Jazz played the San Antonio Spurs. That's not a good thing, usually. They never beat the Spurs. And Tim Duncan is always a whiner. We parked at the Gateway and walked across the street. Our seats were high up but right at half-court. It was great. Dad and I realized we hadn't been out li
ke that for a long time. Before the game started they had a moment of silence to honor Pres. Hinckley. That wouldn't happen in a lot of places. The Jazz won! 97-91. It was a great game and we had loads of fun. Our thanks again to Rach for this very, very fun gift.
I don't like the phrase "passes away" or "passed on" or anything like that. I don't like "died" either. But regardless of what I like, Pres. Hinckley has died. That's a big thing. I am sad to realize that we will not be seeing him wave his cane or smile at his little jokes any more. He has been a presence in our lives for a long time. But I am overjoyed at the thought of his reunion with his wife. (How excited she must have been to know he was coming.) And reunions with his dear friends like, Pres. Faust, Pres. Hunter, Elder Maxwell, Elder Haight and many others.
Pres. Hinckley was born when Mama was 11 yrs. old. Daddy was almost 19 and would soon go on his own Mission to England. Mama and Daddy knew a lot of Pres. of the Church and apostles, but I don't recall ever hearing them mention Gordon B. Hinckley. They were both gone before he became Pres. Hinckley.
For all of our grandchildren, Pres. Hinckley is the only church president they remember. That was the way it was for me and Pres. McKay. I saw George Albert Smith once when we were visiting my grandparents on the Avenues. But mostly it was Pres. McKay. When he died in 1970 people were heard to say, "what will we ever do?" He had been president since 1951. But he was old and weak and unable to attend General Conference before he died. The beauty is that the church will not miss a beat. We will all be sad and will mourn Pres. Hinckley, and rejoice for him, but the work will not be interrupted. We were spoiled. We thought he would last forever, maybe, like I did with my mother. When we saw signs of weakness, as we did at the Christmas Fireside 2007, we hoped they were temporary. But they weren't.
Let me tell you something I learned when my parents died. Especially my mother. It always hurts. Be careful what you say to people who have just lost a parent or spouse. I don't ever say "she lived such a good life...you were so lucky" or "she's in a better place." All of that is true. But I was 9 months pregnant and missed my mother. That's what I learned. It's a very selfish time. You miss them and think about your life without them.
But, back to Pres. Hinckley. This morning's paper had a whole section just about him. Ellen brought it over for us. Pictures of him and things he has done, places he has traveled and so many things he has said. I am grateful for his life and I will miss him.
Today is the 75th anniversary of my parents marriage. January 25, 1933. That's a long time ago. We have been married for 42 years. If my calculations are correct, our oldest child will celebrate 20 years of marria
ge this year. So we don't come close.
When Mama died in 1979, at age 80, they had been married 46 years; had 5 children, and 21 grandchildren. One month after her death Jed was born and a few days after that Ann Schiess was born. Totaling 23 grandchildren. At that time there were no great grandchildren from their 5 children, but now there are lots.
In January 1933 Mama was 33 and Daddy was 41. Kind of late in life to start a new family. Ma
ma had waited a long time for this blessing. She had seen Daddy at the Agricultural College (now Utah State) some time earlier. She said when she saw him she was going to marry him someday. It took a while. They started dating when he lived on the Avenues, not far from Grandma and Grandpa Nelson and Mama. Grandma Nelson was not happy about it, since Daddy was divorced. Grandma Nelson was good at letting her feelings be known.
Since I am their youngest child, I have always been grateful that they continued having their family. I still miss them, even though they have been gone for close to 30 years.
Dad and I serve on the West Bountiful Arts Council. We do good things for the community. One of the best is a free concert the 2nd Friday of every month, featuring local talent. Last Friday the performer was Mike Murphy. (How many of you took guitar from him at Viewmont?) This was an encore performance for him. He was our very first concert and we didn't quite know what we were doing then, so we invited him back 11/2 yrs. later.
He sings a lot of original songs and accompanies himself on the guitar. Friday night he used a vocalizer. He pushes a button with his foot and suddenly his voice is singing two parts in harmony. The vocalizer follows the guitar chords. It was so cool.
Anyway, he sang a lot of his songs and then a lot of John Denver. We used to play John Denver all the time. The first one he sang was Grandma's Feather Bed. Memories flooded. I could see you kids running around in the living room, singing "nine feet high, ten feet wide, soft as a downy chick." I also remembered all the times we piled on our waterbed and watched Mash, or whatever else. Somewhere in the house there is a picture of a lot of us on the bed. If I can find it, I'll post it.
We listened to Neil Sedaka ("OOH, I hear laughter in the rain, walkin' hand in hand with the one I love") and Helen Reddy a lot ("I am woman, hear me roar"). Especially when we lived in the apartment while we were building this house. I can't find those albums, though. I found a ring tone of Dave Matthews' "Ants Marching." I'm tempted. Guess my tastes have expanded.
Today we read chapter 1 of 1st Nephi. We have read all of the title pages and testimonies and then today we started. It is good to be back in the Book of Mormon. I started reading and got teary and Dad said, "if you're going to cry all the time..." We both get emotional a lot.
But...I was born of goodly parents. My father may have been the most honest man I have ever known. And never, ever did I hear him swear. He was over 50 when I was born. We were pals. I was the last child of his second family, so I was his eighth. He had grandchildren who were born before I was.
I would often ask him to carry me and he would say, "I can't. I've got a bone in my leg!" That was all I needed to hear. (I was young.) I thought that was a perfect explanation. Daddy had a temper. He and Uncle Bill yelled at each other a lot. I don't remember his yelling at me, though.
My mother was little. But she was a doer. Her name was Lola Samantha and her mothe
r's name was Samantha. That is why we named our first Samantha. Not because of the TV show Bewitched. Mama was 44 when I was born. She had 5 children in 10 years and nearly lost her life with many of us. The doctor in Salt Lake advised her not to have any more after Aunt Carol. They had already moved to California but returned for Aunt Carol's birth. So I was the only one in the family born in Calif. The story goes that when Mama and Daddy got to the hospital the doctor was already washed up and waiting. Didn't know why. If he hadn't been, neither of us would have survived. Blessings.
They're shouting it all over the news today. The results of yesterday's Iowa caucus are a mandate for change. I think the need for change goes without saying. That's why the 22nd amendment limits the Pres. to two 4yr. terms. We need change in political leadership. We were crying for change at the end of Clintion's terms, too. (At least I was.)
So we got change. Now we are in a war that most of us are tired of. That war has had an effect on the economy. So we cry for change, again. It's a good thing. Too bad we don't limit the number of terms Senators and Representatives can serve.
But this particular election, for me, is not so much about who gets elected as it is about who doesn't. I could support Romney; I think I could support Huckabee; I could support Obama or Edwards. (I hope my father isn't hearing me say I could support a Democrat.) We need leaders who can get things done. But we also need leaders with moral fiber. I still think that is something of great importance.
We have many diverse opinions in this family. I don't know how my Dad would feel about that--he'd probably understand--but I think it's great. That means we're all thinking about and caring about it. And after all, it has nothing to do with how much we love and respect each other.
Today is a day of returning to routine. Every Wed. morning Dad volunteers at the Family History Center in Bountiful, but the center has been closed for the holidays. It opens again today. And today the neighborhood kids return to school. Last night I had this strange feeling come over me. I realized it was coming from my childhood days. I used to hate going back to school after summer vacation or Christmas vacation. So much so that I would get sick and throw up almost every time. (I didn't get sick last night, but still had that strange feeling.) I'm not sure why this was. I really enjoyed school and always had a lot of friends. I suppose it was just the idea of change. This last fall was the first time since Samantha started school that we didn't have one of our children going back to some sort of school. That was real change. Now we have lots of grandchildren going to school and I think of them every time a vacation ends.
Alex asked why we always had Cheerios and never something exotic like Ghostbusters cereal. I tried to be a little bit health oriented. Somehow I felt it was better to feed you the sawdust in Cheerios than the sugar in Ghostbusters. Alex always loved Trix. If he was at the market with us, as we approached the checkstand he would often say, "oh, we forgot the Trix." Do you remember that we used to put little boxes of that kind of cereal in your stockings for Christmas? Alex's was always Trix.
But it wasn't always cereal. We had boiled eggs a lot. Some of you liked soft, some hard. French toast was a favorite, usually saved for Saturday. Now that we're so health conscious we have to check carbs and fat and everything else before we can think of buying it, let alone eating it. It's made me have to wear my glasses when I go to the market without Dad.
