Dionysus and Lady Abigail

Dionysus

I am so excited. Steve brought home a little black, long-haired kitten. He brought it home for me. He is the sweetest little guy (the kitten, not Steve). He curled up and went to sleep on me first thing. He's almost 8 weeks old.
Finding a name f0r the little guy was not so easy. I thought of Thor, but he's so tiny I couldn't do that to him - his id would never recover. I thought of Toby, but being black someone may think it's a racial thing. Then I found the perfect name - Dionysus. He's the Greek god of wine and festivals. The wine part won't happen, but I hope he's a happy, festive little kitty.
Bruce wanted to name him briquette, skewer, bait, lunch meat, etc. This is why he's never allowed to name our creatures.
Right now little Donny is curled up with Bruce taking a nap.

Fridays

Fridays were always an exciting day of the week for me. Daddy got paid on Friday and we went shopping. During the school year, I couldn't go shopping with them because I was in school while Daddy was home and he was at work when I was home.
Every night at 8 p.m. Daddy would call home. Mom sat at the desk with her knitting or crocheting waiting for the phone call. They would talk for 10 minutes or so. On Fridays, I talked to Daddy. He would ask me how my day was then he would send me on a treasure hunt. I would have to run up the stairs twice or do three somersaults or spin around and count to ten then when completed I was sent to the bookshelf or mantle to search for a prize. It was usually candy and comic books. Then I would come back to the phone and report.
If I had gotten 5 'A's' that week from school, I would get a special prize. I had to bring the 'A' papers home to show my work. That meant extra hunts around the house.
I loved getting the prizes, but it was more important to me to have that extra connection with my dad. I knew he was smiling. I was certainly smiling.
The treasure hunts ended when I was about 14. I had gotten a bad mark on my report card. Daddy was so disappointed in my lack of effort at school. He wanted to impress upon me the importance of hard work. No one gets a free lunch. The hunts stopped.
My grades improved, but Daddy felt I was too old for the game anymore. Sometimes growing up isn't so fun.

Gold Bell Gift Stamps

When I was a kid in Detroit, the grocery stores gave away 'gift stamps' with every purchase. Wrigley's gave away gold bell gift stamps and A.&P. stores gave away S&H green stamps. Mom would bring the sometimes pages of stamps home and put them in little books. These little books were made to put the stamps on the empty pages - well, the pages were empty except for stamp-sized squares. The licking was not the fun part, either. Mom would let me help her put the stamps in the book. Ycch.
Mom saved those books up then would go through the redemption catalog and see what she could get with her stamps. I remember she would put huge rubber bands around stacks of her stamp books to keep them organized. Off we would go to the redemption center and she would trade her books for whatever she could. A couple of books for small items, lots of books for large items.
One day I came home from school and there, in my front room, was an adult-size pink bike. It was mine! Mom had saved her books up and bought me a bicycle.
My father didn't want me to have a bike in Detroit. He thought there was too much traffic and I would get injured. I had begged and begged for one. And there it was, thanks to my mom and gold bell gift stamps.
I can still remember my first ride on my pink bike. We wrestled the bike outside and I climbed on. I rode down the driveway to the sidewalk and turned left towards Mount Carmel Hospital. I remember the feeling of freedom. I still remember my hair being blown back by the wind. And I can still feel the smile on my face as I rode my pink bike around the block that very first time.
Thanks, Mom. Thanks for the patience to save up all those little books of Gold Bell Gift Stamps. And thank you for thinking of me.
I had the only pink bike in the neighborhood.
And I rode it everywhere.

Harry Mudd

We had gotten Harry from a vet clinic in Marshall, MI. Someone had found him in the street, barely alive and brought him to the clinic. No one ever claimed him. So we took him.
Harry was a red point Siamese. He was huge! He was my cat. When we moved to Seven Harbors, he introduced himself to the neighbors before we met them.
He loved to be petted - not picked up and cuddled, just petted. Harry also had a mean sense of humor. One morning I called my best friend on the phone. Before I could say "Hello", Harry snuck around the corner and grabbed my ankle and bit me. I yelled in shock and pain. Harry just sat there and looked at me, like, "Gotcha!" I swear he was smiling.
When it was time for school, I would yell up the stairs for the kids to get up, get dressed and come get breakfast. I would hear 5 pair of feet hitting the floor, footsteps towards the stairs then screams, thudding steps back to rooms and 3 doors slamming. Then I would hear someone yelling, "Mom! Get Harry! He won't let us come down the stairs!"
Sure enough, that dumb cat would be hiding beneath the top step waiting for bare feet to bite. I had to pick him up and toss him outside so the kids could get ready for school.
Bruce and I had a bookshelf headboard on our bed. Bruce took a glass of water to bed with him every night in case he woke up dry. One particular night I was woken up with Bruce bolting upright, sputtering. He was soaked. Harry had knocked his glass of water off onto his head. Less than a week later, I woke up to Harry pushing Bruce's glass toward the edge of the bookshelf again. I grabbed him and asked him if he wanted to live very long.
When everyone was gone to work and school, Harry would sit on the back of my chair and nap. He was always close. I was not allowed to pull him into my lap, but I was expected to scratch between his ears every once in a while.
His name was Harry to begin with, but after we had him for a few months, we added Mudd because he was always in trouble.
Bruce and I tried to have a date night every week. We went to our truck and backed out when we felt a thump and heard a shriek. Harry Mudd had been napping in the wheel well on our truck. He was still alive when we found him, but when we took him to the vet, she said he was really bad. He died later that night. I cried. Bruce said it was retribution for the glass of water.

First Day

The first day of school for my first born. It was a time I will never forget. We lived in a small town named Union City, MI. The school was fairly new and only 3 blocks from our home. The first day of school I dressed Chris in his new outfit. He was a beautiful child with his bright blue eyes and corn yellow hair. His sister walked beside him and I had the baby in a stroller. We all walked to school. We got the door in sight when Chris decided he could walk the rest of the way by himself. Off he took, running to the school. I watched him run. I watched him rush toward growing up. When I turned with the other children to go home, I couldn't stop crying.
The first day of school for my last one, Rob, was almost the same. Except that he got on a bus and rode to school with his brothers and sister. I watched his blond head as he went forth in a sea of children. He didn't turn to wave. He went forward. I turned from the bus stop and cried all the way home again, this time by myself. I had watched my youngest climb the steps into the bus. I had watched my youngest climb toward growing up.
The first and the last. They were the hardest for me. All of them leaving me for the first time was heart breaking, but the first one leaving was the signal that change was coming for our family. We had children growing up and entering a world away from us. We had to watch the change in them as they met people with differing ideas. We had to be wary of ideas that were unacceptable to our standards. It was a challenge.
Looking back, I wish I could relive those moments and cherish them as I watched them. I wish I could give my little boy one last hug before he had entered the alien world. Actually, I wish I could give each of my five children one last hug.

Funeral

Yesterday was a most difficult day. Bruce and I left our house at 6:30 a.m. to make sure we got to Buchanan by noon. Of course, getting through Detroit was not an easy task. But even with traffic jams we arrived at the funeral home 50 minutes early. We went in. We were the first ones - only ones - there. We walked into the room where Louise was laying in her casket. She was dressed in red. It looked as though they had gathered her skin around her face, dressed her then laid the skin on top of the collar. There was a wave of wrinkled skin under her face. They also had set her jaw forward so she had a rather belligerent look about her. Bruce would not have recognized her.
The service itself was nice. The only problem was that the preacher portrayed Louise as this wonderful compassionate woman who would be greatly missed. He actually mentioned all our children by name - even though she met only 3 of them. She never recognized any of Bruce's family while she was alive.
There was a man there named Johnny who was no blood relation to Louise at all. He was her second husband's son. But she accepted him and was in 'daily' contact with him. We had reached out to her on many occasions, but she couldn't be bothered with us.
It was all Bruce could do not to walk out. And I would have walked with him.
The service lasted less than 1/2 an hour. Then we all waited for the pall bearers put the coffin into the hersh. Bruce was not asked to be a pall bearer at his own mother's funeral. He was hurt.
The family could ride in the limo that followed the hersh, but we chose to drive ourselves so we could leave after the ceremony at the grave site. That ceremony couldn't have lasted more than 10 minutes. We spoke to a few people, then we left.
Missy, Mitchell, Johnny and a few others spoke with us. People were very cordial. The preacher asked Bruce if he had any good memories of his mother. Bruce told him no. The preacher didn't know what to say.
Bruce's dad called on Monday night and volunteered to go to the funeral with us. Bruce told him he appreciated the offer but why would there have to be two of them in misery? Bruce's dad offered to go because he knew that Bruce was the 'throw away' child from a first failed marriage. He knew that Bruce had tried many, many times to get back with his mother and was rejected each time.
She's gone now. Too late for "I'm sorry". Too late for "I forgive you". Too late for "I love you."

Louise

The first time I met Louise was at Grandma and Gramp's house in Winona, MN. Grandma and Gramps were having a party celebrating 50 years of marriage - their golden anniversary. We had 3 year old Chris and our baby daughter with us. Louise had flown out while John, her husband, was driving their mobile home across country with a neighbor. Louise was nice to me and absolutely loved our daughter. Chris was ignored completely. Fortunately, Gramps made up for it by taking Chris everywhere with him.
When John came, he and Louise even took our daughter shopping for new earrings.
Louise thought I was a nice catholic girl. When she found out I was LDS, she was astonished. I imagine she was even more astonished that Bruce was also LDS. She really didn't talk to Bruce very much. I don't really have much of an impression of her. I did have an impression of John, though.

Louise Hanover

Bruce's mom is going to have her funeral on Tuesday at noon at Hoven Funeral Home in Buchanan, MI. There is a viewing on Monday night from 7 to 8 p.m. at the same funeral home.

Katarina

Kati called me last week and sang Happy Birthday to me in English and German. This morning the phone rang and I answered it. "Hello?" nothing "Hello?" then I heard a sweet little voice saying in German "Das ist nicht Papa!" Then Julia came on giggling and said "Kati wanted to call her Papa and he didn't answer the phone."

I got Steve so he could talk to her. She had just completed her first ballet class. She was frightened at first, then

when her friend showed up, she wanted to dance.

Bruce's Mom

This morning I got a phone call from Bruce's step-sister, Missy. She said that their mom had lapsed into a coma at a hospital in South Bend. They didn't expect her to live very long so Missy and her husband were taking Louise home. About 7 p.m. tonight Missy called again saying that Louise had passed as soon as they got her home. We don't know anything else. I think Bruce is still in a kind of shock.

Roses

We moved to Detroit when I was 7 years old. I didn't know anyone. I didn't have any friends yet.
The first house on the block belonged to an elderly Greek man named Mr. Pappas. He was widowed and lived by himself in this huge house. In the backyard Mr. Pappas grew prize-winning roses. His backyard was absolutely beautiful. Colors were everywhere. The air always smelled so good.
Being all by myself, I would wander through the block - I wasn't allowed to cross the street yet. The alley behind our house was always interesting. I left our backyard and went to Mr. Pappas's yard through the alley. I stood there and was enthralled by the beautiful flowers. So I picked some. However, I had been taught that if it wasn't mine I couldn't keep it. So I gathered a lovely bouquet (probably without much stem to them because of the thorns) and went to Mr. Pappas's front door. I rang the doorbell and waited for the door to be opened.
Mr. Pappas was quite short with little hair on his head. He opened the door and smiled at me. I said, "I picked these flowers for you."
He thanked me and told me what a beautiful bouquet I had picked for him. I went home.
You know that old saying, "Loose lips sink ships"? My ship was sunk by my mom when I came home and boasted about giving Mr. Pappas some flowers. I couldn't believe she was mad at me for picking some flowers when he had hundreds of them.
We were new in the neighborhood and I had stolen this sweet man's flowers that he had worked very hard to get just right. He was always in his garden weeding, tweaking and doing whatever else he needed to do to get such beautiful roses. In one fell swoop the new kid on the block obliterated a hand full of his roses.
In my own defense, I had to work hard reaching through the gate - hanging onto the iron gate with one hand so I wouldn't fall through while reaching with the other hand, risking my skin against thorns, just to gather the pretty flowers for Mr. Pappas.
I never did it again.

Cooley High 2

I made a mistake on my last blog. It was 1968, not 1969 that I entered Cooley High. It had been an exciting year because I had a summer job that gave me all kinds of perks and the Detroit Tigers had won the pennant. They were extreme underdogs but won anyway. I grew up with Ernie Harwell's voice coming out of the little red transistor radio.
There was a beautiful church across Hubbell from Cooley. Kids would gather there and smoke cigarettes before and after school. In a study hour class I had, a young man invited me to come there with him. When I told him I didn't smoke, he moved away from my desk and never spoke to me again! I'm fairly certain there was more than regular cigarettes being smoked over there.
I took two art classes that year. My art teacher entered one of my paintings into an art contest, but I never won anything. Competition was fierce with the city of Detroit schools all competing. It was a water color of a Mexican peasant couple. I have no idea whatever happened to that painting.
When the weather was nice I walked to school and saved my bus money. There was a young man who would walk to meet me almost every morning. He was very nice. The problem was that he was black. My parents are old-school with definite ideas about races mixing. Finally the boy asked me out on a date. I wasn't old enough to date (family rule was 16), so I had that excuse, but he asked me if there was anything else. I felt the need to be honest with him, so I told him my parents would flip out if I dated a black boy. He knew I wasn't being mean, but I knew I had hurt his feelings. He still met me a couple of times, but the weather got bad and I took the bus.
Cooley was a closed campus, which meant that once you were in school, you couldn't leave then come back again. We weren't allowed to eat lunch any other place than the lunch room. However, once a year we were allowed outside (it was in the spring) for lunch hour. I went out with two friends, a girl and a boy. I don't remember the girl's name, but the boy's name was Tim. He was tall and very blond. He was kind of goofy, too. We were outside enjoying the weather when all of a sudden Tim grabbed the top of his head. The other girl and I stopped talking and stared at Tim. Then he looked at his hand, said something about a bird then turned and ran into the school. We laughed so hard we had to hold each other up. Tim came out a few minutes later with wet hair.

Cooley High School

In the fall of 1969 I entered Thomas Cooley High School. The school held three grades - 10th, 11th, and 12th. There were over 1,000 students per grade.
That morning I had taken a city bus on 6 Mile Rd. from the end of my street, Lesure St., to Hubbell. From there I had a transfer and rode about a mile when I was dropped off at the front of Cooley High School. I had seen the school many, many times (my older brothers had attended there), but it seemed bigger that day.
The design of the school is a Gothic style. It was built in 1929 out of yellow brick. I still remember looking up, up, up as I walked to the entrance.
I knew only a few kids there. My best friend, Debbie Wedes, had gone to Cass Tech because she wanted to be an actress more than anything and Cass Tech is a school for the performing arts. There were 2 other LDS kids there. Among 3,000. I was a little more than intimidated.
That first year I had been publicly honored for an essay I had written and later that year I was publicly humiliated for an essay I had written.
The next year things changed. I had made friends and knew my way around the school. However, there was a new problem. Civil rights had been put in the spotlight. The inner-city schools were almost all black and the schools in the outer-city were mostly white. Politicians in their usual clumsy fashion decided to bus kids from inner-city to outer-city and from the outer-city to inner-city schools to insure integration of the races.
I believe it wasn't the integration that was the problem, I think it was taking children out of their neighborhoods, friends and family - randomly - and thrusting them into an alien element.
At first it seemed to be working, but there had been riots that tore our city apart just a few years earlier. Feelings were still raw. And remember, it was 1970. It was taking a while for earlier generations to accept equality. The races still did not trust each other.
Riots broke out at Cooley High that fall. They were small, isolated incidents, but they were real and they were frightening. I was one of two white kids on the city bus. I saw a group of black kids beating up a white boy. I was so scared that when I got home I was shaking.
My oldest brother, Dan and his wife, Kathy, started taking me to school and picking me up. However, during school I was on my own. Under the window of my algebra class, kids were being beaten up by other kids. Going from the portable classroom to the main school we had to go through lines of kids challenging us to fights.
It wasn't too long into the second year at Cooley High that my father removed me from school. The principle of the school had sent around a memo to the classes telling us to stop the rumors of riots. They weren't rumors.
On my last day of school at Cooley, Dan and Kathy picked me up. We went around the block and saw a huge group of white kids walking to Cooley with clubs and sticks.
The next day school had been cancelled. It remained closed for three days. However, I never went back.
My parents had made the decision to move the family to Eckford and build houses.

SNAKES!!!

At our first house, we had a huge garden. We grew corn, tomatoes, green beans, zucchini, potatoes, squash, onions, cabbage, lettuce, peas and whatever else we could fit in. We froze and canned everything we could. Bruce took care of the garden most of the time and I took care of the canning and freezing. We had a rototiller that we had gotten used from Bruce's dad. That was a lifesaver because the garden was so big.
In our garden we had a pet. It's name was Sylvester. I only saw him once or twice, but he was more afraid of me than I was of him. He was a garden snake. He kept the insects down so if he stayed in his part of the property I was o.k. with him. I was very aware of Sylvester Snake.
In our third summer there I was very pregnant with Brian. This must have been in late May or very early June. I looked out my kitchen window and saw Bruce walking toward the house - with Sylvester dangling from his hand. I could not believe he was bringing a snake into my house!
As Bruce entered the back door, I ran out the front. I ran down the front lawn to the street and up the hill to the corner. Fear can make pregnant women do miraculous things. I looked back to the house and saw Bruce standing on the porch laughing his butt off.
He called to me to come home, but I wouldn't until he had promised me that the snake was back in the garden. He said he wasn't going to bring it in the house, he was just going to show him to me.
Didn't matter. Snakes and I will never occupy the same space on purpose.

Birthday

I can't believe that I'm this old!!! 56 years old. And if one more person says 56 years YOUNG, I'm going to scream. My body definitely says old.
This birthday has been a very good one. Steve knows how much I love to read (we share that love) so he gave me a very expensive gift card to a bookstore. Bruce and I are struggling financially, so instead of buying me a gift, he made me shelves for the dining room. I love them. He does such a wonderful job when he makes things. Another heirloom for the grandkids when I pass.
Then I got a call from Rob's family and they sang Happy Birthday to me. It was a sound much like angels make, I'm sure. Those sweet, sweet voices. I wish I could hug them all.
And Steve's little girl, Kati, called today and sang Happy Birthday in English and German. A multi-language song. I told her in English that her song was beautiful, but she didn't understand, so I had to say "Das was schon". When I said that, she was happy.
June sent me a birthday card with two bare butts on the front. It said that I expected someone to make a few 'cracks' on my birthday. And my mom sent a card.
All in all, it was a wonderful day.
I forgot, Bruce and I went to lunch at the Olive Garden. They have fried zucchini! To die for!

In the Closet

I was 17 when the house my dad was building was almost done. I had been given the choice of bedrooms, the one at the front of the house next to my parents, or the one at the back across the hall from my parents room. I chose the one across the hall because there was a window that allowed the rising sun in. It faced the east.
My parents had rented an electric sander to finish the floors, but the floors needed to be sealed then varnished. Since this was to be my room, my job was to seal the floor. It was in the fall, so in the daytime it was warm, but towards evening it was cool. I had gone over to the house in the middle of the day to work. It was nasty work, so I dressed accordingly - blue jeans, flannel shirt, bare foot ( I preferred bare feet) and hair in pigtails.
By the time I was halfway through the room, the sun was going down. It was getting quite cool in the house. Then someone was knocking at the door. I couldn't believe we were having visitors! My dad and I were the only ones in the house. I had hoped they would talk then the visitor would leave. Oh, no! Daddy invited the neighbor in for a tour.
I could hear their voices, so I could judge where they were in the house. I decided that I looked too horrible to meet the neighbors, so I hid in my closet. I forgot to mention that my dad put lights in the closet that would come on when the door opened, didn't I?
As I sat in the dark closet, I was getting colder and colder. My feet, in particular were cold. I had gloves to wear while sealing the floor, so I got this brilliant idea of putting the gloves on my feet to help warm them up.
I could hear the footsteps and voices coming down the hall to my bedroom. my dad was explaining all that we were doing. They walked into my room (?!?). My dad was telling this neighbor, whom I had never met, about the sealing process. THEN he decided to brag about the light in the closet.
They were both standing in front of the closet when my father proudly opened the door. The light came on and shone right down on me as I sat on the floor of the closet with gloves on my feet.
There was a moment of silence. We were all just kind of staring at each other, too stunned to speak. Then my dad closed the door. The light went out and the two of them left the room. Soon our visitor left. My dad came to the closet and opened the door again. I was still sitting there with the gloves on my cold feet.
"He's gone.", he said. "You can come out now." He was actually smirking!

09/11/2001

I was at work at CVS. I was the shift supervisor of the store, but I had to cashier because my one employee was running late. The man from the store next to us came in and said that someone had flown a plane into the World Trade Towers. How horrible! My employee came in and I took a television off the shelf and put it in the pharmacy. When we turned it on, there was another plane flying into the towers. We were all stunned. Shocked. Who? Why? Our first impression had been that it was an accident. Now it was plane that it was a planned attack. The day was a blur after that except for the times I stopped at the pharmacy to see if anything had developed. We later learned about the plane that the passengers took over and flew into a field and the plane that flew into the pentagon.
In OUR country! Terrorists had the gall to attack us in our own country! We all watched in horror as New York City went mad. The 'collateral damage' of the buildings in close proximity, the poisonous air. The chaos of trying to find loved ones. Pictures of those not found were posted on erected bulletin boards. The brave fireman and police who were called to deal with a tragedy no one ever thought could happen here.
I guess what surprised Americans was the thought that we were in a war. What war? Who were we fighting? Who could hate us so badly that innocent people had been annihilated? Families had been destroyed. And our sense of security was shattered.
The assistant manager of my store was a devout muslim from Pakistan. He said that he had read the Koran many, many times and not once did he read any passages where it spoke of martyring yourself so you could go to paradise and have 70 virgins waiting for you.
The great divide this action caused by so few has grown to hatred between millions of muslims and millions of christians. This act of hatred has caused a great divide in our own country.
And still the question has begged, why?

Halloween Costumes

Since it's coming up on halloween in a month or so, I recalled some of the costumes from the past. The one I had when I was about 10 was a full body monster costume. My parents had bought it for me, so it hung on a hanger in my room for a while before halloween. I would wake up in the night and see this looming 'thing' by my closet. My heart would speed up and I could feel my blood go cold in my veins. I would then remember that it was my halloween costume. I was invited in to many homes to show off my 'cool' monster costume.
When Rob was 5 years old, he went out as Mister T. We bought the bald and mohawk head piece, then we stuffed the arms of his bigger brother's shirt to give him huge muscles. I put on every pices of jewelry I owned. He was so adorable. Unfortunately being white with blue eyes it was a really hard sell.
Brian and Steve went to headstart. They had a halloween party. I don't remember what Brian wore, but I took Nikki's leotard that she had worn to ballet classes and sewed yellow stripes around the fanny. He wore black tights, too. The hardest part was getting the hanger to look like a stinger, especially since he had to sit on it.
One year we had absolutely NO money - not a rare occurance when Bruce was in school. I bought some black dye and some orange dye. I took two sheets and made a cape for Chris, with the black dye, slicked his hair back with gel and charcoaled it black. He went out as Count Dracula. I took the other sheet and dyed it orange. Then I put arm holes in it and gathered it at both ends. Out of parts of black left-over sheet I made a jack-o-lantern face and sewed it on the orange sheet. I made a small orange cap. We stuffed the costume with newspapers and wa-la, Brian was the great pumpkin. He made a lot of noise when he ran because of the newspapers, but he got invited in to a lot of houses to show off that .35 costume.
When my brother, Dan, came home from his mission he was invited to a costume party. He had not been released from his mission yet, so he had to be careful. He grabbed one of Mom's sheets and hollowed out a huge pumpkin. He cut out the face, put his head inside of it and went as the headless horseman. When he got home he was soaked with sweat. That pumpkin nearly killed him, he got so hot.

Kids!!!

We lived in Utah for 4 years, 2 of those years was in Salt Lake City. There is this wonderful huge department store there named ZCMI (I can't remember what the official name is - the joke was Zion's Children Must Increase, but it was something like Zion's something Mercantile something). ZCMI had a bargain basement that held lots of fabric. I needed fabric.
That Christmas the only way we had any money to buy gifts was if I made and sold dolls. And, boy, did I. Bruce and Chris even helped me at night stuff legs and arms. The rest of the children were too young. I know I had to have made about 100 dolls that year.
This one evening Bruce was at work, but I needed muslin. I put all 5 children in the car and drove to ZCMI. There was a huge scandal at the time about children being kidnapped - blond, blue-eyed children, just like mine. So I had Chris take Nikki by the hand, put Rob in the baby back pack and held Steve by one hand and Brian in the other. Chris and Nikki walked in front of me so I could keep an eye on them.
We made it down to the basement without incident. As we walked from the stairs to the fabric area a beautiful black woman crossed in front of us. She was dressed in a suit (I'll never forget this moment!) and heels. She was young. And really quite pretty. My cute little guy, Brian, looked up at me and with a clear loud voice said, "We don't like black people, do we Mom."
Had the floor opened up in front of us I would have gladly sacrificed this sweet child to the tile God and jumped in after him. It was as though time stood still and slow-motion took over. Her head swiveled toward us and her eyes were filled with something akin to hatred.
My little procession stopped. My mouth opened and I finally said something about "Yes. Yes, we do." What else could I say?
I have no idea where Brian came up with that statement. We never taught any kind of hatred in our home against any group. The 'n' word was definitely never said.
The woman went on her way without a word to me. We bought our muslin and left the store. I was so humiliated. Brian had to have been around 3 years old. I tried to talk to him about not saying things like that, but I dn't know if it ever got processed or not.
We didn't take too many trips out in public like that anymore.

Opposite Points of View

When I was in the third or fourth grade at Winchester Elementary School in Detroit, MI., I had a social studies class. We got to the point where the teacher (I can't remember her name) started to teach about the founding of Utah. She said that mormon missionaries would go to farmers all over the country and ask to marry their daughters. If they had to they kidnapped girls and locked them in the Salt Lake City Tempple. The girls would escape by jumping out the temple window into the Great salt Lake and swimming away.
I was horrified by this story. I knew it wasn't true, but did the rest of the kids in my class? When I got home from school, I told my mother what she had said. The next day my mom went to my school. She asked to talk to the principle. I was brought in and the teacher was brought in. The teacher said she woould make sure the class knew the story was not true but a rumor that had gone around. My mother was satisfied, the principle was satisfied and the teacher talked to the class the next period we had.
What reminded me of this story are the actions the parents are having about the president addressing the students on the first day of school. Many have called their school and threatened to not allow their children to attend if President Obama was going to speak to the children. Many school districts are not going to play the broadcast. The claim is that Obama is going to brainwash the children.
What?!? How does a broadcast that lasts for about 1/2 hour brainwash our children? What happened to discussing things that the child is exposed to at home - like what I did with my mother and the mormon rumor? In our discussion I learned how my mother felt and the action she took. She didn't threaten to keep me out of that classroom because the teacher didn't teach the way she wanted her to.
What happened to showing respect for the President of the United States? Is respect going to go the way of the dinosaurs - mired down in tar and opinion? I did not like President Bush, but if he was going to speak with my children in school, I wouold have been pleased. There is not one thing that he could have said that would have brainwashed my children. Whether I liked him or not, I respected that the majority of the people voted him in office.
I feel sorry for the children whose parents will not allow them to experience things that are different from their own points of view. Maybe it's too much to ask parents to guide at home, to make sure their children go to church, know where the parents stand on moral issues and can approach the parents with questions.
When I was a kid in church we had a saying, "We are in the world, not of the world." Some people won't allow their children to be in the world.

First Date

I was so excited that Saturday evening in late July of 1971. The cute tall guy from work had asked me out! I didn't know what we were going to do, but I knew I had to look my best.
Bruce picked me up in his grabber blue 1966 ford falcon. I loved the color of that car. He wanted to know if we could go into Battle Creek to make a payment on his lay-away before we went to a movie. No problem for me, I was with the tall cute guy from work.
We pulled into the parking lot of this department store (I cannot remember the name of it anymore, it has long since gone out of business) and went in. Just as we were walking into the store, we heard a crash. But we were on a mission, so we didn't even turn around. Oops.
When we came out of the store, we noticed a police cruiser near where Bruce had parked his car. As we drew nearer, we noticed that Bruce's car was not parked where we left it. It was parked into the fender of a corvette that had been in front of his car.
Bruce didn't get a ticket, but the guy who had the 'vette was hopping mad. It wasn't his! It belonged to a friend who had rented it. What a mess. It was determined that the parking brake had slipped and the car rolled down into the 'vette. It was a pure accident. Not a good start to a first date.
Anyway from there we went to a drive-in movie titled "Alice's Restaurant". It was an anti-vietnam war comedy. Kind of. But we both enjoyed it and the title song by Arlo Guthrie came to be quite popular.
Bruce took me home and kissed me in my living room. On the mouth! I don't remember walking anywhere else that night. I had died and gone to heaven.

Security

In the summer of 1999, Brother Mike Harker asked me if I would be in charge of the security detail for the Grand Blanc Stake for the open house of the Detroit Temple. I was so excited! Mike had suggested my name to President Schilling and he concurred. With my experience in the martial arts, being a woman was not a problem.
October 1999 was when the open house was held. My group had three days to be in charge of the open house. We all had walkie-talkies and maps where areas were marked. I don't remember how many people were on my team, but I do remember that it was a wonderful experience.
We were told to be aware of the anti-mormon groups who were at the entrance to the parking lot. They were handing out anti-mormon leaflets. I guess they felt it was their duty to warn people about the 'evils' of mormonism. However, there were no problems at all. At least on our watch. We went over to them many times and spoke with them, but not about any trouble, just to let them know that we welcomed them in any time they wanted, but they couldn't pass out their anti-mormon leaflets on the property.
One of my guys called me on the walkie to tell me he found some cables sticking out of the ground next to the temple and he was worried someone had wired a bomb up somewhere. When we investigated, we realized it was cable for the closed-circuit t.v. that was going to show the dedication to those attending in the chapel of the stake house. We got a good giggle out of that.
Then one night it was rainy and dark. I saw a man in a trench coat sneak in the side of one of the draped walkways (people could avoid getting wet that way) that was leading to the temple. I took off running and broke through up near the temple door so I could be there in front of this man. He was very tall, and it seemed as though I had seen him before. I stopped him and asked for I.D. He pointed to his lapel, but he had a trench coat on covering it. There was no visible I.D. Then he opened his coat and showed me that he was Elder Mayo, regional representative. I felt pretty stupid.
I wore slacks the whole time (dress slacks) because if we had to go into a defensive mode, I wanted to be prepared. Nothing untoward happened, though. I did get a chance to go places on the grounds that no one else could go.
The temple was dedicated on October 22nd and 23rd. Bruce and I went on the 22nd. We were seated in the sealing room. We watched our prophet on a television screen dedicate our beautiful temple. He was in the next room from us, but there were so many people that we were blessed to be able to see and hear him with modern technology. Then we watched as the corner stone was laid. President Hinckley had a wonderful sense of humor. And who was one of the men laying the corner stone? Yep, Elder Mayo.

Murray's

One day, quite a few years ago, Bruce asked me to go to Murray's with him. I had been a little ill and he thought it may do me good to get out. My problem had been a lower intestine issue.
Murray's was not my first choice of places to go, but Bruce needed to get something for the car and just about insisted that I go with him.
Bruce found his item then found a rack with books on it about the car we owned. He decided to peruse the inventory.
I wandered down the aisle to the far end and relieved my insides of a rather insistent gas bubble. Having been ill, it smelled pretty bad - o.k., down right evil. I wandered back up to where Bruce was and asked if we could go. He said he was reading something. I looked back down the aisle and saw a little stock boy happily turning the corner into the aisle where I had just relieved myself. He had his arms full of merchandise to be put away. Right there. In the little cloud I had left.
I grabbed Bruce's arm and said we needed to go - again. Again, he refused.
I stole a look down at the hapless little guy and saw him suck in the air and emit a choking sound. He kind of turned a sick color.
I grabbed Bruce's arm again and said we MUST leave. Bruce got aggravated at my insistance and asked why. I said, "Because I just farted down there and the little guy who breathed it in is blaming YOU."
Sure enough. Bruce was getting glared at. Amazingly, Bruce closed the book and we left.

Bats

When Bruce and I had been married a little over 2 years, we bought a house. It was a big older wood frame house on a hill. It had a lot of problems, but that will be covered in another blog. This time I want to talk about bats. Not the kind that you swing, either.
One evening Bruce and I were up late in the house. I don't remember what we were doing, but I do remember that something flew into our front room, zoomed around the room then zoomed into the parlor. Freak out time! Bruce grabbed a broom and tried to knock the little bat down so we could get it out of the house.
Those little bats (probably big ones, too) are incredible at dodging. Bruce didn't connect with one swat. However, he could chase the bat with the broom and kind of corral it. He cornered the bat in the bathroom.
"Honey! Come in here!"
I hated that thought! I was quite comfortable cowering out of the way.
"Why?"
"I need your help to get rid of the bat."
This was being yelled with a closed door between us.
"What?!?"
"Get in here!" He bellowed.
I opened the door a crack and slid into the huge bathroom.
"When I chase the bat toward the window, open it then let it close when the bat flies through so it can't get back in."
O.k. So I get to stand next to a window and meekly wait while my crazy husband ran around this room swinging a broom at a rabid bat (I don't know abut the 'rabid' part, but that's how I felt at the time.). Yeah. Right.
"No!"
"It's the only way to get it out. You have to."
"What if I swing the broom and you get to stand next to the only escape the bat has?"
"Ready?"
Like eternity could ready me for a flying bat being chased my way.
BUT, I did it. The window wouldn't stay open on it's own, it would quickly slide down and slam shut - therefore I had to stand there and hold it open.
If I remember right it took about 6 hours to get the bat out the window - no, it was probably a heart-pounding half an hour.
This was the first time a bat got in. I only remember twice in that old house, but it was not fun.