A Day For Pioneers

Around here this is a day for celebrating.  In 1847 the members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints had finally found a place of safety in the valleys surrounding the Great Salt Lake.  I am sure that when their prophet Brigham Young declared, “ This is the Place!”  there were quite a few that inwardly thought , “It is?  This barren, sagebrush filled spot, is the place where we have been led?” 

It had to be with mixed feelings that they walked down  the mountain canyons into that arid area, feelings of relief, gladness that their journey had come to an end, disappointment that the place did not offer the promises of any ease or luxury. In July it was probably a day to wipe sweat from their brows.  After all, these pioneers were human, they had crossed the Great Plains, the deserts in the tops of the Rocky Mountains, they knew eking a living from this sort of surroundings would not be easy. 

Some of them had been city dwellers, accustomed to a different type of life. They had traveled through Missouri, Iowa, etc. and had seen the rich farm lands of the Midwest.  On they came, following divine direction.  Past Indians, crossing deep rivers, noting the scarcity of civilization, just Ft. Laramie and then Ft. Bridger. 

I so admire the faith of those people, who set to doing, to living, meeting the many challenges that came their way  so that it truly became The Place.  After a few years they had made a spot thriving with education, culture and  many of the finer things that they had left behind.

Being a convert to the faith I cannot claim those Utah pioneers.  But I still celebrate, thinking not just of the Utah pioneers, but those of my own.  Settling Wyoming in the 1800’s.  Two ancestry lines go back to the 1600’s in the claiming of the eastern seaboard in Massachusetts,  Connecticut, South Carolina, All these  people had to have more than grit and determination.  All had to have a goodly measure of faith to help them carry on in the face of the things at that time in history that could deter them from accomplishing dreams.  All came with the hope of a better life than the one left behind.

When we step into the unknown, whatever it might be, it is a pioneering step.  The step will affect others coming behind us, particularly those of our family.  Today is my pioneer day too, so glad my forebears made the choices that placed me in this land.

Hangin' Out

Last week I had piles of laundry, leftovers from a large family gathering.  In the sorting process I figured I could be more efficient, and shave a little off the dryer bill, by hanging part of the stuff outside. 

            The day was hot and the sheets dried in no time.  I had four lines filled with sheets, and still more to wash.  The towels got the dryer treatment, more fluff than on the line.  This project took more than one day to accomplish with batch after batch.  It was something to look forward to, believe it or not!

            It felt good to be hanging out, even with the hot temperatures.  When I was growing up this was a weekly event, wash hanging on the line, all year round, even in freezing winter.  My mind was going back to those “good old days.”  Nice memories now, complaints on occasion in those earlier years. 

            Hangin’ out now has a different meaning altogether than in the days of my youth.  Being together with friends, engaged in something enjoyable.  I am glad it still can bring good feelings, providing there are the right choices.  I like hangin’ out, from either perspective.

MW????

Just what do those letters mean to you?  I take a homeopathic lettered with MW, standing for Mature Woman.  It is a nice way of describing those of us who are dealing with the hot flashes of later life.

            I was mulling it over this morning and thinking that MW could stand for lots of things connected with this phase of life.  The first thought was Mad Woman.  As the brain started rolling others came up:   Maddening Witch, then to be a little nicer, Magic Witch,  Maniac Witch,  Mad and Weird,  Mutated Wimp, Murky Wiles….well, you can see how things were progressing.

            From there my ideas turned to hot flashes and wonders on why we have to endure these thermal tortures.    Will the comments made at my funeral be influenced by the way I reacted to these intense flashes of heat at inappropriate times?  Perhaps  the epitaph on the marker of my final resting place will be,”  Just couldn’t stand that last hot flash.”

Leftovers....Again?!

When I started writing this entry the thought kept going through my head questioning,  “why are you wanting to write  about such a thing, weirdo?”  But the  doing of it was persisting so I continued.  Then the other day I read an article about how wasteful we Americans are with the food we don’t eat at meals.  Toss it down the disposal, into the garbage, etc.  It also brought out how much it is costing us in terms of dollars wasted.  Maybe that was the reason pushing me to blog such a subject.

Most of us are always thinking of what is coming up on the next meal.  Those who cook are considering meal preparations in this world of staying alive and eating happily.  I like to cook, but cooking for only two has its drawbacks.  For one thing, it seems like there is hardly anything there when you get done with all the fixing.  Another, why start from scratch which, without a doubt, is the best in taste, nutrition, expense, etc. if you end up with too much.  I like making “just a bit more” and have a bit of leftovers to work with a day or two later.  Another big reason is that when your spouse opens the fridge to see what there is for a good nibble, maybe there is something tempting to the palate.  I don’t know about you, but I have heard the lament, “There is nothing in this house to eat.”

Beyond the snack issue, using leftovers takes some creativity.  Most times it is simpler to trot out a recipe, follow it, and produce something marvelous, than it is to figure out how to use that bit of this or that to put an acceptable meal on the table.  I find it fun to figure out just how I can transform that extra into something different, yet still good.  Casserole, salads, desserts, all likely candidates for using that little amount.  Early in my married life one of my husband’s friends, on receiving a sparkling glass of liquid from me, said, “So, what have you got in here, besides the kitchen sink?”  He was smiling as he teased.  I admit, I probably “experiment “ too much and not all of the experiments turn out the way I thought they would.  Sometimes it is worse, but often it is better than I imagined.

We can think of leftovers in things besides food.  Is there someone who needs just a little of your friendship?  Maybe they aren’t on the normal list of who we consider friends yet a kind word from us would have meaning.  When we are just too tired to keep pushing a child on a swing, isn’t there really one or two more pushes there if we really want to?   Sometimes it is as simple as extending a smile to someone who crosses our path in the grocery store, or at a stop light.  Here again we can use our creativity. We have lots of areas in our lives where there is a bit leftover with which to work.

Simplify, Toss Out, Maybe

This is something that takes constant effort.  I am working on it, physically and mentally.  In the process I came upon a paper I had written for a Pych class in college.   I know, what am I doing keeping a paper of that vintage?  I had no idea I had kept it, my life story for the Genealogy 101, yes, but this class?   Well, for some reason I still had it.

 As near as I can tell it was supposed to be a case study of myself, analyzing  my habits, personality, etc., the causes of the same.  I shuddered  as I read  parts of it, wondering if I was really like that at the young age of 20.  Some traits I can see that I did possess, and I still possess---like putting my foot in my mouth now and again when something really gets to me.  "Surely I have improved," I say to myself---haven’t I? 

Actually it was rather an interesting read, seeing myself and my thought processes at that relatively early stage of maturing.  It was worth my keeping if for none other than that I had recorded a sentence or two about an appointment with an optometrist in Salt Lake City, discovering that I did indeed need to wear glasses.  My right eye saw things with a “blurry edge.”

            Now, fifty years later, having had eye surgery on my left eye to correct a macular hole, my right eye is still seeing things a bit off.  It makes me wonder if the condition  has been with me in a lesser degree all these long years.  My eye surgeon feels it is best to not remove a slowly developing cataract in my right eye in case that would accelerate whatever is going on in there.  This doctor, of course, knows nothing of this finding years ago.  I will have a surprise for him on my next trip to Idaho Falls.

            This is one thing I have been glad I did not toss, along with my life story at age 20, written for Genealogy 101. It is enlightening as well.  I hope that at least my writing style has improved.

Mother-In-Laws Are Still Mothers

Tradition has it that Mother-in-laws are interfering, obnoxious additions to married life.  Women in this role are often pictured as harridans, who feel that no one is good enough for their child, let alone be the parent of grandchildren.  Who would volunteer for that position?  Most women would not want to fill this description.  However, if you are a mother, and your child gets married, what can you do but become “the Mother-In-Law?”

            My choice of mil’s was very fortuitous.  As a newly-wed, she took me under her wing and began the teaching process of how to be a farmer’s wife,  teaching mainly by example.  Being a town-raised female, I needed this instruction badly.  I was her first in-law child and perhaps we learned the art of give and take of this relationship together.  I only know that it worked beautifully and I am forever grateful.  She approved of me, became a best friend, the forever variety.

            The lessons I learned were numerous: cooking, gardening, preservation of foods, getting that meal on the table at the time needed before the hay crew was due to arrive.  She was there in the grandma role as well, willing to give advice when asked, holding back when she felt it was none of her business.  She listened to my woes, my moments of confusion and frustration.  I knew if I had a run-in with her son that the place I would be most welcome was at the home of his parents. 

Our homes within a mile of each other, over the many years we shared our lives.  Pulling weeds from flower beds, side by side, I tried to soak up the wisdom she could impart.  She also let me know that she gained from me in return. She welcomed me into her family, did her best to make me comfortable in new surroundings,  and helped me form friendships in a place where I was totally unknown.

My experience of observing close up women in this position completely goes against the grain of tradition. As near as I could tell my parents, both of them, liked their spouse’s mothers.  My maternal grandmother lived with us for the last years of her life.  My father particularly looked forward to the results of her culinary skills, especially pies of any variety, his favorite dessert.  She took his good-natured teasing and knew he loved her.

            Mothers’ Day is arriving, my first without my own mother-in-law who passed away several months ago.  My own mother has been gone for twelve years.  I miss them both and recognize how fortunate I have been.  Hopefully I have learned from the lessons of the mils in my life.  Mothering, whether it is biological, in-laws, or just random, is a very needed calling.

Come Join the Ranks

I have joined the army of Family History Indexers.  It is so fun.  I was a little hesitant about taking it on, wondering if I had enough computer savvy.  Desire is all well and good, but there are stumbling blocks that one must be able to navigate.  I didn’t want to be sunk before I started.

            I have liked historical stuff all my life, always wanting stories from my parents, grandparents.  Census records are one of my favorite parts of genealogical research.  Through them I have discovered that one of my greats was the captain of a boat, actually a barge I think, and his son was listed as his mate.  Another find was one who had started out learning the cabinet-making trade and 2 census records later (20 years) was in an elevated position in that company, making very good money and of high prestige.  One young lady at age 20 was a polisher of glass plates at a glass blowing establishment.   I keep finding more and more about those who came to chart my path to this earth and they become very real and dear to me.   I am not even counting the relatives I have found that I didn’t know existed.   I could go on, but this gives you who read this a glimpse of some of the fun I have poking around in old records.

            Some of my searching has recently been eased through the results of indexing and it makes me so excited that I want to shout from the housetops.  What I couldn’t find is now accessible!  One of my daughters is also an indexer and she showed me the process a couple of months ago and my first thought was, “I can do that.”  : ) I am not exactly a techie so I need encouragement to get over the mental can’t hurdle.

            I always had hoped my husband and I would go on a mission in our later years.  I now know that isn’t going to happen and my yearnings for such have calmed down.  Indexing can be my later years contribution and, in some small measure, help others as I have been helped through this marvelous program.