Researchin, on and on

 I have become a researcher.  In some ways it was quite accidental.  Other than the need to do research for college papers so very long ago the main motivation  for any type of research in my life was my interest in genealogy.  As a child I was always asking my elders about their earlier lives.  It made the best stories, and I like that even now, both the hearing and the writing.

When I would ask my Dad to tell me stories about when he was little he would always respond with, "Do you mean when I was a little girl?"  with a big grin as he teased before coming up with a yarn to satisfy me.   He had grown up on a ranch, doing ranch life and was a cowboy, even for some years after my birth. By the time I was five my dream was to become a rancher, with or without a husband. 

When my maternal grandfather passed away for a time I slept at my grandmother's house to ease her loneliness.  She had some to the United States at the age of 19 from England, taking care of the household in Wyoming for her mining father, brother and two uncles.  Each night she would regale me with visions of the hedges, the streets, her family that she had left across the Atlantic, never to return. She had gone to school, she had been a seamstress apprentice(and did not like it), she had walked the streets of Liverpool, made the voyage as a young woman.  There were lots of memories to entertain me. 

As a young mother my interest in my ancestors was still very keen.  Now I was involved in doing genealogy.  Stories of my great-grandmother had always intrigued me, and even more so her mother.  At this point I knew her maiden name and that she had come to New York state from England--that about covered what I knew.  I went to a genealogical library in a nearby town, with 4 children in tow,  hoping to find out more.  In those days I had to use a library viewer and check out a film that had census records.  Riding herd on my little girls while seeking, it took some time.  I was rewarded for my efforts on this visit.  I found her, my Jennie, in New York, at age 17---the last name was correct, but the rest was confusing.  Judging from that record she was living with a family by the name of Hindle---a widowed woman who had several children.  Was Jennie a servant?  What more could I learn?  I did learn, with more researching as years went by, but that is another story.

I have continued to do research on my ancestors and it continues to fascinate me.  But now I also do research on both the people and the place where I have lived for my married life.   For the past five years I have written two historical columns weekly for the local county newspaper, going back a century or more in time on a variety of subjects and events.  Sometimes I feel like I know the residents and settlers of a century ago better than I do those around me at this time.  This expanded research keeps me learning and the assistance of technology is wonderful beyond belief.  When I think of the college days, and the first concentrated efforts with genealogy I am happy that my interest did not evaporate due to the difficulty of that time.  For me, research is fun!

Plants can bond

 

My Christmas cactus bloomed! Having just had it re-potted I wasn’t sure whether it could manage the process this year. You must understand that this plant has been part of my entire married life. It sat on top of my mother-in-law’s dryer in those first years. Buds would generally start appearing in late November.  Before long the to of her dryer would be a beautiful bouquet.    

            She lived within walking distance and we were the best of friends. She had a green thumb for plants, indoors or outside, and this was a booming cactus when the two of us became acquainted.  I don't know how many years she had it before my arrival.   Not doubt it has a history because Grandma had been a homemaker for nearly thirty years before I arrived on her scene.                  

            Many years later as she was moving into a nursing facility  she gave the plant to a friend who had admired it.  Only a year or two later that friend gave it back to me when they moved from the community.  Lucky me. 

            It has bloomed in my living room now for nearly twenty years.  I have taken many cuttings from it and shared them with others, but I have the Grandma plant. It was late to start blooming this year, but by mid-December the blooms were going, and it still is. Quite often this goes on until April and then it is due for another pruning and I am ready to share cuttings again. It is an old-fashioned cactus, not a hybrid, and it fits me perfectly. Many good memories go with the blooms,  the cactus and me, we understand each other.

Generation Bridges

 Pondering the importance of friendships in our lives.  This is an ongoing thing for me, I have been blessed by so many different friendships over  my many years.  Tonight I am thinking of Louise and Matt.

   As a child from  ages 6  until I left home this couple lived just two houses south of ours in the row parallel to Harrison Street.  Louise was the age of my grandmother and was one of my grandmother's friends through their lives as young mothers, raising children.   I was lucky to have my grandmother living just across the street  to the north and Louise so nearby.  It is wonderful to be totally accepted by someone who has the wisdom to serve as a guide during the difficult years we call "growing up." 

Louise had a rag rug loom in their home.  Often this was a place I could just 'hang out' and share thoughts of my life, problems I had encountered, difficulties with my peers and such, while I might be wrapping her strips of cloth into ever growing rag balls that she could use at her loom, passing it back and forth during our gabbing session.  The rug slowly lengthening,  me doing much of the gabbing, Louise doing much of the listening.  Matt in the corner, reading a paper, or just soaking up our chatter. 

Her husband played a big part in this friendship. After a big snow storm the path behind our houses was cleared for small legs to push through.  As I walked to school down the back alley behind our houses on a winter day it would not be unusual for Matt to be out of sight amongst the various out-buildings and he would throw snowballs  to announce his presence.  All year round he provided little moments of fun.  He always made me feel welcome to come into the warmth of their home for a bit of a visit, or a treat.   

When I got to the adult stage of my life I realized that this relationship with someone two generations beyond, unrelated, was not the common thing.  Louise  and Matt had likely had similar activities with their daughter and my mother, living so close, as they did with me.  My parents were totally comfortable with  my connections with these fine people, knowing I was safe and being positively nurtured by them.  They helped me to become who I am.  The bridge across our  years has influenced my interactions with others throughout my life. Acceptance is a major need in the lives of all people, all colors, all ages.  

Winter Has Its Own Appeal

 

Winter has its own kind of beautiful, even when it is dry and barren. Those leafless trees have such interesting lines and angles and the trunks exhibit a solidity that we don’t notice much when they are all full of green loveliness. When a winter bird--- owl, hawk, magpie, chickadee -- no matter the size, alights on a branch it is like a nature’s ornament added to the tree. Their vocal presentations just add to the scene

A pond or lake may be frozen, hard enough to invite skaters. Sometimes, however there is enough running water from the spring or creek that feeds the pond that it stays open and inviting. Then it’s color varies as it reflects the sky. Some days the water surface is almost a near-black mirror, disturbed only by the paddling of a winter duck. Other days that crisp winter blue color is accented by frozen shores whether they are covered with snow, or dry bulrushes and cattails.

A different breed of water fowl inhabits our pond during the winter. They pick up the winter colors—or lack thereof---of black and white. The winter coats of our wildlife are a cooler color and a thicker texture in this season and they move around our valley, up and down the slopes finding feed and water, often consuming the feed man has harvested for the use of his domestic herds. Even high fences can be scaled in a bad winter. An empty barn provides a perfect shelter for bedding down, until some  human investigates. 

The trails of our wild life make for interesting designs as they travel from water source, to food source, to bedding areas. Many times it is obvious that they are traveling single file, particularly as the snow deepens. The slopes make for diagonal lines as the ascend or descend.  Orchards with unpicked fruit bring the deer in while the world is sleeping. One might hear a clang from a feeding pan of an outdoor pet or some rattling in the darkness, not from the pet but from a visiting raccoon or other critter who has that spot on his food route. The print of the bird feet in the snow around those same feeding pans makes for a lacey design where they hustle in and out, keeping a wary eye out for the household cat or dog, owner of the pan.

Winter has many positive things to enrich our lives while the earth is resting. I am grateful for our Creator giving us so much beauty year round as His world goes through its seasons and cycles.

Bathroom scale reminders

 November, and I have been considering so very many things for which I am grateful.  Today, as I stepped on our bathroom scale, I realized that I was happy to have that relatively small item in my home.  The numbers go up and down, and, for me over the years, seem to revolve in an 8 pound circle.  When they are on the upper side that awareness causes some changes in my daily snacking, when they get too low for my wishes a different type of change takes place.  

The scale keeps me aware of where I want to be in the weight department, but it also serves as a reminder of where I want to be in other areas, of who I want to be.  Reminders are good in both of those areas.   It helps me to work on bad habits, to cut back on the less desirable points of my life. 

When we are out and about where we go can put us in both safe and dangerous places, physically and spiritually. Sometimes the where we are also plays a part of who we are being at the time.  Our mode of behavior and thinking is influenced by our surroundings and the other people who are present at that time.

I have observed people who are kind, considerate people turn into someone else when they are in a situation where they want to leave an impression of "how cool" they are with someone they feel is of a higher ranking of social importance.   It can even happen with a phone call, the everyday individual can become cocky, loud-mouthed, even profane according to the other conversationalist. The idea of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde is always present in our mortal lives.   It is good to be reminded, really , who am I?

We Have Done This Before

 We keep thinking that the situation we are now facing is a first.  It may be a first in our lifetime, but that doesn't mean others have not had to deal with similar things.  I work as a journalist and part of what I do requires me to do historical research.  Recently I was given an old folder that contained pictures of soldiers and sailors who had been a part of World War II, with no names attached.  My project now is to identify these 23 men that we assume lived in this part of the country.

This  effort took me to the book Saints At War. I am a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The book is about men who fought in that war and also has a bit about how the church organization adjusted to the needs of that time--1941- 1945.  I hadn't given this much thought earlier, but I have a grandson, now serving a mission.  He was serving in El Salvador and when the shut down came with COVID-19 things changed for him. He came home to the states, quarantined, and then made the decision to resume his mission services in the states wherever he was assigned. 

I quote from the book. "On the home front, World War II had a dramatic impact on full-time missionary work. At the outset of the war, the Church evacuated the missionaries from most of Europe. The stories of the missionaries' evacuations are filled with miracles. Remarkably, all escaped without harm. By the end of the war, full-time missionary service had declined dramatically and those  called were sent almost exclusively to missions within the United States." Of course this made for a difficult time for those small congregations of members in Europe to be without the guidance of the missionaries.  In spite of it the members persevered and in doing so, grew in spiritual strength to meet the trials that came their way.

"As the events at Pearl Harbor thrust America into the war, the impact of the war on the Church intensified as many of its programs and procedures had to be adjusted. . . The Church issued several policy directives aimed at curtailing the meetings and activities of various auxiliaries.  Such moves came in response to travel restrictions imposed by the federal government during the war years. In early 1942, the Tabernacle (on Temple Square) was closed and as a result celebrations scheduled in the Tabernacle for the Relief Society's centennial anniversary were canceled. "  General Conference was convened in the Assembly Hall adjacent to the Salt Lake Temple, with only invited authorities in attendance. The tradition of Christmas lights on Temple Square was suspended until after the war, and  church pageants were canceled.  Work on any other temple then in existence were hindered by the war.

Church organizations, not just the LDS, are currently curtailed from their normal meeting schedules. Religious leaders are finding ways to reach their congregations:  emails, YouTube, ZOOM, social media. It is important that mankind know we are not alone and this need is recognized.  

With the war there were fewer young men attending Church-sponsored institutions of learning.  At BYU population decreased from 2,375 full-time students in 1939 to 884 in 1943. Ricks College experienced similar drops in enrollment. Due to lack of male students many events were dropped, sports, homecoming --canceled.  I feel certain this was the case in universities across the land. 

However creativity helped in the adjusting, as it does now.  Mail took the place of one-on-one interaction. Families gathered around their radios.  Other areas of their lives, other than church, also met peoples needs.  I put this in the blog to show that the despair that some are feeling now, with the changes due to the virus do not have to be crippling.  During the Spanish Influenza at the end of World War I, people wore masks. Some were willing to do this, others fought it during the whole 3 years it took for that to be overcome. There were quarantines and neighbors helped neighbors, keeping a safe distance while they were about it. This sounds familiar, doesn't it? We can do this, it is not a first, and we are not alone.

Habits Last Forever

 I use a keyboard a great deal.  Who knew when I took a typing class in high school that those rows of letters, space bar, numbers, etc. would consume so may of my waking hours. It seems the writing of lots of things just falls into my lap. Perhaps those around me think that because I am retired I have little else to do. Whatever the reason I end up using a keyboard a good part of nearly every day.

 I now work as a journalist, writing three columns each week for our local newspaper that is published weekly. I am the secretary for our county's historical society board, requiring minutes, publications, etc.  I do genealogy research and endeavor to write family histories about ancestors and some stories from my own life or that of my family. Currently I am serving as our village historian. I believe strongly in the importance of writing a letter to my family members at least monthly. Ok, I have established that I have reason to be using the keyboard on a regular basis. 

In typing class Mr. Impson taught that one should put two spaces following the end of a sentence or question before beginning the next volley of words. It took some time, but I did get the hang of it and the now developed habit has served me well for decades.

Now, however, the powers that govern the printed word have changed the rules. Only one space between  the flow of thoughts. When one slips up and places two spaces a little grey rectangle fills one of those spaces when the intended material is sent online to a receiver. It serves as a reminder to me that, try as I might, I am still clinging to the old habit. 

There are all sorts of habits in my life that need that constant grey mark to keep me aiming for improvement. Habits become ingrained, both good and bad, and our awareness of them lessens.  Hopefully my putting these thoughts into words will serve as a grey mark in other areas of my life's journey. Life is full of changes.