tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-70160108385819189042024-03-18T21:10:00.165-07:00Martin MissiveGemiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12826638681646513406noreply@blogger.comBlogger57125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7016010838581918904.post-11439100108300722332022-12-13T22:54:00.001-08:002022-12-13T23:00:04.088-08:00The Martin Family Christmas 2022<p> </p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br /></p>
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</v:shape><![endif]--></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgiG4xASroWHaxZctv7mYHjSQF-kuvpp8QwajldtcoBGdyfHsGSe4pwLYOzKloUF4IdxEIErA7_jpVT3oVfAYD6T-jNAeLzTWLqUqnlZFWPGl1DvfeO-yy_q2-zHjrQ3Cseozv3Re4GplszNtK2KxjyokObohSFhsX381frcBGxzQiyvmHeWpCelgsd1w" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img data-original-height="771" data-original-width="561" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgiG4xASroWHaxZctv7mYHjSQF-kuvpp8QwajldtcoBGdyfHsGSe4pwLYOzKloUF4IdxEIErA7_jpVT3oVfAYD6T-jNAeLzTWLqUqnlZFWPGl1DvfeO-yy_q2-zHjrQ3Cseozv3Re4GplszNtK2KxjyokObohSFhsX381frcBGxzQiyvmHeWpCelgsd1w=w467-h640" width="467" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">As Christmas approaches this year,
the Martins have much to be grateful for and much to celebrate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jerry and Gemie still live in our home in
Plano, Texas which we moved to in 1986.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Half
our children live within two hours of us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>That includes 11 of our 24 grandchildren.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We get to visit the other children and
grandchildren on a regular basis thanks to modern modes of travel and
communications. We count our children’s spouses as extra special children of
ours which we have been blessed with. We love each wonderful member of our
family!</span><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">One of our
most favorite traditions is decorating for the Christmas holiday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We attempt to make things look festive, while
at the same time being sure to center our décor around our Savior and the
miracle of His birth over two millennia ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Much of what we set out in our living areas is our collection of cr</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">è</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">ches depicting the Nativity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Large or small, each Nativity scene has a special meaning to us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The one pictured here is especially
meaningful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This paper mache cr</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">è</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">che was made by an orphanage in India.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We recently saw one just like it in the gift
shop at the Dallas Arboretum.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
proceeds from the sale of these special cr</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">è</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">ches go to the orphanage where they
are made.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ours had been delivered to us
as a gift for our patronage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
children in this orphanage have been rescued from a life that had little
hope.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Many have remarkable stories of
rehabilitation and success. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">The Nativity
picture reflected in the mirror above the cr</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">è</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">che, was given to us by generous
friends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a happy accident (not
intentional) that it ended up in this picture.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>When we look at our cr</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">è</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">ches, they cause us to marvel at the
wonder of our Savior’s birth, our ultimate Christmas gift from a loving
Heavenly Father.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This particular cr</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">è</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">che, from India, also reminds us of the charge we have been given
to look out for our “neighbors,” those who have need of our help.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">There are so
many opportunities for us to help others.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Some are obvious and end up presenting themselves to us as happened in
the parable Jesus told of the Good Samaritan (see Luke: 10).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In this parable, “a certain man fell among
thieves,” and was beaten and left to die. While others of his faith and
community passed by the injured man giving no assistance, the man who came to
his aid was a man from Samaria, considered an enemy by the Jewish people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was this Samaritan man who felt compassion
for his Jewish neighbor and went out of his way to give the needed help.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">We became
the recipients of much needed help this summer while traveling in a remote area
in Montana.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We found ourselves with a
flat tire and no services nearby.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We
will forever be grateful to a man named Remington who came to our rescue.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He removed our flat tire, then took it and
patched it before returning it to us and putting it back on our car.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He refused any type of payment for his good
deed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He even supplied us with a can of
“Fix-a-Flat,” to keep with us for the remainder of our trip.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">At one time,
we owned the best collection of Lincoln Wheat-back pennies ever amassed. Jerry
had begun collecting coins as a Boy Scout when he earned the Coin Collecting merit badge. And although he doesn't think any of those coins ended up in this final collection, he had been slowly adding to this collection for several decades. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> It was a hobby, and also an investment. </span>A few years ago, Jerry felt prompted to sell
the collection and give the entire proceeds of this sale to charity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A large portion of the sale of this penny
collection went to the orphanage mentioned above.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our joy in knowing that we have been able to help
others in need is much greater than the joy of owning the best set of Lincoln
Wheat-back pennies ever collected.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">We wish you
and yours a very Merry Christmas and a Happy (and prosperous) New Year!</span><o:p></o:p></p>Gemiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12826638681646513406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7016010838581918904.post-33675212202875077082021-12-10T07:14:00.002-08:002022-11-09T07:14:36.270-08:00The Year of the Christmas Tree Woes<p> </p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj529RskAn00jjz9NhAPfyq16KfHaKha8KpETHSs25EZHcOVgvco5acXR4jTGJS3f03kZ_bFqVRlwisU3ZdlHEvOqwKJxlTAocW8N_ogSz_BVxexomB63_2GKVsHX4NGIlhgnos5rdpasJG/" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="489" data-original-width="352" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj529RskAn00jjz9NhAPfyq16KfHaKha8KpETHSs25EZHcOVgvco5acXR4jTGJS3f03kZ_bFqVRlwisU3ZdlHEvOqwKJxlTAocW8N_ogSz_BVxexomB63_2GKVsHX4NGIlhgnos5rdpasJG/" width="173" /></a></div>As parents
of a growing brood of Children, Jerry and I did what we could to prevent most Christmas
tree woes.<span style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">We waited until one or two
weeks before Christmas to even set up our tree, and we took it down shortly
after Christmas.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">Still, during that week
or two prior to Christmas, ornaments the toddlers were interested in, would
need to be moved and placed on a higher branch out of the reach of curious
little hands.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; text-align: left;">I made the claim that
ornaments would start, “marching up the tree.”</span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">One of the
ornaments on our tree, was our son Christopher’s favorite.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a sleeping Santa in an overstuffed
upholstered blue chair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even though it
was resin, not ceramic, I put it up near the top of the tree out of
Christopher’s reach lest it walk off and get lost.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">In 1993, my
husband Jerry was called to serve as Bishop of the Plano 4<sup>th</sup> Ward in
Plano, Texas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That year we decided to
have a Christmas Party for the Ward leadership in our home so that those leaders
could become better acquainted with their new Bishop and his wife.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Little did we know the problems we would
encounter that would make this such a difficult endeavor.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The previous
year, a little black and white kitten adopted
us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was cute and adorable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I walked by the Christmas tree one day to
discover her beady little eyes peering out at me from between two branches
about halfway up the tree.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She looked so
cute, that I just left her there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
reasoned that she had gotten in without upsetting any lights or ornaments, so
she could probably get out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She did that,
several more times that Christmas season.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Fast forward
one year, when I was busy getting ready to welcome the Ward leadership into our
home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As the day approached, I cleaned
and decorated furiously to prepare for the event. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A few days before the party was to occur, as I
stood working at the kitchen sink, I heard a crash from the direction of the
living room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I rushed toward the sound
of the crash to see our cat jumping from the center of the Christmas tree, which
was prone on the carpeted floor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was
obvious that the cat was the cause of the tree having fallen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No longer a tiny kitten, she had grown enough
to topple the tree.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I went to pick it
up, I discovered that the stand was broken.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>This put me in full panic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
called the manufacturer of the tree.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>They overnighted me a new stand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>By the next evening the tree was standing again, no worse for the wear.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The morning
after our tree had been restored to its upright position, I was again working
in the kitchen, when I heard a too familiar sounding crash.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I rushed in to find an upset
Christopher.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He had decided to climb up
and get his favorite ornament and in doing so, had toppled the tree, breaking
the stand. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He proceeded to blame me for
placing it out of his easy reach.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Rather
than argue with a four-year-old, I went straight to the phone and called the
tree manufacturer’s customer service again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>This time, I had them overnight two stands.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The Ward
leadership Christmas party was a success.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>No one even knew the problems we had encountered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We used that tree for many more years,
finally replacing it in 2017.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Last year
in cleaning through Christmas things in the attic, we found the extra stand,
which had never been used, and threw it away.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">One of our
Christmas customs was to get a new ornament each year for each member of the
family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When the children left home for
good (generally signaled by their getting married), I packed up their box of
ornaments to give to them. Several years ago, I gave Christopher our one and
only copy of the sleeping Santa ornament.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> It is now proudly displayed on his tree every year.</span><o:p></o:p></span></p>Gemiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12826638681646513406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7016010838581918904.post-64219218033055895892021-08-12T22:18:00.003-07:002021-12-11T05:42:34.262-08:00The Funeral of My Great Grandmother (Which I Did Not Get to Attend)<p> “If you don’t touch her,” admonished Aunt Berdene as I
stood with her in front of an open casket, “you won’t really believe she is
dead.” I allowed her to take my small
hand and gently stroke the cheek of my recently deceased great grandmother. It was not particularly traumatic to me, but
I do remember feeling hesitant. It was
the first time I had seen a dead human body, let alone touched one. I do
remember thinking she looked lovely. All
the lines of pain and worry had been erased from that face I knew and
loved. I left her viewing that evening,
knowing that the part of her that made her, her, was not still inside the body
she left behind for us to view (and touch).
I knew she was dead. Her skin no longer felt like real skin. I believed
that what the adults were saying was true.
I believed (and still do), that Grandmother Martha Anna Wilcox Westwood
Foy had gone on to a better place.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The next day was to be her funeral.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was to be held at the local Church of
Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (of which we are members) on Locust Lane in
Moab, Utah.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was only one
hitch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With the Uranium boom and the
subsequent population explosion, the local schools did not have enough room for
the increased enrollment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The entire third
grade of the Southeast Elementary I attended, had been moved across the street
to the Church while the school was being enlarged.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I happened to be in that third grade.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">That lovely September morning, I went to school just as
normal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My parents had said nothing to me about the
funeral. I may not have known that it was to be that day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> I just presumed I would be going to her funeral whenever it was to be held. </span>Shortly after the start of the school day, the
principal, Mr. Wimmer, came into the Junior Sunday School room where the entire
third grade was assembled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“We all need to be especially quiet this morning,” he
announced, “because the funeral of a very elderly and well-respected lady, is being
held here today.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I raised my hand. “That’s my Grandma,” I said as it dawned
on me who the funeral was for. “I’m supposed to go to her funeral.” <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“If you are,” replied the principal, “someone will come and
get you.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With that, he left the room,
and we went on with our lessons.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">A short time later that morning, I started hearing organ
music playing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The prelude music for Grandma’s
funeral was starting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Still, no sign of
my parents whom I assumed would appear any minute to escort me down the hall
and into the chapel. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I approached my
teacher, “That’s my grandma,” I said almost tearfully. “I’m supposed to go to
her funeral.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">“If you are,” assured my teacher, “your parents will come
and get you.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I continued to wait, as the prelude music turned into
talking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could make out none of the muffled
words of the prayers and talks although the voices sounded familiar.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Special musical numbers separated the
talking. Slowly, it began to dawn on me that I would not be attending my great grandmother’s
funeral.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I felt defeated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Eventually, I was aware that all the talking
and the music had stopped. My parents and the many relatives undoubtedly had
exited the building to go to the cemetery just a few blocks away from the church.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That afternoon after school, I did not
confront my parents.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t think they
ever knew of my disappointment and hurt at being left out of attending Grandma
Foy’s funeral.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Even today, as I recount this story of the funeral I didn’t get to attend (although I was in the building while it was going on), the tears are
close to the surface.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I find myself
wishing that I had simply slipped out of the classroom and booked it down the
hall to the chapel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could have found
my parents and squeezed in beside them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I doubt anyone would have disrupted the funeral to retrieve me or send
me back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is certainly not my biggest regret
in life, but it is probably the only time I regret being too obedient.<o:p></o:p></p>Gemiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12826638681646513406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7016010838581918904.post-46788239316313511002020-12-25T08:06:00.002-08:002021-12-11T05:51:49.899-08:00Of Missing and Broken Shepherds<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span face=""Helvetica",sans-serif" style="background: white; color: #1c1e21;">By
Gemie Johnson Martin<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span face=""Helvetica",sans-serif" style="background: white; color: #1c1e21;">As I was putting away our Christmas decorations in late December
2019, I was reflecting on how rough it was for shepherds at our house that year.
It started during the summer, when a package arrived from Jericho, Israel. One
of the olivewood figures to the Nativity I purchased while there, a kneeling
shepherd, had broken in transit. I placed a quick call to Jimmy’s Bazaar and
soon another arrived to replace it. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span face=""Helvetica",sans-serif" style="background: white; color: #1c1e21;">For years we have had a hand painted ceramic Nativity set. This
year I placed it to be displayed on a shelf of<span class="textexposedshow"> the
hutch at my husband Jerry’s computer desk to keep it out of easy reach of the smaller
visitors we were expecting. You guessed it. Jerry presented the shepherd to me
in two pieces. I super glued his head back on and returned him to his sheep on
the shelf placing him back a little further from the edge. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span class="textexposedshow"><span face=""Helvetica",sans-serif" style="background: white; color: #1c1e21;">Years ago, my sister Marlene did tole painting.
Pictured is a Nativity puzzle she made. I intentionally put this Nativity down
where the children can play with it. When I went to play with it myself a few
days after Christmas, I realized one figure was missing. It was the shepherd.
We looked high and low for him. I worried that perhaps he had been
inadvertently thrown out with the Christmas wrapping paper and boxes. Photos
taken Christmas morning confirmed that he was with the set on the large table
that sits in the center of our living room as we were opening gifts. After several days, our missing shepherd
finally turned up 20 miles away in Coppell, Texas in my three-year-old
grandson’s new fire truck which had been opened at our house Christmas morning.
Seems this shepherd had taken on a new profession. The stow-a-way shepherd
piece is now safely put away with the rest of the puzzle.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="textexposedshow"></span><span face=""Helvetica",sans-serif" style="background: white; color: #1c1e21;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-dshNGo0YwwlheGl6HJJI9Cv-c7UDGtVya46yZDMQjfWIzJ9iqcRSxBT5Nl00iugJunMZky3dyLPc0n4UWYkt335gR9XT4NA1SpnA0KYdERMmWRaBcRMdiXPrTLQ4LgLA8fWhYRZd1MLj/s231/Blog+Photo+july+2021+3.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="173" data-original-width="231" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-dshNGo0YwwlheGl6HJJI9Cv-c7UDGtVya46yZDMQjfWIzJ9iqcRSxBT5Nl00iugJunMZky3dyLPc0n4UWYkt335gR9XT4NA1SpnA0KYdERMmWRaBcRMdiXPrTLQ4LgLA8fWhYRZd1MLj/w400-h300/Blog+Photo+july+2021+3.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div><p></p>
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<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span class="textexposedshow"><span face=""Helvetica",sans-serif" style="background: white; color: #1c1e21; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;">The shepherd piece is missing from the puzzle in the picture above. </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span class="textexposedshow"><span face=""Helvetica",sans-serif" style="background: white; color: #1c1e21; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjojEdbhmAYNQzpgwDygiPGiQp3bI6Y-ffi_A2VktaNBpBxWXUMpfe4R2ihDJ1OmDO6BgSdOBZxqQ_IVewDHWlUOy2If3UK_dSh3stlXWqM99paBLI9qD3hB6nq6fWX_vik-unyUZYbGHyY/s232/Blog+Photo+july+2021+4.jpg" style="font-size: medium; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="174" data-original-width="232" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjojEdbhmAYNQzpgwDygiPGiQp3bI6Y-ffi_A2VktaNBpBxWXUMpfe4R2ihDJ1OmDO6BgSdOBZxqQ_IVewDHWlUOy2If3UK_dSh3stlXWqM99paBLI9qD3hB6nq6fWX_vik-unyUZYbGHyY/w400-h300/Blog+Photo+july+2021+4.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span class="textexposedshow"><span face=""Helvetica",sans-serif" style="background: white; color: #1c1e21; font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"> The shepherd that was missing is the figure in a brown robe on
the right in the picture above.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span class="textexposedshow"><span face=""Helvetica",sans-serif" style="background: white; color: #1c1e21;">I posted the above story and pictures on
Facebook. The comments of two of my
friends caused me further reflection.
Carma wrote, “The story of the lost shepherd, not sheep. Nice take.” Reflecting on her comment, I started
sensing a deeper meaning in my experience and the place of shepherds in the
Nativity, especially that living Nativity on that first Christmas night. That small babe in the manger, was in fact,
the Son of God, the most important human being ever to be born into
mortality. And he would grow up to liken
Himself to a shepherd and us to his flock. Just as a shepherd watches over his flock of
sheep, so we are watched over by our Savior, the Good Shepherd. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span class="textexposedshow"><span face=""Helvetica",sans-serif" style="background: white; color: #1c1e21;">It was to shepherds that this most important of
births was first announced by angels on that glorious night so many centuries
ago. Shepherds who were at their post, “keeping
watch over their flock. . .” (Luke 2:8). My husband Jerry and I were privileged
to visit what is presumed to be the field where these shepherds experienced
this miraculous event. Those humble shepherds
believed the angel who appeared to them.
They went to worship the newborn babe who was to become the Savior of
the world. Yes, shepherds were very important
in the events that transpired at our Savior’s birth. Their significance should
not be lost to us.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span class="textexposedshow"><span face=""Helvetica",sans-serif" style="background: white; color: #1c1e21;">Our Savior has given us the charge to become
shepherds like Him. “Feed my sheep,” (John 21:17) he directed his early
disciples. Modern prophets have
instructed us that this directive applies to us as well. As ministers, we are to stand in place of
our Savior, the Good Shepherd. We are to
care for and watch over His sheep, our fellow human beings. We are to share the good news of the gospel
with them. We are to love them and care for those of them who need our care. Sister Bonnie H. Cordon in her conference
address entitled “Becoming a Shepherd,” posed the question, “So, how do we
become the shepherds the Lord needs us to become?” Her answer, “. . . we can
look to our Savior Jesus Christ—the Good Shepherd. The Savior’s sheep were
known and numbered, they were watched over, and they </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21;">were gathered into the
fold of God.” (October 2018)</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBY6-z8-JDLQlhVQW1fKlkDjlVr025AK1UduSy_j_yhbgN0tXgLUfs62dmhDk2_q00yfLZT3B-B-OmMql8ZItLQ_jGLD7GxZAIzF_4Q7dyQIbFJjmdyf4nywQJtdonc8Wu9JcEwTt143U0/s269/Blog+Photo+july+2021.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="269" data-original-width="206" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBY6-z8-JDLQlhVQW1fKlkDjlVr025AK1UduSy_j_yhbgN0tXgLUfs62dmhDk2_q00yfLZT3B-B-OmMql8ZItLQ_jGLD7GxZAIzF_4Q7dyQIbFJjmdyf4nywQJtdonc8Wu9JcEwTt143U0/w306-h400/Blog+Photo+july+2021.jpg" width="306" /></a></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; text-align: center;">But we are not perfect like our Savior. Unlike Him, we sometimes make mistakes in our lives. At times, we find ourselves off course. As imperfect beings, subject to temptations and sin, we may find ourselves in places we are not supposed to go, doing things we are not supposed to be doing (as was the case of my puzzle piece shepherd). We may also neglect to do the things we should be doing, like ministering to others. In short, we may wander from or leave our post.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span class="textexposedshow"><span face=""Helvetica",sans-serif" style="background: white; color: #1c1e21;">When I discovered the broken olivewood shepherd and contacted the shop owner in Jericho, he not only promised to send me a shepherd to replace the broken one, he also suggested I glue that broken shepherd back together and keep him. I took his advice and now have two almost identical kneeling shepherds. I must look hard to determine which is the one that was broken and where the break occurred.</span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><v:shape id="Picture_x0020_3" o:spid="_x0000_s1028" style="height: 268.5pt; margin-left: 0.05pt; margin-top: 7.05pt; mso-height-percent: 0; mso-height-relative: page; mso-position-horizontal-relative: text; mso-position-horizontal: absolute; mso-position-vertical-relative: text; mso-position-vertical: absolute; mso-width-percent: 0; mso-width-relative: page; mso-wrap-distance-bottom: 0; mso-wrap-distance-left: 9pt; mso-wrap-distance-right: 9pt; mso-wrap-distance-top: 0; mso-wrap-style: square; position: absolute; text-align: left; visibility: visible; width: 205.95pt; z-index: -251657216;" type="#_x0000_t75">
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</w:wrap></v:imagedata></v:shape></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="textexposedshow"><span face=""Helvetica",sans-serif" style="background: white; color: #1c1e21;">The Atonement works like this in our
lives. Our Savior, the Good Shepherd,
has made it possible through His Atonement for us to become like new
again. The only blameless person to ever
live, He needs no repairs in the form of repentance. In accomplishing the
Atonement, He “. . .descended below [us] all.” (D&C 122:8) In some
miraculous way, He suffered for all our sins and infirmities so that we do not
have to suffer if we but choose to embrace the Gospel, repent of our wrongs and
follow in His footsteps. As my friend Judy commented, “. . .</span></span><span face=""Helvetica",sans-serif" style="background: rgb(242, 243, 245); color: #1c1e21;">
the Master Shepherd wants all of His shepherds with him! He will seek for them, repair their broken
parts, and accepts them no matter how far they have gone astray. He prepares a way for their return.” </span><span class="textexposedshow"><span face=""Helvetica",sans-serif" style="background: white; color: #1c1e21;">Just as I was glad to have my shepherd Nativity
puzzle piece back, so will our Savior rejoice when His lost sheep (including
lost shepherds) return to the fold.</span></span></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span class="textexposedshow"><span face=""Helvetica",sans-serif" style="background: white; color: #1c1e21;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEielGL2bCdbkSYw0asCUp_1HxANTM9JbNbngY2_fimcn8MZ7b6EeAxElEe93QbojDG71XlG6mF6bBnss2q0n-SCPnym7Xr9ohb6mVJy96OorEaak_HjeUZKDnQEnTxb2shkVNUBHe1b1vyJ/s268/Blog+Photo+July+2021+2.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="268" data-original-width="201" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEielGL2bCdbkSYw0asCUp_1HxANTM9JbNbngY2_fimcn8MZ7b6EeAxElEe93QbojDG71XlG6mF6bBnss2q0n-SCPnym7Xr9ohb6mVJy96OorEaak_HjeUZKDnQEnTxb2shkVNUBHe1b1vyJ/w300-h400/Blog+Photo+July+2021+2.jpg" width="300" /></a></span></span></p>
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<p class="MsoCaption"><span color="windowtext" style="font-size: 11pt;">You see
a faint white line around the neck of this shepherd where his head was
glued back on and a white chip at the base of his neck.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
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</w:wrap></v:shape><span class="textexposedshow"></span></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="textexposedshow"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21;">A tiny chip marks the spot where my ceramic
shepherd was broken. I may or may not
purchase some flesh-colored paint to cover this chip (which shows up as a small
white spot at the base of the shepherd’s neck).
He was broken, through no fault of his own, when someone carelessly knocked
him from his place in the display. Often, like the ceramic and olivewood
shepherds, our brokenness is not due to sin on our part. Sometimes we are damaged through the wrongful
choices of others. We can also suffer heavy burdens and trials as we go through
this imperfect mortal existence. Again, our Savior stands ready, through His
Atonement to comfort and heal us of our hurts and imperfections. He not only suffered for our sins, but for
our hurts and infirmities “. . . that his bowels may be filled with mercy . . .
that he may know according to the flesh how to succor his people. . .” (see Alma
7: 11, 12). In other words, because of his suffering, he knows how to care for
us and what we need to heal from our sufferings. In time, healing will take place.</span></span></div><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span class="textexposedshow"><span face=""Helvetica",sans-serif" style="background: white; color: #1c1e21;">There is security in knowing that The Good
Shepherd, our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, will never get lost, or leave his
post. He stands as a constant beacon,
showing us the way to happiness and Eternal life. That is His purpose (see Moses 1:39). <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span class="textexposedshow"><span face=""Helvetica",sans-serif" style="background: white; color: #1c1e21;">I’m going forward in this new year and new
decade with a renewed effort to follow Him who showed us the way to be good
shepherds. I have committed to memory the
thoughts and feelings I had as I so recently stood in the field where the
glorious announcement was made to those shepherds over two millennia ago. I will pray more earnestly to know what the
Good Shepherd would have me do in His place with those “sheep” who come within
my sphere of influence and care. I will
try harder to be like Jesus, the Good Shepherd.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><br />Gemiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12826638681646513406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7016010838581918904.post-58777439502481150662020-04-08T05:03:00.000-07:002020-04-09T20:18:35.747-07:00Evidences of the Power of Fasting and Prayer in My Life<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="23ahq" data-offset-key="cie2o-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="cie2o-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="cie2o-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">My mother had had rheumatic fever as a child and it had damaged her heart. During my Freshman </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">year, she became very ill with what the doctors presumed to be trouble with her heart valves. At a Stake conference, the Stake President called for a special fast for two members of the Stake. One of those was my mother. The Stake fasted for the two individuals. My mother was scheduled a short time later for open heart surgery. In the pre-op visit, it occurred to the doctor to see if her thyroid function had been checked. It had not; so he called for further testing to rule out a thyroid disorder. The diagnosis came back that she had Graves Disease. Instead of the surgery, she began treatment to suppress the over-activity of her thyroid gland. She responded well to the medications and her heart symptoms disappeared. The surgery that was scheduled was never needed. Coincidence? I think not. I firmly believe that doctor was inspired by a higher power to check out one more thing before stopping my mothers heart. She lived to be 86 despite many other autoimmune disorders and difficult medical conditions.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="23ahq" data-offset-key="16n5e-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #1c1e21; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="16n5e-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">While we were serving a mission for our Church in Southern California, we learned we were expecting another grandchild. Of course we were overjoyed! Then we received news from our daughter that according to the sonogram, our new grandchild may be born with congenital birth defects. They ruled out Downs Syndrome, but told our daughter and her husband that the placental abnormalities meant that more testing would need to be done to see if there were birth defects. On the day of the testing, Jerry and I fasted and prayed. It was during a week of Zone Conferences. Jerry must have said many silent prayers that day, but as the Mission President, he was not able to leave the Zone Conference. At the time the test was to be done, I remember slipping out of the conference, finding a quiet room in the Church building we were at, kneeling down and pouring my heart out to my Heavenly Father. I remember assuring him that I would be prepared to love and accept any child we would be sent but asked that if it were possible, our grandchild would be born without birth defects. Before I went back into the conference, I heard from my daughter. They could find nothing wrong with her baby. There is something extra special about that creative, energetic, and very normal child. </span></div>
</div>
Gemiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12826638681646513406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7016010838581918904.post-35110151684555294852020-01-21T09:55:00.000-08:002020-02-02T04:56:46.408-08:00Warned by The Holy SpiritI represent The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in Collin County on the Collin County VOAD Council (Volunteer Organizations Active in Disasters). It is a council where many different organizations get together to pool resources and make plans on how we can work together to cope in the event a disaster were one to happen in our area. I fall into the group of those representing a Faith Based Organization, namely the Church. The Collin County VOAD generally meets on the first Wednesday of each month at 9:00 a.m. in different locations many of them City and County government offices.<br />
<br />
About a year ago our VOAD meeting was to be held in McKinney, Texas about 30 miles away from where I live. It was to be a breakfast meeting. I got ready to leave for the meeting and realized I had a few minutes to do a task before I left. I thought of something I could do, but realized there was not time to do it before time for me to leave. The words went through my mind, "You don't have time to do that, but you do have time to check your blood sugar."<br />
<br />
I have Type II Diabetes. I should confess that I was not as good to take my blood sugar readings as often as I should have. Back then especially, I would eat when I was hungry, take my Metformin (a medication to lower blood sugar) and just rely on symptoms such as shakiness, brain fog, and hunger to suspect my blood sugar was too low. I should also say, it rarely happened that I would have low blood sugar. On this particular morning, the only symptom I had that my blood sugar may be low was hunger, but like Scarlett O'Hara, I would ". . . do my eat'n at the Barbecue," (or in this case the VOAD meeting).<br />
<br />
"Yes," I remember saying to myself, "I do have time to take my blood sugar." I got out my blood sugar monitor and proceeded to test myself. I had to blink at the results that popped up on the monitor. I had never seen a reading as low as 44. I pressed the submit button on the monitor, sending the information to the system I was connected to (Livongo at that time). "That can't be right," I remember thinking. I tested again with the same result. Just in case it was correct, I went to the pantry and retrieved some peanut butter crackers and hastily downed those.<br />
<br />
After eating the crackers, I went about trying to find another blood glucose meter. I had some other meters that I used before my insurance company sent the Livongo brand meter out to me. Failing to find a satisfactory meter, I checked my phone which had beeped. It had a message from Livongo. "We must hear from you immediately," the words read and there was a phone number to call. I called the phone number and began explaining what was going on to the customer service representative on the other end. After I assured the representative that I had eaten, he proceeded to talk me through testing my meter. It tested out as accurate.<br />
<br />
After thanking my helper, drinking some orange juice, and checking my blood sugar again, I determined it was safe for me to drive to McKinney. On the way to my destination, I began pondering this experience. I realized that if I had not tested my blood sugar, I could have been in serious trouble as I drove the 45 minutes it would take me to get to my destination. I realized that it was the Holy Ghost who had prompted me to check my blood sugar. And even though I did not recognize it at the time, the prompting came in much the same way as other promptings have. Instead of thinking, "<b>I</b> have time to check MY blood sugar," the words in my mind were, "YOU have time to check YOUR blood sugar." This should have been a clue to me. The Holy Spirit had once again spoken to me in the second person as He so often does. I said a quick and silent prayer to my Heavenly Father thanking Him for sending two angels to watch over me that morning. I arrived at the meeting about 20 minutes late.<br />
<br />
I have since gone off that insurance plan and onto Medicare which does not pay for a monitoring service. It would cost me $50.00 to have Livongo continue to do that. I decided I could take on the responsibility of monitoring my blood sugar myself. I am also happy to report that I have also gone on a very low carbohydrate diet and am now controlling my blood sugar without medication, but that's another story for another time.Gemiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12826638681646513406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7016010838581918904.post-7296485972981681152019-09-04T14:16:00.000-07:002019-09-04T14:16:47.354-07:00Hanging Out on the Moab Rim<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I remember
being afraid of heights as early as kindergarten.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the top of the playground slide, I
chickened out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No amount of coaxing or
encouraging from my teacher or classmates could persuade me to slide down what
was really a very high slide (especially to a five-year old).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Eventually, every child awaiting their turn
to slide on the rungs below me had to back down so I could climb down the way I
had climbed up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That is why the predicament
I found myself in as a teen-aged girl one hot summer day was so unlikely.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Let me
explain that I was a very foolish teen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I was also a very prideful teen and that plays into what happened on
this particular day on the Moab Rim high above my hometown, Moab, Utah when a
small group of friends and I decided to hike up to the ruins of an old Indian
fort that sits back in behind the rim. The Moab Rim is a tall Navajo Sandstone
formation that runs along the South and West side of the Moab valley.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I had first visited
what we referred to as the “Indian Fort” when my mother hiked a group of us (my
siblings, cousins, and me) up there several years earlier.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mama had fond memories of hiking to it as a young
girl and wanted to share those memories with us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once we had visited the old Indian Fort, it
became a favorite destination for us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It is not an easy hike.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The ascent
to the top of the Moab Rim is basically straight up though you can get there on
a trail without ropes or other equipment. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The trail starts near what was my grandmother,
Etholen Holyoak’s home which was nestled up against the foothills just below
the Moab Rim South of Moab along what is now Highway 191. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">There were
four of us making the trek that day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our
group was a small one comprised of myself, my cousin Holly, and our friends
Jeanine and Theresa.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In order to get an
early start, we had slept over the night before at grandma’s house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had spent a fun night listening to 50’s
and 60’s music, talking about boy’s, eating our favorite snacks, including some
of our favorite goodies baked by Gram (as we lovingly referred to her).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We did have another friend Dixie, who also
attended the slumber party, but whose mother declined to allow her make the
hike with us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She would later say she
felt her mother was inspired not to allow her to go with us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It may have changed the outcome of what was
to happen that day.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We arose
early the next morning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Gram had made us
wonderful, fluffy pancakes that we quickly wolfed down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After breakfast we were ready to make our
trek up the Moab Rim and back into the Indian Fort.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Our provisions were our canteens filled with cold water and two
additional partially-filled gallon bottles of water which we had frozen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think we each packed a peanut butter sandwich
to eat for lunch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">If my memory
serves me right, we were taking turns carrying the gallon jugs of water as we
made our way up the mountainside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On the
way up those bottles of water became heavy and we eventually cashed (found a
place to stash) them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That meant the
only water we would have would be in our individual canteens.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Each time we cashed our water supply, we
refilled our canteens as best we could and hid the gallon jugs in shaded areas
behind red rocks which are so abundant along the trail.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We rationalized that the cashed water would
come in handy during the late afternoon when we would be making our descent.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The hike to
the top, though difficult was uneventful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once at the top, we made our way
back to the fort on flat ground.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By the
time we got to it we were somewhat rested from our grueling ascent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a hot day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We began to regret that we had left our extra
water.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But we climbed up through a slit
to the flat top of the red rock formation where parts of the ancient fort
remained.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remember thinking those
ancient Native Americans were smart to build the fort where they did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>By the time the enemy had stormed the rim,
they would be too exhausted to fight.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We were
joined by another friend, Jeff, who came up a different way. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had invited him to come join us, along with
another guy friend who did not come.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It
was fun to have Jeff visit, but feeling quite outnumbered as the lone guy, he soon
left us and was off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can’t remember
when we decided it was time to make our way back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We knew we needed to get home before
sundown.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because we had exhausted our
water supply and it was a hot summer day, we eventually decided to find our way
back to the place where we would make our descent into the Moab Valley and Gram’s
home where ice cold water and possibly a treat would be waiting for us.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The cashed
water was really calling to me as I made it down the hill, with my three
companions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When we were about a third
of the way down, I decided there was likely a shorter more direct way down, and
I determined to find it. The others were leery of this, and smartly stayed with
the known path.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Their attempts to
convince me of my folly were to no avail.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I separated from them and went on what I thought would be a straighter
more direct path down the mountainside.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The rest of
the group kept calling out to me to make sure I was still all right.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I resented their lack of trust of my climbing
abilities, but begrudgingly kept replying. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At one point, I got down on the seat of my jeans
to lower myself over what was a small rounded ledge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A small rock was wedged between two pieces of
slick rock.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I put my foot onto the
rock, it moved slightly as it lodged itself even more deeply into the crevice
between the two large rocks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I attempted
to remove it thinking it might be dangerous to anyone else traversing the same
terrain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In attempting to dislodge the
rock, my empty canteen became detached and fell down the mountainside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was shocked at how long it took for my
canteen to hit the edge of a ledge below, (which ledge I was attempting to get down to).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a
lot further down to that ledge than I realized.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The canteen barely hit the edge of the ledge before it fell further down
the hillside never to be seen by me again. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The closer ledge, which I did climb down onto, was much more narrow than I had
perceived it to be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> As soon as </span>I made it down to
that ledge, I quickly determined I was in trouble. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could not go up or down safely.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I swallowed my pride and called out to my
friends.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It was my
cousin Holly who came creeping cautiously along the ledge below me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When she saw me perched precariously on the
ledge above her, she turned white.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“Gem,” she commanded very sternly, “don’t move.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We will come up to get you.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I pondered
my situation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I mentioned, I was a
very prideful youth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was also worried
that in trying to rescue me, one or more of them would fall to their death or
serious injury.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That fear, coupled with
my pride, were the reasons I determined that I must get back up over the top of
the rounded ledge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I turned around on
the tiny ledge I was on and searched for foot and hand holds.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Not sticking
to the trail had been a big mistake for me to make.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Deciding to disobey my cousin’s commands to
stay put, turned out to be another serious mistake.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In attempting to get back up, I lost my
footing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am not sure exactly how it
happened, but instead of falling, I found myself clinging to the little wedged
rock that I had previously tried to get rid of.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It was all that was keeping me from a fall to almost certain death!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My heart was beating wildly in my ears.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I must have had to jump some to reach the
rock I was clinging to, because the ledge I had been standing on was now within
only tip-toe range of my feet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That was
my situation when the group reached me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">When they
arrived to find me in my predicament, the girls above me began talking among themselves about what they should do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I shared
with them my fear that I would dislodge the rock I was clinging to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Eventually, they decided they would form a
human chain, anchored by a large red-rock sandstone boulder perched near the edge
of the rounded ledge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was so large
they reasoned, that it was not going anywhere even if all our weight was on
it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One of the girls, Theresa, got
behind the boulder, straddling it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She
extended her right arm to Holly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Holly
reached toward her with her left arm and hand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Teresa and Holly interlocked wrists.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Holly and Jeanine likewise interlocked wrists.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jeannine, then extended her leg down over the
edge for me to grasp.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It took some
maneuvering, and some coaxing (remember that I was worried I would pull the
girls off the cliff with me), but I eventually did reach my right arm up, and
grasp Jeanine’s ankle with my right hand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I kept my left hand holding tightly on the wedged rock which had thus
far saved me. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I braced my feet against
the face of a slick-rock formation which I found myself up against. The tip of the toes of one foot were barely touching the narrow shelf I had been standing on. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It was very
uncomfortable being in the position I was in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>My back especially was in a considerable amount of pain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would attempt to put more weight on my feet
to ease the spasms in my back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Though I
was in excruciating back pain, my arms and hands were numb.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could not feel my arms and hands well
enough to determine how firm my grip was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I feared that I would relax my hold on Jeannine’s leg and the rock.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I kept asking Jeanine if I was holding tight
enough.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My friend kept assuring me that
I was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m betting she had quite a
bruise on that leg when our ordeal was over.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We were all extremely
thirsty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My mouth felt like it was filled
with hot, dry cotton balls. I am sure the other girls felt the same.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We regretted cashing our water, which was now
below us on the trail.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We should be
enjoying that warm, wet liquid which would hardly have been refreshing but at
least would have helped re-hydrate us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
decision to leave most of it, had been our first mistake, and for the other
three girls, their only mistake.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">My companions kept calling out for help, in the hopes that their voices would carry down the
mountain and get the attention of someone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“One, two, three,” one of them would count, and then she would be joined
by the others with, “HELP.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Eventually,
we did get the attention of a young man riding his horse on a trail below
us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“No thanks,” he called up to the pleas
of my companions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He and his horse had a
few years earlier come to the rescue of my brother who was having a difficult
time getting down off of the mountain, due to a medical condition.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even though that young man refused to come to
our aid, I believe he may have helped us by alerting someone (perhaps my
grandmother) to our strange predicament.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">As the sun
sank lower in the sky, my friends noticed my father’s car pulling up into the
driveway of my Uncle Dan whose property adjoined my grandmother’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>According to my companions, two figures
emerged from the car and began making their way swiftly up the trail.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Being so far away, they were
unrecognizable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One of them stopped and
remained stationary, in a little sagebrush clearing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That person, according to my companions was
wearing a white shirt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I determined that
person to be my mother Genevieve Johnson. “She’s praying,” I stated, emotion
welling up inside me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I could have produced
tears, I would have begun to cry.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;">It soon
became apparent that the other figure was my father, Loren Johnson.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">Dad wasted no time climbing up to us.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">His long legs and the adrenaline that must
have been rushing through his veins, had likely given him the strength to
practically run up the hill.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I was
fearful that he would die of a heart attack trying to reach and rescue me.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">As he approached us, he removed his belt and
hooked it back together again so it formed a circle.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">He crouched down low at the rounded edge of
the cliff and extended the unhooked part of the loop down to me, holding
tightly with each of his hands to the belt on either side of the buckle.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">He instructed </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">me to grab it one hand at a time.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">At first, I was fearful of letting go of each
of my strong holds, but I knew I had no choice.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">
</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">As soon as I let go of Jeanine’s leg, and grabbed onto the belt, the girls quickly backed away from the edge.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I was relieved that
at least they would be safe.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">When I had
one arm through the belt, and both hands locked around the opposite wrist, Dad
pulled me to safety.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Violent sobs
racked both of our bodies as we hugged each other.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You’re okay now,” comforted my father
between sobs. I think I can count the times I saw my father cry on one
hand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then he called out to my mother,
“She’s safe now Genevieve.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We all waved
down to the white-shirted figure who arose and began to make her way back to
her childhood home to inform anxious family members that the danger was over.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My mother’s prayers always seemed to be
answered, and this time was thankfully no exception.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The sun was
swiftly dipping behind the Moab rim and we had no time to waste in making our
descent the rest of the way down to my grandmother’s home and the nice cool
water and treats she had made for us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
don’t think we even took time to search for our cashed water.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remember being very shaky and needing Dad’s
strong arms to steady me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I kept
whimpering, and the others kept comforting me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Over and over, I apologized to them for what I had put them
through.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They each assured me that they
were just glad it had ended well for all of us. The four of them (my father, my
cousin Holly, and my friends Jeannine and Theresa) will always be my
heroes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They saved my life and I will be
forever grateful to each one of them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">As I
descended, I kept looking back to the site where I had been, suspended on the
Moab Rim on a slick rock formation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Daddy
kept urging me on because we had no time to stop and look back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Many years later, I can still identify the
spot where I was.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">My father
never talked of the incident to me again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Years later
as my aunt Berdene Gramlich, my grandmother Ruth Johnson and I we were driving North
out of the Moab valley, to attend a relative’s funeral in Provo, Utah, I remember
my paternal grandmother professing her love for Moab.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I love every red rock in this valley,” she ardently
proclaimed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think I can echo my
grandmother’s sentiment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But there is
one rock I have a special fondness for.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>For all I know, it may still be wedged in the crevice of a slick rock
formation on the face of the Moab Rim. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />Gemiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12826638681646513406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7016010838581918904.post-39734169983228335482018-12-25T05:29:00.002-08:002018-12-25T05:47:22.055-08:00Reflections on Christmas 1982 (Jenae's First Christmas)<br />
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 4.5pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-size: 11pt;">I am remembering
this day (December 25th) 36 years ago. Two days earlier, I had given birth to
our fourth child (and fourth daughter). We had named her Jenae.</span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 4.5pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-size: 11.0pt;">Jenae was a
beautiful little baby with a cute little turned up nose, black hair, dark eyes,
and yellow skin. The yellow skin was due to jaundice. The pediatrician was
concerned that it had come on so early. She needed testing, and she needed
photo therapy to break up the bilirubin. I was still hopeful that we would be
able to go home in time to celebr<span class="textexposedshow">ate Christmas Eve
and Christmas Day with my husband and our three oldest daughters. But it was
not to be. My doctor released me to go home, but Jenae's numbers were not good.
She would need to stay in the hospital under the lights. I determined to stay
in the hospital with her.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 4.5pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-size: 11.0pt;">Camie, aged six,
had been marking off each December day on a calendar she had been given at
school. She was anticipating the visit from a certain “jolly old elf” that was
to deliver gifts to her and her siblings on Christmas Eve. Jerry explained the
situation to Camie who then wrote her second letter to Santa, explaining the
situation and requesting that he delay his visit by one day.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 4.5pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 4.5pt;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-size: 11.0pt;">Christmas
day was very quiet and peaceful. Jenae was brought to me in a Christmas
stocking with a red bow (in lieu of pink) pasted in her hair. I snuggled with
her when she wasn't under the lights, and listened to the music of The Mormon
Tabernacle Choir. I reflected on the birth of my Savior so many centuries
earlier. Christmas 1982 will go down as one of my most special Christmas
memories.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 4.5pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 4.5pt;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-size: 11.0pt;">The next
day, Jenae was still not ready to go home. She would need to stay at least one
more day under the lights. With a somewhat heavy heart, I released my tiny infant to the capable care of the nursery staff at Medical City Dallas and left the
hospital with empty arms.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 4.5pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 4.5pt;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-size: 11.0pt;">We had a
wonderful "Christmas Eve" and "Christmas Day." Santa honored Camie's request and
delivered Christmas gifts to all of us (albeit a day later than normal). The
nurses at the hospital called to give me frequent updates on Jenae.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: 4.5pt; margin-left: 0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 4.5pt;">
<span style="color: #1d2129; font-size: 11.0pt;">On December 27<sup>th</sup>, Jerry drove Camie, Alyssa, Kindra, and me to
pick up our newest family member. This time I exited the hospital with a cute little bundle. She was our best Christmas gift ever!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />Gemiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12826638681646513406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7016010838581918904.post-59684832336523894952017-12-24T21:59:00.000-08:002018-04-29T14:38:18.192-07:00CHRISTMAS EVE, 1971 <div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
The most memorable Christmas Eve of my youth almost didn’t
happen. Let me start by explaining that
I was the eldest of eight children. Being
from a large and relatively poor family, meant that many of the Christmas gifts
we were given were hand-made gifts.
Luckily my parents were talented, so these hand-made gifts were quality
gifts. Some scrap lumber may become a
lovely child sized dish cabinet. A large
empty laundry box, covered in contact paper might be re-purposed to become a
wardrobe for a new fashion doll. Pretty
much every year at least one or two of us got something made with a little more love than the gifts received by most of our peers. This
particular Christmas Eve when I was half way through my senior year in high
school was destined to become no different.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I’ve found every single one of my gifts except one,” confided
seven-year-old April to me as I was urging her to bed that night so that Santa Clause
could come. It was no secret to any of
us that April peeked at her gifts before Christmas. She would none-the-less act very surprised as
she opened each gift Christmas morning.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Oh,” I asked, my interest piqued, “what gift are you expecting that
you haven’t found?” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“A doll like Julie got last year,” was her answer. After tucking my young sister into bed, I approached my
mother with the sad news that Mrs. Santa was one gift short of her
next-to-the-youngest child’s expectations.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Mama was alarmed. “I
wish I had found this out a few days earlier,” she remarked, (but I could
already see the wheels in her talented head turning). <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We went to Mama’s store of fabric and she started rummaging
through it. The year before, she had
made a Raggedy-Ann doll for Julie, who was two-and-a-half years older than
April. Luckily she was able to find
enough red yarn for the hair of another doll.
Between the flesh colored fabric left over from last year’s project and
an old sheet, we had enough for the body. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“We will have to make
the doll fairly large,” explained my mother.
“We don’t have time to make it a dress too, so it will need to fit one
of the dresses we already have.” Mama
found just the right dress. It was
probably even one April had worn as a toddler (before passing it down to our youngest sister Marvelee, of course).<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I don’t know what are going to stuff her with,” said
Mama. “I will have to think about
that.” I became concerned. I had visions of all my treasured stuffed
animals being robbed of their innards.
This was happening in Moab, Utah, after all. There were no stores open to cater to late
night shoppers who needed just one more item.
Then Mama hit on just the right stuffed toy. A large toy dog, which had certainly seen
better days, was earmarked for extinction, (and it was not my dog)! I breathed a sigh of relief. Nothing in my
collection would need to be “sacrificed.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My sister Marlene, who was two years younger than me, was enlisted to
help. So it was that three of us set about to make one little girl’s Christmas dream
come true. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We came up with a pattern (which mostly came out of Mama’s
head), and began cutting. As the head was
being cut out, Mama began threading a needle and set about embroidering a face
on the doll. I sewed the doll as Marlene
began stuffing the various limbs. I
remember this Raggedy Ann somehow had the trade-marked stripped stockings and
black shoes. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As the night wore on, we became giddy with laughter (which
Mama tried to contain so as to prevent us from awakening the household). This was the
most fun I had ever had on a Christmas Eve!
As the dog, shrunk, the doll grew.
We had just enough white fabric to fashion a pinafore and an hour or two
before sunrise, a beautiful Raggedy-Ann doll was placed under the tree, and Mrs. Santa and two weary “elves” stumbled off to their beds.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We were awakened about an hour later by shrieks of delight
as an excited little girl discovered her new doll. “I just knew I was going to get this!”
exclaimed our little sister. “Now tell
me,” she queried, “just where were you hiding her?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Santa brought her,” was the only answer that came to mind.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
Gemiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12826638681646513406noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7016010838581918904.post-24996378337769874702017-11-23T03:35:00.001-08:002017-11-23T04:07:15.065-08:00Our first Thanksgiving as a Family<div class="MsoNormal">
It has been 41 years since Jerry and I welcomed our eldest
child into our home. She was born on a
Sunday afternoon, November 21, 1976 at about 2:30 PM. She weighed 6 pounds 14 ounces and was 19
inches long. We named her Camie and we fell instantly in love with her! She had black hair and dark eyes (which soon
went brown). She was a tiny Spanish beauty
even though only a quarter of her ancestry is from Spain<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My aunt, Alice Johnson, was in attendance at her birth. This was not planned. She was the head nurse in the nursery at Utah
Valley Hospital. When my attending nurse
became extra ornery, my husband marched her down the hall to the nursery and informed
her she was trading places with my aunt.
The hospital for some wonderful reason allowed this, and Aunt Alice
stayed with us. She was not a labor and
delivery nurse, but she was a vast improvement over the nurse I had and was very professional. She timed contractions was very comforting
and calming. I remember that she marked the time of birth.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As soon as Camie arrived, we began calling to announce to
our parents that they were grandparents.
For my parents, this was their first grandchild. For my maternal grandmother, this was her
first great grandchild. Both our families were in Church, so we couldn’t reach
anyone to tell them this most exciting news.
It was a couple of hours before we were able to let them know they had a
new granddaughter/great granddaughter/niece.
Of course, they were overjoyed at the wonderful news. My mother immediately began planning to make
the 200 mile trip to come and welcome her first grandchild.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Aunt Alice warned us that Camie was an “angry baby” when she
would bring her in from the nursery for her feedings. Camie immediately began experiencing colic. She
spent her first night at home sleeping on her daddy’s chest, where his
heartbeat lulled her and allowed us to get a few hours rest. When Grandma arrived, she spent hours
carrying Camie around, trying to soothe her.
After we had spent several sleepless nights, Jerry called on my mother
to say the family prayer. I remember
some of the words of that prayer.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Heavenly Father,’ she pleaded, “we all need some sleep,
especially Camie. Six o’clock would be a
nice time for her to wake up.” Camie
slept through that night. She awakened,
crying at exactly 6:00 AM to the second. We learned many lessons from my mother. One of those was to be specific in your
prayers. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember feeling guilty that my mother was not in her home
in Moab, Utah cooking Thanksgiving for the family there. I was the oldest of eight children and most
of the rest were still at home. I am
sure extended family pitched in to help with the family in Moab. Mama cooked a wonderful Thanksgiving dinner
for the four of us there in Provo, Utah.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As soon as she was able, my Grandmother Holyoak came up from Moab to
see her first great grandchild. She was
quite elderly and had really looked forward to having great grandchildren
fearing that she would be gone before getting any. She may have been just as excited as my
mother to have Camie born. Just before
the family arrived for this visit, I accidentally stuck my infant daughter with
a diaper pin while changing her diaper. Every time Camie looked at me she would
start to wail remembering her injury. I remember worrying that they (the
family) would think I was an incompetent mother. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I received some good advice from my grandmother on child
rearing. She said, “They never feel well
until they have had their bath.” She
advocated bathing Camie first thing in the morning. Her baths seemed to calm my fussy
daughter. Now the advice is different,
but back then, that was good advice and it worked for all eight of my babies. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was also worried about spoiling my daughter. Grandma told me that was nonsense. “You can’t spoil a child under a year old,”
she informed me. “You can easily un-spoil
them,” she continued, “but it’s hard to make up for lost attention.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was worried that Camie wanted her feedings too close
together. Grandma emphatically told me. “You don’t tell her when she SHOULD
be hungry; she will tell you when she IS hungry!”<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
When Camie was about a month old, we made the trip out to San Jose, California so she could meet her grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousin out there. I remember Grandma Martin giving her the first tub bath in her sink. It was so fun sharing her with them. We had a fun Christmas there with them. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
So armed with some sage advice on the part of her grandmothers her great grandmother, and Aunt Alice, we muddled through the first
few months and year. Camie had no time
for cuddling. She was too busy learning
and doing, to waste time snuggling. When
I would try to cuddle with her, she would stiffen up and look over my
shoulder. She began walking at around 10
months of age. About that time she became much less fussy. She was a bright little
baby who seemed more like an adult, trapped in an infant’s body. Her first word at around 10 months of age was
“flower” (“wow-uh” as she would say).<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When my mother was born, her mother had crocheted some baby
shoes for her to be blessed in. I was also
blessed in them as was Camie. I gave
them to Camie when she was pregnant with her oldest son (before we knew she was
having a boy). So today, she will be here for Thanksgiving dinner with her
husband Spencer and their five children. Their youngest is a daughter who was blessed in the shoes her great, great grandmother crocheted.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jerry and I have many wonderful blessings we are thankful
for. Not the least of these is our
wonderful, beautiful, oldest child. So
glad you got to make our first Thanksgiving together so wonderful Camie!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
Gemiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12826638681646513406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7016010838581918904.post-61330890929040301032017-11-05T07:35:00.013-08:002021-12-10T07:26:58.450-08:00Remembering the Account of a Murder/Kidnapping Near Moab, Utah in 1961<div class="MsoNormal">
When I was seven years old, my parents Loren and Genevieve Johnson let an unemployed man named
Abel Aragon, from Price Utah, camp out in our peach orchard. Mr. Aragon, a decorated WWII veteran was
looking for work in Moab, Utah where we lived.
According to Mama, he was somewhat disgruntled that he had sacrificed
for his country, but was unable to find the employment necessary to support his
family after he returned. Mama seemed under the impression
that he had some mental problems which she attributed to his war experiences. I
am not sure how my parents became acquainted with Mr. Aragon, but they felt
sorry for him and did not feel he posed any danger to their family. My brother Bud (Loren Johnson Jr.) remembers Mr. Aragon's stay with us better than I do, and even remembers sharing some donuts with him. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I do not know how long it was after he left our property,
that Mr. Aragon held some tourists up at gunpoint near Dead Horse Point State Park and
shot a woman and her companion. The woman,
Jeannette Sullivan died at the scene. Her companion, Charles Boothroyd, was left
for dead, but survived to tell the story.
The woman’s 15 year old daughter Dennise was in the car when her mother
was shot and attempted to drive away. Dennise
had never driven a car before and Mr. Aragon was able to force the car she was
driving off the road. He then forced her
into his car, kidnapping her. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Three days later on July 7th, Able Aragon was stopped in a road block at
Crescent Junction, Utah (about 40 miles north of Moab) where he fatally shot himself
in the head. He was alone at the
time. The whereabouts of Dennise was not
known. She is presumed to have been
murdered by him. To this day, her body has not
been recovered. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My parents did not talk much about this incident within my
earshot, but I was aware of it. I began
having nightmares and was noticeably more anxious than normal during the
day. Mama began to question me in order
to determine what my problems were. I
confided to her that I was worried about being kidnapped. I remember her assuring me. “You don’t
have to worry about being kidnapped; your parents are poor.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal"><br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Hallelujah, we’re poor,” I remember thinking. I immediately felt more secure, wrapped in
the protection of our poverty. Mama did
not tie the reason for my fear to the kidnapping of Dennise Sullivan, who was
likely taken because she was a witness to the murder and attempted murder. It wasn’t until I was several years older that I realized I
could be kidnapped for reasons other than ransom.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
To read more about the incident, read the account of the
Deseret News reporter who won a Pulitzer prize for his reporting of this story:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span face=""calibri" , "sans-serif"" style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://www.deseretnews.com/article/640192066/Dogged-pursuit-of-story-paid-off.html">www.deseretnews.com/article/640192066/Dogged-pursuit-of-story-paid-off.html</a></span><div><br /></div><div>Also see this article by Jim Stiles: https://www.canyoncountryzephyr.com/2021/05/31/july-4-1961-murder-the-enduring-mystery-at-dead-horse-point-by-jim-stiles/</div><div><br /></div><div>Jim has recently updated his article: https://www.canyoncountryzephyr.com/2021/11/30/july-4-1961-murder-the-enduring-mystery-at-dead-horse-point-part-oneby-jim-stiles/</div>Gemiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12826638681646513406noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7016010838581918904.post-21579059757234827282017-10-03T00:32:00.001-07:002017-10-16T05:05:24.343-07:00We Get a New Baby Sister<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">Although over half a
century has passed, it seems as if these evets happened yesterday.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">I am thinking back to this time of year in
1966. There were seven children in the Loren and Genevieve Johnson family at
that time.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">The four Johnson girls and
three Johnson boys had a contest of sorts going on. It was not a contest where
we had any chance to influence the outcome, but the debate was a very heated
one, nonetheless.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">If the new sibling we
were expecting any day was a boy, then the boys and girls would be tied at four
each. If our new sibling were a girl, then the girls would be the winners and
would outnumber the boys by two!</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">Each
side was certain they would win.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;">We were living in a
small community called Fairview, Utah. Fairview
is in Sanpete County. Sanpete County is
right smack dab in the middle of the State. It was and likely still is an
agricultural community. The hospital
where the baby was to be born was located in another small neighboring town
named Mt. Pleasant. At last the day
arrived and Daddy took Mama over to the hospital. The details of this are quite fuzzy. I think this happened during school. It was Wednesday, September 14, 1966. I cannot remember for sure, but it seems we
school-aged children walked home to find an empty house. I am not certain where the younger children
were, but I think a friend of Mama’s had them. Daddy came home to give us the
good news. It was especially good news
for the girls in the family. We had a
new baby sister!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;">Mama stayed in the
hospital for about a week. During that
time, Daddy went to visit Mama and the new baby often. Back then it was not a hospital policy to
allow children (with their possible attendant germs) in to visit. Dad would come home with reports of how cute
our new sister was and give us messages of love from Mama but to the younger
children especially, there was no tangible proof this baby sister really
existed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;">At 12 ½ years of age, I was
the oldest of the brood so I had added responsibilities at this time. I was pretty much in charge of the household
when I was not in school during that week. The other children who were old
enough to have chores, did them. I remember thinking that we had the “cleaners”
and the “messers.” Mark (7), Julie (5)
and April (2) were the designated “messers.”
They may have tried to help, but their best way to help was to don their
jackets and go outside and play. April
who was just a toddler at the time needed quite a bit of tending. I was already used to taking care of her a
lot and she was a delight to tend. I
remember telling her she was, “my little friend,” and she seemed to like that
designation.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;">Bud (Loren Jr.) was in
charge of all the outside chores. He was just barely 11 years old at the
time. He along with George (the fourth
child and second son—age 8) gathered in wood and coal for our fires. Bud had
the added responsibility to chop the wood. The boys never had to help with the
inside work because it was “woman’s” work and they had enough tasks to keep
them busy outdoors. Marlene (the third child, and second daughter—age 10) and I
did all the dishes. By far the biggest
chore was the laundry. To make matters
worse, we had no clothes dryer. The clothing had to be taken outdoors and hung on
the line to dry. It was an overwhelming
task that never seemed to end. </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;">Daddy was always the
one to do the grocery shopping. Mama did
not drive back then. Getting groceries
was Daddy’s responsibility new baby or not.
I think we had things like hot dogs, frozen fish sticks, frozen chicken pot pies and Campbell's Vegetable Soup
for dinner. We were used to being spoiled
for breakfast. Mama was like a short
order cook. She always had some type of
mush (oatmeal, Germade, etc.), cooked.
If we did not fancy that, she would make bacon, eggs and toast for
us. We often had pancakes. During that week she was in the hospital, we
ate cold cereal for breakfast.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;">So the eight family
members in the small home we were renting, muddled through in the best manner
we could without Mama. Always before when a new baby arrived, there were
grandmas and aunts to help. In Fairview
we were away from family and on our own (with daytime childcare help for the
preschoolers from one or two ladies from our church who were friends of
Mama). After what was the longest and
most difficult week of my life up until that point, Daddy went to fetch Mama
and our baby sister. We scurried about making sure the house was presentable
for them and waited in eager anticipation to meet our new sister.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;">Mama was such a
welcome sight as she stepped across the threshold. We were all excited to see our new little
sister, but I was most happy to see Mama and turn the job of running her
household back over to her. She “rolled
up her sleeves” (so to speak) and immediately set about doing laundry. Years
later, as a young mother with Mama helping me welcome my newest baby into my home,
I realized how overwhelming it must have been for her, and I apologized profusely
for letting her do the laundry that day.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="background: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;">“Oh Gemie,” she told
me. “I was so tired of lying around in bed for
a week, I was glad to have something to do.”
Right or not, it made me feel a little less guilty.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;">Mama had always wanted
to name a little girl “September.” She
had given up on having a daughter born in September, and had named her previous
baby (a girl born on April 2, 1964), "April." </span><br />
<span style="background: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="background: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;">“No Mama,” I remember arguing with her over her choice of name for my
baby sister. “People will think you got tired of choosing baby names and just
started naming them after the month they were born in.” Mama reluctantly agreed that this was
true. I think, however, if Daddy had
really liked the name "September," that would have been our new baby sister’s name.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;">A periodical, The <i>Church News</i>, came every Saturday in The <i>Deseret News</i>, a Utah newspaper (owned by
our church) which my parents subscribed to.
I was reading the most recent copy and remember seeing an article with a
picture of a young lady who lived in Hawaii. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">“What do you think of
this name Mama?” I queried as I shoved the article in her face.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">A young woman named Marvelee Soon was pictured
and identified in the article.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">Mama and
Daddy both loved the name.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">I was proud
that I was the one to find Marvelee’s name for her.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">Unfortunately, as she was growing up,
Marvelee was not very fond of her name.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">Years
later in another Church publication Marvelee (Johnson) found another article
which had a Marvelee Soon Tahauri in it.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">
</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">We think it was the same person, now married. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;">Marvelee was such a
good natured baby. Mama confided to me
how grateful she was that Marvelee was so content to just sit in her carrier and
watch her work. I remember that I tended
her a lot. It was my job to dress her for Church every Sunday. One Sunday I accidentally closed the car door
on her hand as we were getting in it to leave for Church. Her tiny fingers were bent at a 90 degree
angle backwards! I was horrified! It was very painful to her, but the hand
seemed to recover quickly from that mishap. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;">Marvelee has always
held a special place in my heart. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Gemiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12826638681646513406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7016010838581918904.post-71121949678515897762017-09-28T22:58:00.000-07:002018-04-22T10:29:24.035-07:00Grandpa Milton Johnson and the Sacrament<div class="MsoNormal">
My grandpa, Milton Edwin Johnson was blind the last ten
years or so of his life. In reality, he
was my step grandfather, but he was the only grandfather I knew and so my
entire concept of “grandpa” is the kind and generous man he was. I don’t think he ever tried to learn Braille,
but Grandpa became quite adept (with the help of Grandma and others of us) at
accessing information with his “talking books.” A lot of those books were on
Gospel themes.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Our family attended Church with my grandparents every Sunday
and we sat together most of the time. On
this particular Sunday, I requested to sit by Grandpa and was given the
privilege. Why we jostled for the
opportunity to sit by Grandpa and not Grandma, I will never know, but it made
him feel important (and I think Grandma was glad we made a fuss over him). <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Due to his blindness, a specific protocol had to be followed
for Grandpa to take the Sacrament.
Grandpa would hold his right hand upwards on his lap. When the emblems (bread or water) arrived for
him to partake, you were to tap his hand so he would be ready and place either
the piece of broken bread or the tiny cup of water in his hand in such a way
that he could grasp it. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
On this particular Sunday, my mind must have drifted during
the Sacrament. I would like to imagine I
was thinking about the Savior, and what I planned to do during the upcoming week to
follow His example better; but my teenage girl mind was likely thinking about my
latest crush. At any rate, I was not
remembering whom I was sitting by or that a special protocol must be observed.
When the tray of bread arrived, I took my piece of bread, grasped the tray by
the handle and offered it the person sitting next to me on my
right (who happened to be my blind grandfather). When Grandpa did not take his
piece, I gently nudged him with my elbow. As his thumb and forefinger closed in on a
single piece of bread, I realized whose hand it was and felt immediate guilt
that I had not followed the protocol. I
silently chided myself. I remember thinking that I was very lucky that he did not knock the tray out of my hand
sending the pieces of bread everywhere. I was very careful to follow the
prescribed protocol when the water arrived.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Later that afternoon, I went to visit my grandparents. I found Grandpa listening intently to one of
his talking books. His face lit up in excitement
when he heard my voice. “I was hoping
you would come!” he said. He then
explained why he was so excited to see me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
“I saw the bread!” he exclaimed. “I could not see your hand, but I saw the
tray and the bread.” He then went on to
say, “It makes me think we take the Sacrament way too much for granted. It is a lot more important than we realize.” He explained that he was using his talking books to learn more about
the Sacrament. I wish I could remember
the book or article we were listening to. Grandma must have helped him find it
before she went down for her nap. That Sunday Grandpa and I gained a
greater testimony of the ordinance we call the Sacrament. The Spirit also bore witness to me that my
Grandfather was truly worthy to partake of the sacred emblems, or he would not
have been able to see the tray with the bread. I often reflect on this incident as the emblems of the Sacrament are blessed and passed to the congregation each Sunday.<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
Gemiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12826638681646513406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7016010838581918904.post-27253389450095877572017-04-22T08:50:00.000-07:002017-09-29T01:34:58.948-07:00Love at First Peep<div class="MsoNormal">
One day, when I was about seven years of age, my father
arrived home from an out-of-town trip with a curious box. Strange “peeping” noises were emanating from
it. My siblings and I waited in eager anticipation
as Daddy removed the lid. Inside the box, we were delighted to find 12 of the most
darling yellow baby chicks! I fell in
love with them at first peep! Daddy let us help feed and water them as he moved
them to a larger box. We were allowed to
hold them briefly if we washed our hands immediately afterwards. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When the chickens were big enough, Daddy built a chicken run
in the backyard. By the time they were
adults, the chickens were no longer yellow, but pure white. They were difficult to tell apart from each
other, but we named each one and I think my siblings and I were pretty good at
determining who was who. To us, they
were our pets. We continued to help feed
and water them but we were no longer allowed to hold them and were commanded
not to touch or pet them due to the possibility of our contracting Salmonella
(or some other dreaded disease). I am
quite certain we broke that rule many times.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sunday dinner was the most important meal of the week. One early Sunday afternoon my nose detected
the unmistakable scent of Mama’s fried chicken wafting throughout the
house. This was a common entre for our
family and Mama made the best fried chicken I have ever tasted! When I arrived in the kitchen I spied a
lovely Lemon Meringue Pie sitting on the counter. Mama also made the best Lemon Meringue Pies
in the world. My mouth began to
water. The pie would be dessert for
those of us who could manage to eat a piece of chicken, a respectable amount of
vegetables, and drink a glass of milk. As much as I enjoyed fried chicken and even
looked forward to the creamed carrots and peas that were being offered that day,
my eyes were on that pie! <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Soon we were called to the table and sat down to enjoy what
promised to be a lovely meal. In the course
of the conversation between my parents as we ate, I was horrified to realize
that the delicious fried chicken we were imbibing was in fact the remains of one
of our beloved pets. I stopped
mid-chew. I could not bring myself to
swallow and spat the mostly masticated contents of my mouth out onto my plate.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What’s the matter?” queried Mama, a concerned look coming
over her face.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I’m not hungry anymore,” I replied. That was not a lie. I found myself completely without appetite at
the realization that one of my friends was on the menu. I did not even want a piece of pie, and
probably could not have eaten even a bite of it either.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“YOU EAT YOUR DINNER,” my father commanded sternly, his brow
furrowed in a deep scowl. “Don’t you
know there are children starving in China?”
I can’t remember for sure if it was in fact China, but somewhere in the
world children were starving and my father knew exactly where that was, and
somehow, by some magic, my consuming the crispy carcass of my former pet would be
the means of providing nourishment to those poor souls. Despite my feelings of guilt, I could not bring
myself to comply. Much to my relief, I was sent from the table and not allowed
to eat anything more for the rest of that day.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
As the weeks went by, our chickens disappeared
one-by-one. I found that I needed to
distance myself from them emotionally, so I no longer interacted with them. It was some time before I was able to eat chicken,
fried, or in any other form.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
Gemiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12826638681646513406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7016010838581918904.post-22312509615662955342017-03-29T02:15:00.001-07:002017-03-29T02:15:36.017-07:00Fourteen Years of Grand-parenthood!Fourteen years ago today, I became a grandmother! It was such an exciting day for our whole family. I was to have attended his birth in American Fork, Utah, but that as it turned out, was not to happen. <br />
<br />
About 10 days before our grandson was born, I looked over at my youngest son, Adam, lying on the sofa in our family room. "Maybe, it the light," I remember thinking to myself, "but his nose looks crooked." I went over to investigate, and discovered that it was indeed crooked. As he and his older brother Christopher explained, they had been playing baseball with a basketball and Adam's face got in the way of Chris' line drive. <br />
<br />
"We must wait for some of the swelling to go down," explained Dr. Carder. "But, because of his age, we cannot wait past 10 days to do the surgery." I reported this to my daughter Alyssa, who was awaiting the birth of her first child and had invited her mother to be present. <br />
<br />
"It's okay Mom," she said when I informed her that I would be unable to be there. "Ryan will never remember you missed his birth, but a ten-year-old needs his mother when he has nose surgery." <br />
<br />
The nose surgery went perfect. "Those bones just snapped back into place," informed the doctor. "A second surgery is often necessary when they are about 17, but I'm not sure that will be required in this case." Dr. Carder's words were prophetic. No repeat surgery was needed.<br />
<br />
Ryan Thomas Christensen arrived in the wee hours of the morning on March 29, 2003! I was hoping he would wait to be born on his great grandfather's (my father's) birthday which was the 30th of March. But, Ryan was to have his own birthday. He was named Ryan (after Nolan Ryan an outstanding baseball pitcher for the Texas Rangers). His middle name was Thomas, (same middle name as his father). <br />
<br />
I don't remember his weight or length, but I was with my daughter Alyssa when she took Ryan to his two-week check-up. Dr. Liddle recounted the scary moments after he was born not breathing. "I've never seen a baby go from an APGAR of two to a nine,' he explained. Ryan had a good check-up and seemed to be doing fine aside from having re=flux.<br />
<br />
I remember taking the night shift with my adorable but fussy new grandson. Because of the re-flux, holding him in an upright position after feeding seemed to help calm him. In the upright position cuddled up next to me, he went to sleep that particular night; so I laid him down in his bassinet and dozed off myself. I awakened with a start about five hours later to the fact that that I had let him miss his four AM feeding. I rushed over to him as I realized that without thinking (and out of habit) I had put him on his stomach to sleep. (His parents had stressed to me the importance of babies being put on their backs to avoid Sudden Infant Death Syndrome or SIDS--exactly opposite the advise I was given when I raised my children). To my relief, Ryan was sleeping peacefully. "Well," I remember telling his mother Alyssa, "If you get to the point where you could kill for sleep, you know what to do." Ryan did much better bundled up like a burrito, sleeping on his stomach.<br />
<br />
So Happy Birthday to an outstanding young man!!! I love you Ryan and I am so glad you came to our family 14 years ago today!Gemiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12826638681646513406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7016010838581918904.post-20457109226210463212016-12-24T06:59:00.000-08:002016-12-29T18:20:56.443-08:00Christmas Letter 2016<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="color: #cccc00; font-size: 18.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Merry Martin
Christmas 2016<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: #cccc00; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: #cccc00; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">This year we are again
so very blessed. Here is a count of our
blessings:<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="color: #cccc00; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="color: #cccc00; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">One wonderful living parent!!! We are blessed to have Jerry’s 90 year-old mother
Melba Martin still with us here on this Earth.
She is as mentally sharp and spunky as ever. We are spending Christmas with her in
Preston, Idaho this year. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="color: #cccc00; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="color: #cccc00; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Two new Grandchildren! Cute and cuddly, Jordyn Gemie Martin joined
our family on August 12<sup>th</sup>.
Jerald Lynn Martin (the 3<sup>rd</sup> with that name) could come any
day now and we feel he is already part of the family. (Is this counting our grandchildren before
they are hatched?) <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="color: #cccc00; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="color: #cccc00; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Three new homes: Not for us, but three of our families got new
homes this year. The Boren’s moved to a
new home within the same city (Lehi, Utah).
They love their pool and large back yard. Justin graduated from medical school in San
Antonio and he and Kara built a new home in Temple, Texas where he is doing his
residency. They are enjoying being first
time home owners. The Ron</span></b><b><span style="color: #cccc00; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">ér’s
made the move from the Atlanta, Georgia area to the Syracuse, New York area
where they built a new home! The
children are missing their old back yard, but happy to experience snow.</span></b><b><span style="color: #cccc00; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> They are having a White Christmas!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="color: #cccc00; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="color: #cccc00; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Four callings: Jerry (Sr.) was called in February to be the
First Counselor in the Plano, Texas Stake Presidency. He has also accepted a volunteer position as
the District Chairman for the Golden Arrow District of the Boy Scouts of
America. Gemie continues to serve as the
Stake Emergency Preparedness Coordinator for our Plano, Texas Stake. She is gearing up for our Stake Emergency
Preparedness Fair which will be held on February 25<sup>th</sup>. She also volunteers in the Family History
Center on Tuesday mornings.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="color: #cccc00; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="color: #cccc00; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Five extra "weekend days" each week! That is what is supposed to
happen when you retire right? It was
working for us. Now we are so busy we
wonder how Jerry ever had time to work and how Gemie accomplished what she did
with eight children to chauffer all over Plano and a family of 10 to cook and
do laundry for.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="color: #cccc00; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="color: #cccc00; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Six Hobbies: Jerry loves coin collecting and can boast the
best Lincoln Wheat Back Penny collection ever assembled! (Rest easy, it is in a
safe deposit box). Jerry also loves
reading (Brandon Sanderson is his favorite author). He also loves to hike and
is putting a lot of mileage on his new knee (which was replaced in January). Gemie’s newest hobby is baking with sour
dough. She loves creating new recipes
(sour dough and otherwise). She also loves
to sew and read but rarely finds time for either. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="color: #cccc00; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="color: #cccc00; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Seven wonderful in-laws! We have four terrific sons-in-law, (Spencer,
Brendan, Neil, and Brett), and three fantastic daughters-in-law (Sara, Kara,
and Karen)! We are so grateful to these
wonderful people our children chose to have as their eternal companions! We couldn’t be more pleased to have them in
our family!!! <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="color: #cccc00; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="color: #cccc00; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Eight Wonderful
Children! We are so lucky to have each child! We appreciate each one for the way they
conduct their lives. Our children and
their spouses have fun texting the whole group when things happen in their
lives (like the new Christmas puppy that just appeared down in Temple, Texas)! When our phones start buzzing non-stop, we
know our children and their spouses are having fun in a group conversation! We
love that they enjoy keeping in touch with each other and with us. Camie, Alyssa, Kindra, Jenae, Jerald (Jerry),
Justin, Christopher (Chris), and Adam—we love you fiercely!!!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="color: #cccc00; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="color: #cccc00; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nine Wonderful Siblings: Gemie
still has all seven of hers: Loren (Bud), Marlene, George, Mark, Julie, April,
and Marvelee. We love our family reunions in Bliss Canyon
(Moab, Utah) where four of them reside!
Jerry has two sisters: Sharan and Nadine who we love our visits with as
well (we are also spending Christmas with Sharan this year). We also have a wonderful sister-in-law Sallie
whom we love to get together with and will also see Christmas day! Sallie lives in Logan, Utah. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="color: #cccc00; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="color: #cccc00; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Ten handsome grandsons:
They range in age from Ryan who will be 14 in March to the littlest (as yet
unborn) Jerald (Jerry?). In between we
have Benjamin (Ben) who is 10, Luke (9), Joshua (Josh) who is 7, Logan (6),
Dallin (6), Trace (5), Seth (3) and James (almost 3). <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="color: #cccc00; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="color: #cccc00; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Eleven rooms of new
windows. We finally got around to
replacing most of the windows in our home.
We love having no more cold and drafty areas in the winter! We hope to see lower utility bills in summer
and winter. We wish we had done this
sooner!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="color: #cccc00; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="color: #cccc00; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Twelve wonderful months
of enjoying each other’s company. I
would say we can now finish each other’s sentences, but Gemie never knows what
Jerry will say. Jerry needs to finish
Gemie’s sentences because she forgets what she is saying mid- . . . <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="color: #cccc00; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="color: #cccc00; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Thirteen gorgeous granddaughters!!! At 12 Brooklyn is almost a teenager. Ashlin and Katelyn (Kate) both 11 are “Irish
twins” having been born less than a week apart.
Then we have Bailey, Abigail (Abby), and Eleanor (Ellie) all 10. Marin and Rachel are nine, but turn 10 early
in the year. Lilian (Lilly) is six. Our other set of “Irish twins,” (born just
two days apart) Addison and Brinley are three.
Then we have Gemma (the only girl in her family with four older brothers)
who just turned one. Last (but not
least) is Jordyn who is 4 months old. <o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: #cccc00; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="color: #cccc00; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">As we contemplate our many blessings and celebrate the birth of our Savior, Jesus Christ, we count our greatest gift to be His marvelous Atonement. We know His atoning sacrifice will make it possible for us to someday be reunited with Him and our Heavenly Father and all our beloved family members who are on the other side of the veil. We often say, "Families are forever," and count on the prospect of being together for the eternities with our wonderful family to whom we have been sealed through Holy Temple ordinances. We know it is our Savior Jesus Christ who makes this possible for us.</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="color: #cccc00; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="color: #cccc00; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We wish you and yours a
Merry Christmas and a Happy (and prosperous) New Year!<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="color: #cccc00; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="color: #cccc00; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Jerry and Gemie Martin</span></b><o:p></o:p></div>
Gemiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12826638681646513406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7016010838581918904.post-46896990675171688502016-09-01T08:16:00.000-07:002016-09-01T08:16:41.413-07:00Happy 32nd Birthday to Our 5th Child!<div class="MsoNormal">
Thirty two years ago today, our 5<sup>th</sup> child was born. My husband Jerry and I had recently moved with our four young daughters to Doraville,
Georgia (suburb of Atlanta). We had selected a small local hospital in a
neighboring town, Chamblee to give birth to our 5<sup>th</sup> child. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was not the practice at that time to do
sonograms on non-risk pregnancies. We
had no idea of the gender of our new baby.
With four girls, we also had no reason to suspect we would be having a boy. I could tell this particular baby
was significantly larger than any of the girls had been, but I had an aunt who had been
born at 12 lbs. Still, I was convinced this baby would be a son!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Our baby was due on September 2,
1984. I knew we would probably be moving
back to the Dallas, Texas area where the headquarters of Frito-Lay (Jerry's employment) was. I wanted the
baby to be born on or before the first of September so we would have the choice
of whether or not we could enroll our child in Kindergarten when he or she was
5 or whether we would wait until he or she turned 6. The cutoff date was September first. I went jogging around on the hills in our
neighborhood on August 31<sup>st</sup>.
Not a wise thing to do, but it seemed to work. About a month earlier, I had been put on
bed rest to make sure the baby did not come too early. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I cannot describe the elation I
felt when our first son was born! I was so delighted to find out that I was
right about him being a boy, I forgot to have the after baby blues! He weighed over a pound more than
our largest daughter. He was 9 lbs. 2
ozs. And 22 inches long. He did not curl
up like a newborn does, where they draw their legs tightly up to their
abdomen. Jerry laid out flat right from
the start.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
They used to keep us several days
in the hospital back then. On the second
day, the nursery delivered the wrong baby to my bed. I knew it was not him immediately! “This is not my baby!” I told the nurse. “YOU BRING ME MY BABY!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“This IS your baby Mrs. Martin,”
she tried to reassure me. “Let’s check
your tags.” She checked our tags and said,
“Oh, this is NOT your baby.” I think I
beat her down to the nursery. He stayed
in my room for the remainder of our stay.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
I was so convinced I would have a
boy, I only packed a boy’s outfit in my hospital bag for his trip home . I had it all washed up and ready to dress him
in. If he had been a girl, she would
probably have had to wear a little blue nautically themed outfit home. It would probably have fit her better. As it was, I had to shove Jerry into the outfit and it
was difficult to snap it. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“You need to take that outfit
back to the store,” remarked the nurse who was helping me dress him. “It’s too small.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
“No,” I replied, “I’ve already
washed it and he’s going home in it.” It
would be the only time he would wear that cute little outfit, but he did go
home in it! Home to his four excited
sisters and visiting grandmother (Genevieve Johnson).</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
"Little Jerry" (we named him Jerald Lynn Martin after his father), was a very pleasant little guy. He only cried when he was hungry or had been startled. Then his little face would wrinkle up and he would wail. Another thing to note, he had the biggest feet I have ever seen on a newborn! </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
Happy 32nd birthday, "Little" Jerry!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />Gemiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12826638681646513406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7016010838581918904.post-14376413760942517772016-07-25T11:34:00.000-07:002017-01-30T03:09:45.180-08:00Changing Perspectives <div class="MsoNormal">
In cleaning out and sorting papers, I found a loose
journal-type entry of mine. It was not
dated, but had to have been written sometime in late 1999 or early 2000. I have deleted the names to protect the innocent (or should I say guilty). I think I was frustrated and just
venting when I wrote this:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“My 15-year-old son just broke his toilet paper holder off
the wall! It was put on brand new a few
weeks ago by the guy who hung the new wallpaper there. The wall paper has a lighthouse motif. I found some cute little ceramic soap and
lotion dispensers in the shape of lighthouses to put at the basins. Yesterday, I glued a chip back on one of them. It has several smaller chips that I won’t be
able to repair. Two weeks ago the boys
broke a support off the handrail to the stairs while they were rough housing. The three eldest boys broke the door to one
of their bedrooms that very same day. I
am still fuming about all of this destruction!!! Why can’t I have anything stay
nice???<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I think my problem is that I am ready to be an empty-nester.
This is a problem because I have a first grader (also a boy) and two other sons
in between the two I have already mentioned.
I also have a daughter, still at home, who is 17. I can see the light at the end of the tunnel
there. I am geared up to enjoy the one
more year I have with her. Her three
older sisters are already away at college. Most of the friends my age are empty-nesters.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Twenty-four years ago, I was pregnant with my first child. I had either one or two in diapers for over
18 years! If anyone deserves to be an
empty nester, it is me. The irony is
that when I finally arrive there, I will probably be too old and senile to
enjoy it. I will be too old to cook, let
alone to enjoy being the only woman in my kitchen. (I’ve always maintained that two women in a
kitchen, is one too many.) I will
probably no longer be wearing make-up, so it won’t matter that my blushes and
nail polish will stay where I put them.
No one will want to borrow my orthotic shoes. Support hose won’t appeal to them
either. In fact, I am sure none of them
will want to wear anything I have.
(Every year after the three oldest leave for college, I have to take an
inventory of how many shirts, slips and socks I have left.) <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
With so many children, I will probably have lots of
grandchildren. Grandchildren do damage
too. I am just thinking of the damage my
children did to their grandparent’s homes.
Maybe we should volunteer to visit our grandchildren in their homes. Perhaps Jerry and I should get a large RV
(with a bumper sticker that reads: ‘I am spending my children’s inheritance’ on
it), and travel around to each child’s home, plugging into their electricity!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Those were my sentiments back in late 1999. Here is how I feel today:<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I finally arrived at the empty nest stage of life. I still enjoy cooking although I do not do
nearly as much of it. It is fun when I
have daughters and daughters-in-law come to help cook. My youngest son and I had a lot of fun
cooking together before he left the nest.
Occasionally we still cook together when he is around. One
daughter still goes through my make-up.
(She now asks permission to take what she wants of it.) I find it endearing that a thirty something
woman still wants to go through and wear mama’s make-up. I don’t wear orthotic shoes or support
hose—yet. Even if the girls were to like my clothes, they (the girls) are all too small for my clothes to fit them well. I love having my
grandchildren over even though things do get broken from time-to-time. We have plenty of time to make any repairs or
clean-ups that need to be made. I really
enjoy all of my adult children and their spouses too!!!
What an exciting time of life!<o:p></o:p></div>
Gemiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12826638681646513406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7016010838581918904.post-2914138561923957832016-07-05T08:31:00.002-07:002016-07-05T08:31:23.784-07:00Marion Borges Martin, A Great ManWritten by His Son, Jerald Lynn Martin in response to a request from Christopher Martin (His Grandson)<br />
<br />
<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">
1) <b>Great Men of the Ward. </b>When I was 15 or 16, I attended a Sacrament Meeting that will forever be in my memory. Grandpa was a convert of the Church after he got married to Grandma. He knew little of the doctrine or the culture. But he always had great faith, believed in people and was always willing to serve wherever needed. Grandpa Martin did not complete high school until he was middle age, around 40 years old. He was intimidated to be in front of crowds, had little in the way of leadership skills as we think of them and was fearful of public speaking including giving prayers. I can't remember Grandpa ever giving a talk in any meeting and on only one occasion giving a prayer in Sacrament Meeting when I was 17. He was so terrified he completely wrote out the words of his prayer and then read it. On this particular <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_1292826683" style="border-bottom-color: rgb(204, 204, 204); border-bottom-style: dashed; border-bottom-width: 1px; position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">Sunday</span></span>, Brother Clausen, 1st Counselor in the Bishopric was the final speaker of the day. This was before the block scheduling so Sacrament Meeting was 1and 1/2 hours and was held in the afternoon. Brother Clausen's talk was themed "Great Men of the Ward." After describing characteristics of great men, the first person he highlighted as the role model of great men of the ward was Grandpa Martin. I was shocked as was the whole family as there was nothing society would think was great about Grandpa. He never held a Church leadership position. He barely had a high school education amongst a ward full of Engineers and Nuclear Scientists. We had little money and lived in the Veterans Affairs development of homes for World War 2 vets. What would qualify Grandpa Martin to be considered "great". The answer came quickly. He was the man who honored his priesthood and magnified it. In 13 and 1/2 years, Grandpa had never missed a home teaching visit and always had a message of inspiration. His home teaching went way beyond that. He took care of fixing yards, making repairs in their homes, feeding them and others with the bounty of his garden/orchard harvests. He always volunteered to transport the scouts. He never missed Church. He merely went about doing good without any notice or any desire for attention. Yet he was most beloved by all. Because he served with love. Because he didn't need to talk much, he was a great listener and heard the challenges of those in his circle. He then acted to help with those challenges. He was a simple man with few needs but with great faith and excellent everyman skills. He could change oil, run electricity, build fences, do brick and cement work, sprinkler systems, and grass, put up sheds, paint houses, fix roofs, and had an amazing green thumb. He took joy in using those skills for his family and others. And in all of that he was truly one of the great men of the Ward. <br /></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">2)</span><b style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">Tithing. </b><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">When I was young, maybe 6 or 7, Grandma and Grandpa had a special family home evening (which we didn't do that often). The purpose of this FHE was to discover if we children would support our parents in them paying tithing. We were a poor family. Just a few years before, my parents didn't have enough income to provide housing (they lived in a shed like building behind Great Grandpa Martin's house) and many times went hungry for food. Both Grandpa and Grandma worked at this time with Grandpa oftentimes working two jobs. The question was put to the kids if we were willing to do with a little less so that they could pay tithing. We children all said yes. So Grandma started paying tithing from her wages for the whole family (covering Grandpa's pay also). In the scriptures it says the Lord will open the windows of heaven for those who keep this law. While that may come in many forms, it came directly to our family in way of much greater employment opportunities. Within a short time, maybe a year, Grandma Martin was given the opportunity by her employer to learn engineering schematics. It was the space race with the Russians and the US needed many more skilled people than were available. Grandma jumped at the opportunity and in a couple years passed up Grandpa Martin in wages where before starting paying her tithing she earned about half of his wages. A few more years went by and Grandma Martin continued to accelerate in her career now nearly doubling Grandpa's wages. Around this time Grandpa Martin proclaimed he would take responsibility for his own tithing. From there our family become very comfortable with money. We enjoyed vacations out of the area and Grandma and Grandpa Martin became very comfortable financially. To me their son, I consider this a miracle. Two high school trained kids living comfortably in the midst of Silicon Valley. This testimony of tithing, of putting the Lord first, is deeply entrenched in my heart. "Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also." I learned that Tithing is the most visible symbol of my faith in Heavenly Father and His Son.</span>Gemiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12826638681646513406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7016010838581918904.post-31080921349590030102016-06-22T04:20:00.001-07:002016-06-22T04:20:19.280-07:00Happy 23rd, er make that 24th, Birthday Adam!It was 24 years ago today that our last child, Adam Joseph Martin joined our family. I have already wished him a happy 23rd birthday (for the second year in a row) but did the math and realized he is actually 24! (Six subtract two is four, so that has to be right, but it is still hard for me to believe!) He chose June 22, 1992 to come here to Earth and we were lucky enough to have been chosen to be his family.<br />
<br />
Adam was born at the Presbyterian Hospital in Plano, Texas. He was our largest baby, weighing in at 9 lbs. 11 oz. and was 22 inches long! He was already past the newborn stage (where they pull their legs tightly up into their stomachs) when he was born. One nurse commented that she had noticed with larger babies that they arrived laying out flat. He started wearing 3 month clothing immediately.<br />
<br />
Another thing that was remarkable about baby Adam, was that he was covered in dark hair. He had a very hairy back. Like his older brother Christopher, he was very fair complected, but with very dark hair. Adam also had very long eyelashes such that when he would cry, his tears would cause the top lashes to plaster down on his cheeks. It looked rather hilarious. I felt guilty laughing at a crying infant. Fortunately, he did not cry all that often. He was generally a very pleasant little guy. He was only unhappy when his stomach was on empty or had an air bubble trapped in it.<br />
<br />
He was the youngest of eight children. I won't say he was spoiled, but the other children doted on him, especially his four sisters. They were all older than his three elder brothers. There was a 15 year difference between he and his oldest sister, Camie. She was like a second mother to him.<br />
<br />
I remember several funny Adam stories, but will relate only one at this time. He was probably about 18 months old when this incident happened. One day, after putting Adam down for a nap, I noticed he did not stop crying. His cry was also not his normal protest cry (of being put unwillingly to bed). I entered his bedroom to check on him and found him standing in his crib. As I tried to lay him back down, I realized that one leg was stuck at the knee (with the knee bent), between the crib bars. He had on a bulky sweat suit which did not help matters. I tried unsuccessfully to remove his leg from between the bars. Each time I left the room to try and find the right tool to help, he would panic and set up a howl. I felt so sorry for him. Ordinarily, I would have broken one of the crib bars, but my husband and I were leaving town the next day. I knew the babysitter would be needing the crib to put him into for sleeping. I remembered that in our city (Plano, Texas) one could call the Fire Department for assistance. I called them. A firetruck with about 8 firemen, rushed to the scene. When several of them entered the bedroom dressed in their jumpsuits and gear, Adam really panicked and began freaking out. Fortunately, two of them were able to force apart the bars without breaking them, while a third pushed Adam's knee back through. The firemen wanted to take Adam to the hospital to be checked out. I was unwilling to let him go because I had preschool-aged Christopher to tend to at home and would not be able to ride with them in the ambulance. They checked the pulse in his foot and looked at the coloring of his leg and, after seeing him toddle around for a few minutes with no problems, determined he could stay at home. It would be about 16 years later, that I would ride with Adam in an ambulance to a hospital emergency room, but that is another story for another time. <br />
<br />
Happy 24th birthday, Adam!Gemiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12826638681646513406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7016010838581918904.post-62953923421866050322016-06-15T02:52:00.000-07:002016-06-15T02:54:29.495-07:00A Perfectly Hectic DayAmazing the things we run across cleaning out our files and stacks of paper. I ran across this Poem (entitled "Perfect Day") that I must have written a modern woman's answer to. I am not sure when I wrote it. It must have been when I still had most of my children living in the home. Here are both poems:<br />
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="1"><b><span style="background: white; color: #003300; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;"><br /></span></b></a>
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="1"><span style="background-color: white; color: #003300; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">Perfect
Day</span></a><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background: white; color: #003300; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">(Author unknown)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<span style="background: white; color: #003300; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Grandmother, on a winter's day,<br />
Milked the cows and fed them hay;<br />
Slopped the hogs, harnessed the mule,<br />
And got the children off to school.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: #003300; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Did a washing, mopped the floors,<br />
Washed the windows and did some chores,<br />
Cooked a dish of home-dried fruit,<br />
And pressed her husband's Sunday suit.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: #003300; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Swept the parlor, made the beds,<br />
Baked a dozen loaves of bread,<br />
Split the firewood, lugged some in,<br />
(enough to fill the kitchen bin.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: #003300; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Churned the butter, baked a cake,<br />
And then exclaimed, "For goodness sake,<br />
Those darned calves are out again!"<br />
Went and chased them into the pen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: #003300; font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Gathered the eggs, locked the stable,<br />
Back to the house to set the table;<br />
Cooked a supper that was delicious,<br />
Afterward washed up all the dishes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #003300; font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">Fed the cat, sprinkled the clothes,<br />
Mended a basket full of hose,<br />
Then opened the organ and began to play<br />
"When You Come to the End of a Perfect Day!"<b><o:p></o:p></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> A Modern Mother's</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> Answer to “Perfect Day”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">By
Gemie Martin<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Myself,
upon a winter’s day, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">baked
cupcakes for the PTA,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Got
my children out of bed, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">loaded
the machine that makes my bread.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Chauffeured
my brood all off to schools.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Went
to water aerobics at a local pool.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Checked
my emails, removed the spam<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Dusted
the den, then off I ran, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">to
run some errands very quickly;<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Then
visited a friend who was somewhat sickly<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Made
phone calls for Visiting Teaching,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Prepared
a talk I will be preaching.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Paid
some bills that we were <o:p></o:p></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;">owing</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Stopped
a toilet from overflowing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Called
the plumber and cleaned up the mess.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Put
towels in the washer and changed my dress.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Picked
up the clothes from the nearby dry cleaning<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Then
polished my silver, till it soon was gleaming.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Oops,
I forgot, I will be honest<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">My
daughters appointment at the orthodontist.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
dropped her off at a <st1:time hour="14" minute="45" w:st="on">quarter to three</st1:time><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Then
returned overdue books to the library.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">The
after school carpool runs were made,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Then
the counters scrubbed and the table laid.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">So
6-1-2-1-1-3-3, called Pizza Hut delivery.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">At
last with children finally fed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">By
now, I feel like going to bed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">But
homework help I would impart<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">(I
hope we get an “A” in art)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt;">Then
scripture reading and then I’ll pray<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">I
hope tomorrow’s a less hectic day.</span><br />
<br />
<br />Gemiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12826638681646513406noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7016010838581918904.post-20589430099494730822016-05-30T12:29:00.001-07:002016-06-15T02:34:29.434-07:00Genevieve's First Patient (Her Sister Sara Ann)My mother, Genevieve Holyoak Johnson worked as a nurse during the years between her graduation from Grand County High School and the time I was born. She had no formal nursing schooling, but was trained by Dr. I. W. Allen to do exactly what he wanted and needed her to do. She administered anesthesia, (Ether), gave injections, emptied bed pans, and many other nursing tasks. She was a favorite of many of her patients because she performed her duties in a way that allowed her patients to maintain their dignity. She performed her work with caring and kindness. When her younger sister Sara Ann graduated, she joined Genevieve in this profession and was also a well loved nurse. <br />
<br />
Aunt, Sara Ann, as it turns out, may have been Mama's first patient. She recently recounted an incident when she (Sara Ann) was about 12 years old and her sister Genevieve was about 14. As they crossed through a ditch on their property on their way home, Sara Ann came into contact with Poison Ivy. Within a few days, poor Sara Ann's legs developed oozy, itching blisters. The irritation began to spread, growing to affect her body up to her arm pits. <br />
<br />
Genevieve happened to come across a remedy on the back of their younger brother Dan's Boy Scout Handbook. The recipe called for a paste to be made with laundry detergent as the main ingredient. Genevieve made the paste, using the "Rinso" brand laundry detergent their mother swore by. The remedy was spread over poor Sara Ann's body just before bedtime. She reports that it "stung and burned like crazy." Genevieve had taken an old clean sheet and torn it into strips. She then wrapped her patient up "as if I were a mummy," reports Aunt Sara Ann. She had a very difficult time getting to sleep that night with the remedy causing such intense pain. At last she was able to sleep. In the morning, the bandaging was removed. All the blisters had crusted over. Those quickly healed and Genevieve's patient at last had relief.<br />
<br />
Aunt Sara Ann and I are certainly not recommending this as a Poison Ivy remedy. (Neither would my mother if she were still alive.) This was the best that was available at the time. Sara Ann will be 88 years old in a few weeks. She sure misses her sister Genevieve who passed away several years ago. So do I. Thanks Aunt Sara Ann for taking this trip down "memory lane" and taking me along with you. Gemiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12826638681646513406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7016010838581918904.post-36356614541072946692016-03-25T19:34:00.002-07:002016-05-30T11:39:57.960-07:00Play With Misty For Me<div class="MsoNormal">
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
I ran across a few packaged syringes while cleaning the
other day. At first I was puzzled as to
why syringes would be lurking on my closet shelf. Then, a small twinge of pain
went through my heart as it dawned on me who they were for. They had been for Misty. I suddenly missed
her and wondered where she was and if she was finally well. She had possessed a sweetness and meekness
about her that I had grown to love as I helped nurse her through her many bouts
of illness. I guess it is true that you
come to love those whom you serve. My
son Jerry had loved Misty the minute he set eyes on her, whereas I was at first
very repulsed by her. In fact I probably
would still find her presence distasteful had she not become ill and had Jerry
not needed my help in caring for her.</div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p><br />
As thirteen-year-old Jerry walked home from Haggard Middle School,
he would usually stop in at a pet store that happened to be along the way. That
is where he met and fell in love with Misty.
I should explain that Misty (if she is still alive) is a five-and-a-half
foot long Ball Python.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jerry had already acquired two small Kenyan Sand Boas in
order to earn his Reptile Merit Badge for scouting. They were tiny snakes and only came up out of
the sand to eat, drink or if retrieved by Jerry when he fancied visiting with
them. I had opposed getting them. I
hated all reptiles and was convinced they would make us ill. Besides, there are so many other merit badges
to choose from. After much begging and
pleading on the part of Jerry and my husband, I finally acquiesced and before I
knew it a small aquarium filled with sand, housed two small snakes in one of
our upstairs bedrooms. Although I was uncomfortable with this, I tolerated it
(mostly because they were so invisible).<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"So Jerry," I asked my son one day, “what do you
want for Christmas?" It was getting
late in the year and Jerry was one of the children who had yet to write his
official letter to Santa Clause.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"Misty," was his answer (he had already named the
object of his affection). <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"No Jerry." I continued to press, "What is
something ELSE you would like?"<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"I guess if I can't have Misty, he replied rather
dejectedly, “I don't want anything," <o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We had several more conversations like this with me
suggesting items that would entice any other young teenage boy. I just could not understand how a son of mine
could love something that was cold blooded.
I could understand loving a dog or a cat. In fact, we already had a cat named Oreo, (which
Jerry hated). Needless to say, just
before Thanksgiving, I found myself in the pet store purchasing a large snake,
an enormous aquarium, and all the paraphernalia that goes with owning a
reptile.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I explained to the shop owner that the snake was a Christmas
gift but that it had to be that particular snake so I needed to purchase her to
make sure no one else did. The owner
agreed to house her for a month and just charge us for the food. I remember leaving the store that day,
receipt in hand, wondering “Is this really my life? Did I just purchase a snake?” The things a mother who loves a son will do even when her son is in love with a cold-blooded reptile.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The arrangement with the pet store seemed to be working out great. The only problem for me was that I found
myself dreading Christmas for the first time in my life. When my husband returned from the store where
he had gone to pick up the aquarium and bring it home to hide in our bedroom
closet, I became very nauseated. I
nearly had to leave my post in front of the door I was guarding to make sure
none of the children (especially Jerry) would see the aquarium and other
supplies. I was filled with dread for the
day when the aquarium’s intended occupant would arrive, and that day was
getting closer and closer.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then, one afternoon when Jerry stopped in at the pet store
to check on her, Misty had gone missing.
She was often brought out of her cage and displayed on a hanging
decorative branch near the cash register in the store. Whoever closed the shop one night, forgot to
return Misty to her cage. The next morning
they discovered her gone. When Jerry and
his friend Parker arrived that afternoon, they began frantically searching the
store. “You won’t find her,” the owner
assured them. “Some little old lady bringing her poodle in for grooming will be
the one to discover her and she will not be happy about that. She will probably have a heart attack over it
and sue the store!”<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Day after day, Jerry would stop in at the store and look for
his missing pet. Then about the time
school was to let out for the holiday, Jerry and Parker determined they would
find Misty if they had to tear the entire store apart. They prayed before beginning the search and
sure enough, their faith was rewarded.
On Christmas Eve, my husband picked up Misty and she was there to greet
one very happy young teenage boy the next morning.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
Misty, who had been born in the wild and captured somewhere
in Africa, had developed a taste for gerbil.
As the store owners explained, she would eat nothing else. This was a big problem because shortly before
she joined our family, our last pet gerbil "Smoky" had expired. We had held a proper funeral for her and
buried her near her sister “Ashes” (who had ironically died of smoke inhalation
in a house fire a few years earlier). The Kenyan Sand Boas ate tiny, newborn mice
called “pinkies.” Since they had no fur,
they did not really resemble mice the sisters came to accept their diet
quickly. Misty’s choice of food was
another matter entirely.<br />
<br /></div>
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“MURDERER,” yelled our daughter Kindra at her brother when
she found out what Jerry would be feeding his new pet. This conversation had
come up as the family was motoring to “Six Flags over Texas,” a theme park in
our area. Kindra (who, incidentally, had
not been the owner of our pair of gerbil pets), was inconsolable. All her sisters began to follow her
lead. Heart wrenching sobs were coming
from the interior of our van. It
appeared for a few chaotic minutes that our outing may need to be aborted. To calm the hysteria, my husband began to remind
the girls about the “food chain.” Gerbils,
which reproduce quickly and abundantly, were intended to be low on the food
chain. God made them to be food for
other animals. I don’t think Jerry’s
sisters ever liked it, and I don’t know if any of the four of them ever
witnessed the feeding process, but the girls did come to accept Misty despite
her singular appetite.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Misty’s long adventure outside her cage in the pet store had
taken its toll on her health. Snakes are
supposed to be kept in a cage heated to about 85 degrees. Misty had been loose for weeks inside a store
that was heated to around 72 degrees during the daytime and probably went down
into the 60s at night. We brought her
home thinking that the de-lousing she had had to undergo after she was found
was the extent of the damage control that needed to be done after her
unfortunate escape. After a few weeks in
our home, however, Misty suddenly began to refuse her food. When this happened
I had to return her rejects to the pet store. We could not leave the gerbil in
the cage until Misty regained her appetite.
The “food” would start gnawing on her, sometimes even drawing
blood. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One morning before he left for school Jerry informed me that
Misty had kept him awake much of the night because she was making a funny
noise. I came up to listen (even though
I rarely encountered the snake). It was
indeed a strange noise. It was somewhere
between a “hiss” and a “wheeze.” She
also had a pink underbelly and had gone through a difficult shed. Snakes
periodically loose the outer layer of their skin, for those not aware of this
process. If they do not shed all of
their skin, they have to be soaked to loosen the skin and then gently rubbed to
remove the remainder, repeating the process if necessary. Misty
was clearly not well. I made an
appointment with our veterinarian and we took Misty in to see him after Jerry
got out of school.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Looks like Misty has
pneumonia,” diagnosed Dr. Blonien as he pulled out a vial of medicine and a
syringe. He explained that the snake
would need daily injections of antibiotic, and that Jerry needed to learn how
to give those to his pet. He instructed
Jerry on how to fill the syringe, how to avoid the spinal column, and how to
insert the needle in the tiny area between scales.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jerry was unable to inject Misty without help. Up to this point I had never touched Misty (or any other
snake for that matter). Misty quickly got
wise as to what was about to happen to her and she would tense up her muscle
making it impossible to get the tiny needle to pierce the skin. I had to assist Jerry. One of us would pretend to be getting one
spot ready for an injection, while the other would zero in on a different area
and quickly insert the needle and push the plunger down. We did this daily for 10 days each time Misty
became ill. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
We were hopeful that each bout of pneumonia would be Misty’s
last. She would do well for a while and
then inevitably she would start rejecting food and we would go through the
process of having to inject her with antibiotics all over again. I cannot remember how many years we did this,
but we eventually reached a point at which we decided Misty needed to go a home
where she could get full time care.
Jerry was getting busy with basketball practices daily, not to mention
summer camping and other activities. With
heavy hearts, we returned Misty to the pet store where we had purchased her. </div>
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<br />
Misty was instrumental in helping me overcome a big fear and aversion in my life. I will not claim that I am totally comfortable with snakes or reptiles, but because of her, I now have a deeper appreciation of one more type of God's creations. I was surprised to realize that cold blooded creatures do have personalities. I got to know the personalities of all of the snakes that eventually made their home with us. Misty was meek, mild and sweet.<br />
<br />
I believe I missed Misty as much as Jerry. I often think of her and wonder how she is doing. So to whoever owns her now, I
hope you will have been able to nurse her back to health. I hope you love her
as much as we did. I hope you will play
with Misty for me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Gemiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12826638681646513406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7016010838581918904.post-33443546690747269502016-03-17T08:23:00.003-07:002016-03-17T19:36:04.631-07:00Happy 37th Birthday Alyssa!!!<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="1megd" data-offset-key="bumet-0-0" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
<div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="bumet-0-0" style="direction: ltr; position: relative;">
<span data-offset-key="bumet-0-0">Thirty seven years ago this evening, we welcomed our second child and second daughter. She weighed 7 lbs. 15 ounces. We were very delighted to greet her. Alyssa, (as we ended up naming her) was not really due until March 22nd. I remember a conversation with a friend several months before Alyssa was born. She asked if I felt like my baby was a boy. I remember saying, "I feel like I am having a girl and that my Grandma will be bringing her." (My grandmother has just passed away in January of that year). I continued, "I will know if she is born on the 8th or the 17th. The 8th is too early, so she will probably bring her on St. Patrick's Day." Mind you, this was in the days before sonograms, so I really had no clue that I would be having a girl. </span><br />
The 8th was Grandma's Birthday. Grandma always celebrated St. Patrick's day and recited the Poem about his birthday. I was in light labor, with my pains 15 minutes apart for three days, so Alyssa would be born on St. Patrick's Day as I had predicted. This also gave my mother time to get to Provo, Utah from her home in Moab, Utah.<br />
Alyssa was one of the original "drive through delivery," babies. Utah Valley hospital, was in the process of being enlarged. The night Alyssa was born, there were were not enough labor and delivery rooms or recovery rooms for all the women who were there delivering babies. Because both Alyssa and I were doing so well, the hospital sent us home early (after less than 12 hours) without charging us.<br />
We actually made money on Alyssa's birth. Jerry had bought seven insurance policies that paid out a flat $2,450.00 upon delivery. We cannot remember the cost of the premiums, but they were very low. The doctor bill was about $450.00 back in those days. We were able to put the money we made toward a down payment on our first home in Texas where we moved about a month after Alyssa's birth.<br />
Alyssa was the ideal baby. When I wanted to hold her and play with her, she was happy. When I needed to do dishes, or cook dinner, she was happy to lay on her blanket on the floor and play with her hands, feet, or toys. At two weeks, she started sleeping through the night. Soon, she was sleeping 12 hours. I would put her to bed about 7:30 PM and would have to actually wake her up at about 7:00 to 7:30 AM. I think I kept having babies in the hopes that I would have another one just like Alyssa. She was just like having a doll to play with, except she was alive. </div>
</div>
Gemiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12826638681646513406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7016010838581918904.post-77239318761146140972016-01-21T06:10:00.001-08:002016-01-21T06:38:15.057-08:00Happy 35th Birthday Kindra!<div class="MsoNormal">
Exactly 35 years ago this morning, I decided it was imperative that I get
to the hospital. I was having mild,
fairly regular pains, but was not in hard labor. A wonderful neighbor took our two young
daughters as per our plan “B”—more on that later. We threw my already packed bag in the car and
began the approximately 16 mile journey from our home in Carrollton, Texas to the Medical City
hospital in Dallas. It was about 8:30
AM, the height of rush hour traffic. As
we drove, my labor pains became a bit more intense and frequent. I was not in hard labor, but just felt that I
really needed to get to the hospital. In
his anxiety, my husband Jerry missed the Coit Road exit from the LBJ Freeway
which we planned to take if traffic was bad.
We exited onto North Central Expressway, which was anything but “express”
during rush hour. Not to worry, we were
in a small compact car and Jerry was a very skilled driver. At least once he drove on the shoulder of the
expressway to the irritated honking of many other drivers. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
We arrived at the hospital and were admitted to Labor and
delivery. Jerry checked me in and
started to leave the room to go back to the car for my suitcase. “You are not going anywhere,” said the nurse,
“this baby is coming.” About this time,
my labor, which still had not been too intense, stopped. We waited in eager anticipation for it to
start back up. Finally, the doctor
ordered the hormone Pitocin to start my labor again.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
My mother was flying in that day from her home in Utah to be
there and take care of Camie and Alyssa (our two young daughters) when it was
time for us to leave for the hospital. That was our plan “A.” We were worried about Mom, who was a nervous
traveler anyway, arriving at the airport with no one to pick her up. This was well before cell phones. We were talking over who we could get to pick
her up, when, my labor started back up. The nurse explained that there hadn’t been
time for the Pitocin to kick in so it had started back up on its own. With one hard labor pain, she was there--our
third daughter! <o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
January 21st also happens to be Jerry's brother Ken's birthday.On our way to the hospital, we had been discussing whether or not
to name the baby "Kenneth" if it turned out to be a boy. We had a couple of different names chosen which I cannot recall now. I think we arrived at the hospital thinking we would name "him" after his uncle. When "he" turned out to be another "she," I
suggested the name “Kendra.” Jerry was
concerned that she would be nicknamed “Ken” by the other children at school. I recalled a cute little girl I had taught a
few years earlier in my Sunbeam class (the class in our church for
three-year-old children). This child’s name was “Kindra.” We decided to name our new baby after her uncle with a slight twist.<br />
<br />
Kindra was a very beautiful baby. She had enormous dark blue eyes (which later became a bright blue) and black hair. Sisters included, we were delighted to welcome
her into the family. <br />
<br />
Happy 35th birthday
Kindra! You have brought joy into our lives!<o:p></o:p></div>
Gemiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12826638681646513406noreply@blogger.com0