There is a story in my husband’s family about G.E.’s grandmother and stepgrandmother. It seems that Grandmother Kay was an avid journal-keeper, and poured her most intimate thoughts onto the pages of her personal diary. Unfortunately, this beautiful and talented woman died young at age 58. Not long after her death, her second husband, Colonel John, married her best friend Moselle.

I’m not sure how Kay felt about that, but if there was anyone who idolized Kay – besides the Colonel – it was Moselle. At any rate, wife #2 stumbled onto the first wife’s journal and did what any curious woman would do: she read it. As a result, Kay’s posterity will NEVER know what experiences, ideas, joys, sorrows, passions, etc. their mother/grandmother recorded because Moselle decided the pages might cause pain or problems for those interested in the journal’s contents, and so she destroyed it.

Kay’s children were furious. Regardless of the outcome, they felt they had a right to read what their mother had faithfully written over the years.When pressed, Step-Mother refused to summarize or even hint at what she read. She repeated that the children were better off NOT knowing their mother’s innermost feelings.

I can’t help but ask if you decide to burn a journal, why would you tell concerned people there WAS a diary? It seems to me that the destruction of a journal by a NON-relative would cause as many or more problems than the book’s revelations. Don’t you think? Perhaps Kay’s children would have accepted destructive decision if Colonel John had read it and burned it. (Personally, I still think they would have been upset, but maybe a little less so. My husband says NO.)

Isn’t KNOWING often better than NOT knowing? Think about the grown children’s speculations about the secret passages. They knew their mother had plenty of problems to pour out of her heart. Kay was married to a Montana rancher, and her life was not only hard, it was disappointing. G.E.’s mom told me that her mother had a beautiful voice, and even though she sang as she worked the ranch, she longed for a place and time far from Great Falls.

After Kay’s youngest daughter Jenny graduated from high school, Kay divorced her rancher husband and headed for Salt Lake City. This rebellious choice was contrary to 1940’s society and to her Mormon faith. The mother and daughter worked in a defense plant until Jenny met and married her soldier. Kay then decided to head further west to Southern California, and that’s where she met the colonel.

My mother-in-law and her oldest sister spoke empathetically of her mother,  but another sister did not. I don’t know what Kay’s only son thought of his mom, but he did make Montana his home for many years. I don’t know if he kept in contact with his father, but his sisters did not see him very often.

So, what did Kay write of? The many unhappy years she spent on the ranch? Her disappointments in not living the life she dreamed of? Her frustrations with children, neighbors, and other relatives who did not approve of her choices? Her love for the colonel? Her dating experiences before meeting her colonel? Her concerns about the spouses her children chose to marry? Her worries that they might end up as miserable as she had been? Who knows? Maybe it was worse; but maybe it was not!

This brings me to the topic of this entry. What is the purpose of keeping a journal? Of course, there are many reasons, but I once heard that people should keep two journals: one they want to leave for their posterity and one they burn the day before they die.

There is no doubt that writing is therapeutic. One of my former students wrote to me a few years ago to tell me that writing had literally saved her life. She suffered from depression, eating disorders, and self-mutilation. As she spent time in a clinic, she filled the pages of dozens of diaries. The writing helped her work her way free from these many challenges. And now she writes professionally.

Do we need two different diaries? Does it hurt to read that our parents, sisters, grandparents lived lives of pain and disappointment? That they didn’t always appreciate their circumstances? That they disliked their siblings and never loved their spouses? There’s no doubt that such revelations can be hurtful, but if they are, the reader has the option of closing the book and placing it back on the shelf.

Hopefully, lines of triumph and paragraphs of happiness shine through recorded trials and insights build understanding. I believe that had Kay’s loved ones been able to read her words, they would have found delight among the dreariness, reclamation among regrets, and love among the heart-breaks.

Picture John Wayne and Sophia Loren dragging themselves across the Sahara, dying of thirst. Finally, they reach the remains of an oasis, and with their last ounce smidgen of energy, John starts digging … with a shovel, while Sophia does what she can with her BARE hands!

Well, that’s how I feel right now. I’m nearing the end of NaBloPoMo, and this morning I’m DIGGING for an idea. And like Sophia, I only have my BARE hands. It’s NOT that I don’t have ANY ideas, but the ONE I have I want to save for the LAST day of NaBloPoMo.

I also want to keep to my theme of giving thanks. While I have TONZ o’ STUFF to be thankful for, not all of my blessings are interesting to blog about. Some would sound sappy while others might sound sanctimonious.

I’m NOT a frequent visitor of Seriously So Blessed, but I have to admit that much of Tamn’s satirical/sanctimonious blabbering hits close to the dominant culture here in Utah. I also have a hard time reading about icky behaviors that are so right on. It’s embarrassing to know someone – a lot of someones – inspire SSB’s writing.

When it comes to expressing gratitude, I sometimes shutter when I listen to a well-meaning testifier thank the Lord for saving the day, and then adds that this came as a result of  great faith. In the meantime, another mother or father, sister or brother sitting in the congregation is thinking of their day that was NOT saved; and perhaps they question their own faith or worthiness and are further perplexed by the Lord’s will.

I know I’ve been guilty of such insensitivity. In fact, I could dedicate more than one blog to my MANY incidents of foot-in-mouth disease. (Forgive the cliche’.) So how do we express our thanks without sounding privileged? I think acknowledging that many of the blessings we receive are UNdeserved is a start. Realizing that bad things happen to good people – even those with great faith – is another.

I don’t know all the answers, but I do wonder why I am so fortunate to be born in this land, surrounded by loved ones and friends who enrich my life beyond deserving. Such blessings do inspire me to try harder to be more understanding, sympathetic, empathetic, non-judgmental, loving …

I better stop here. I’m on the verge of sappiness!

G.E. (Hubby’s new moniker) and I hadn’t planned to venture out into the masses today, but we ended up making one trip to Costco to purchase Advent Villages for our grandchildren. Not that they were a HOT item, but I knew if we didn’t make the effort, fate would swoop in and grab up every box. And I’d be kicking myself for the next 28 days! It never fails.

As it turns out, I was glad we went. OLD-fashioned Christmas music, hearkening back to my favorite era – the 1940s, chimed in with the noise of bustling shoppers; and I felt my first twinge of holiday spirit.

Since our excursion, I’ve been thinking of my holiday working experience at Fargo’s Department Store in Pocatello. (This was when the day after Thanksgiving was called “the day after Thanksgiving.) Anyway, I landed a job at there at age 16 because I was a Fargo’s Fashion Board Consultant! Eight teens from the city’s two high schools – Pocatello High and Highland High – were chosen to “unite more closely the fashion preferences of the High School Coed with Fargo’s young fashion merchandising.”

Fargo's Christmas Party in the 1920s

Part of our duties included working during the Christmas shopping days which started off with a parade to welcome Santa to the city in general and the department store in particular. Like Macy’s parade in New York City, this tradition had been part of Fargo’s history for decades.

I think I became part of that tradition because I could not wrap packages. One of my first duties – besides uniting young fashion preferences with merchandising – was in the gift wrapping department. Unfortunately, I was SLOW and SLOPPY. The Scotch tape was anything but discreet, and the curling ribbon needed a perm. The more I tried to whip that paper grosgrain into ringlets, the straighter it became. Some time between paper cuts and blistered thumbs, my supervisor transferred me across the street to the toy department.

With that transfer came many opportunities: breaking the news to irate parents that we were out of Slinkies and bouffant Barbies; counting back change – correctly; climbing shelves without ladders; AND co-starring with Santa as Jackie-in-the-Box in the Christmas parade.

The job description only required jumping up and down, bobbling back and forth and around, and SMILING … a lot. (Remember I’m good at that!)

I suppose it’s only right that I should work with Santa. I’d written a play about him years before, and I starred as Mrs. S. who had to step in for the old man when he came down with a terrible cold.

Most importantly, however, I am actually Santa’s grandaughter. Everyone in Pocatello knew that the REAL Santa only came to Fargo’s, and in 1963 that Santa just happened to be MY Grandpa B. – before he retired to Seal Beach, California and before I made my debut as a giant toy!

Okay – we’re past the feasting, and my quick ‘n easy Thanksgiving dinner was quite good. The turkey was the BEST part of the meal because it was PERFECT: moist, tender, flavorful, and DELICIOUS. It also LOOKED delicious – BEAUTIFULLY browned. (Pictures will be added to this post soon!)

In fact, this turkey was probably my best roasted bird in YEARS, which is a little ironic. There was NO pop-up timer, AND my meat thermometer’s teeny-tiny battery was as dead as the turkey because the itsy-bitsy switch was left ON! The situation called for desperate measures; as the timer ticked closer to the end of the suggested time limit, I had to test for doneness by wiggling the LEG. And by golly, it worked! I moved that old drumstick up and down with ease, and rivulets of juice fairly oozed from the jiggled joint. PERFECTION!

Of course, the YAMS were a hit AGAIN because MoM cooked them up for us. The Stove Top Stuffing passed muster – I’ll hold it up against ANY from-scratch recipe because it’s MOISTER! Who cares about the mega-grams of fat and sodium? It’s tasty! (Of course, the added sautéed veggies helped, and chopped walnuts would have really enhanced the final result. But I was nervous our guest may have been allergic.)

The big disappointment was the French green bean casserole – which I now call FUNERAL BEANS because they are served at so many church dinners, they are as clichéd as their cousin the FUNERAL POTATOES. (I think we’re all suffering from an overdose of sodium after downing that side dish, along with the tasty STStuffing.)

The gravy wasn’t my best either, I’m afraid. Didn’t have time to skim away enough of the grease. So when I learned that feasting on this day usually adds up to some 4500 calories, I can’t say I was surprised.

Well, Hubby and I are here alone – VERY full and a little tired. We’re not blaming it on the tryptophan either. (Anne Marie Helmenstine, Ph.D. claims, “It’s a combination of the type of food, amount of food, and celebratory atmosphere.”)

While we agree in part with Dr. Helmenstine, we believe we’re worn out because we WORKED ALL DAY on our QUICK ‘n EASY Thanksgiving dinner!!!

Hope your day was as wonderful as ours. God bless.

This year is the OFF year, meaning that our married sons feast with their in-laws. That does NOT mean, however, that I get out of cooking. Hubby insists upon having turkey dinner AND all the trimmings in order to procure left-overs. This is from a man who doesn’t particularly like left-overs!

I don’t really mind throwing together a feast because I don’t cook all that much. And I am not particularly good at it. As much as I hate to admit it, I don’t really like to cook. Oh, once in a while I get in the mood to bake or to try a new recipe, but most of the time, I throw together pretty pathetic dinners – unoriginal repeat offenders.

I do prepare a nice Sunday dinner that provides  a meal or two later in the week. I guess it’s only right to create a Sunday-type dinner on Thursday. Because the guests are very few in number, I won’t knock myself out like I do when my daughters-in-law (who are gourmet cooks) sit at the table.

I won’t resort to roasting a Jenny-O turkey roll, but I will serve Stove-Top Stuffing with added veggies: sautéed celery, onions, and mushrooms. I’ve already thrown a frozen Marie Calendar pumpkin pie in the oven so I can bake the frozen Rhodes Rolls tomorrow.  

I’ll serve canned cranberry sauce – both the jellied and the chunky versions, BUT I am preparing a side dish I haven’t fixed in decades – the traditional French green bean casserole. You know –  the one made with mushroom soup, topped with canned French onions. Now that’s gourmet cookin’! 

I know the menu sounds like it’s just a step above frozen turkey TV dinners, but we will enjoy Mom’s candied yams, and the potatoes won’t be the instant variety. And it should outshine the turkey dinner at the Yellowstone Hotel that my parents, sister and I suffered through many years ago.

The event was NOT Thanksgiving but rather Christmas Eve. Mom usually prepared a delicious dinner for our family and my grandparents. That particular year, however, Grandma H. had passed away, and Grandma and Grandpa B. moved to Leisure World in Southern California.

Mom thought it might be kind of fun to dress up and go to the Bannock Hotel, home of the most elegant and delicious food in Pocatello. Unfortunately, when we arrived we learned that we needed reservations. Mom was shocked! “Who eats out on Christmas Eve?”

Hungry, we drove from one restaurant to another only to find that they were either closed or booked. Finally, our hunt brought us to the  Yellowstone Hotel, located near the railroad station. Now, the hotel may have been a winner WAY back in the day, but not in the early 1960s. Disappointed, we wandered back to the dining room where we found plenty of empty tables. In fact, we had the place to ourselves!

And like Ralphie’s family in A Christmas Story, we sadly picked at our dry turkey and even drier stuffing. Now, we laugh and laugh about that experience, but it was dismal enough that when I considered eating out on Thanksgiving, a vision of the Yellowstone Hotel discouraged the thought!

I am thankful we’ll be eating at home tomorrow!

After my father passed away in 2007, my cute mom had to redefine her life, and it wasn’t easy. She thought she might start scrap-booking, and so she purchased all kinds of tools and materials a serious scrap-booker might need: fancy scissors, decorative paper, stickers, etc. After investing a significant amount of cash, Mom decided she wasn’t really the scrap-booking type.

Nevertheless, she still felt inspired to write leave her children a legacy by recording her life story. I encouraged her efforts, even volunteered to interview her, but she turned me down. This was something Mom wanted to do, and she wanted it to be her work.

I interviewed Dad about his World War II experiences several years before his death, and it was a wonderful week spent talking, researching, and writing. I wrote up the notes to create his memoir as Dad wasn’t exactly enamored with computers.

Mom, on the other hand, has long used emailing systems, created newsletters, searched the web, etc. When introduced to Heritage Makers, she jumped on board. Thanks to Laura, the HM consultant, Mom was able to complete a hard-bound picture book that depicts the first 19 years of her life. Laura scanned 700+ photos for her and taught her how to design, drag, and drop in photos and text. The result is a treasure for her daughters, grandchildren, siblings, nieces and nephews.

In the process, she found pictures of her growing up years that Connie and I had never seen before, and we learned details of her life that were new to us as well. The second youngest of 13 children and raised during the Great Depression, we witnessed through her writing how difficult and how different her life was from our own.

I am so very grateful that my computer wizard of a mom worked so hard on her book, and that she’s writing up the second part of her life story – the years that include Connie and me! THANK YOU, MoM!

Today commemorates the 46th anniversary of John F. Kennedy’s assassination. The Kennedy days have been described as Camelot. I understand that term was one of expectation and anticipation based upon the charm and beauty of John and Jacqueline. The press kept secrets in those days, so we didn’t know about the marital problems and infidelity, the details of poor political decisions, or the jealousies amongst the Washington insiders. Americans had lots to be concerned about – the spread of Communism in Southeast Asia, the proliferation of nuclear weapons, the growing tension between the USSR and the USA. Probably the least thing we needed to worry about was our the president-elect’s  religious background, but worried we were until worsening world events erased that concern. Today, I am thankful I live in a nation that managed to rebound from the challenges our nation faced at that time. Even as a young adolescent, I felt the impact of those years. I wish I had recorded my feelings at the time, but with the advantage of maturity, I now look back at my reactions to a few events that occurred nearly 50 years ago.

I was a seventh-grader when John F. Kennedy was elected president of the United States. I have fleeting memories of the election, including the TV debate between JFK and Richard Nixon and the controversy about the Kennedy’s Catholicism. I can’t remember the sources of my political information, but for some reason I worried about having a Catholic president. I don’t understand why I possessed such a prejudice because my favorite neighbors were Catholic, and they were kind and generous people. Perhaps I overheard relatives debating the issue or watched news stories on TV. Nevertheless, I sensed that many were nervous about putting a Catholic in the White House.

Not long after the election determined Jack Kennedy as the new president, I wandered across the fields separating the junior high and the elementary schools to visit Mr. Martin, my 5th grade teacher. I’m not sure why I decided to drop by his classroom because he was NOT one of my favorites. I actually think he was a good teacher as he expected the best behavior and academic performance from his students. He was a dynamic instructor who kept us focused AND laughing, but he was also very strict. Mr. Martin didn’t have a lot of patience with chatterboxes, and I was a notorious chatterbox; consequently, I didn’t think he liked me all that much.

Mr. Martin was also a strong Catholic who contributed so much to his religious community, and he sometimes talked of his activities. When I walked into his classroom, I was not surprised  to see a large portrait of the president-elect on the front bulletin board. For whatever reason, I immediately thought about the ethical guidelines banning political endorsements of candidates; consequently, this smart-mouth seventh grader commented in a 12-year-old, know-it-all voice, “I hope you didn’t put up that picture until AFTER the election!”

Irritated, Mr. Martin scolded and reassured me that he did not post it prematurely. For a few more minutes, we discussed the Kennedy election, and I made negative comments, adding a dour prediction of the man’s future that I won’t ever repeat or record. That embarrassing  exchange is lodged in my memory, and I am still ashamed of both my attitude and my criticisms. I didn’t know anything but acted as if I knew it all. Pathetic!

Over the next three years, I lived through the memorable Kennedy years as a young teenager. Some of my remembrances center upon the President and his first lady. It was impossible not to admire Jackie’s classy style and beauty. Like the rest of the world, I followed what Mrs. Kennedy wore in Washington or Paris. Even at age 14, I copied her style, pill-box hat, spike heels, and all! (I didn’t quite pull it off!)

I also lived through the scary times of the Kennedy administration. The most frightening was the Cuban Missile Crisis. When I think of that time, I picture myself in an LDS Seminary class at Alameda Jr. High as a 9th grader. Brother Empey was our instructor, and we were studying the Book of Mormon. We read about modern times as described in ancient scriptures, and I knew I was witnessing the fulfillment of prophesy. I remember being terrified at times, wondering, “Is this it? Is this the end?” During those few days in October, it has been said that the whole world held its breath. Cliched as the statement may be, it well describes the mood. It was all that we talked about, read about, and prayed about.

The most poignant memory of the era was November 22, 1963 when the young president was assassinated. Like so many, I can remember exactly where I was when I heard the terrifying news. By this time, I was a sophomore in high school and loving life. The frustrations of junior high were behind me, and while the world wasn’t at peace, the fears of the Cold War seemed diminished. And then one Friday morning at Highland High School, I stood at my locker, grabbing books for my next class. Suddenly, unusual chattering rippled through the hallway, and then tears, gasps, and cries. Finally, the news reached me: “President Kennedy has been shot!” Shock! Disbelief! End of the world! No words.

I wanted to leave school. I wanted to go somewhere to pray. I begged Heavenly Father to help our president survive. I so hoped the news was wrong, and he wasn’t injured as badly as was rumored. I wanted to know what happened, and I DIDN’T want to know because every detail made the events true. I was devastated. Our leader was fighting for his life! How could this happen in America? I wanted to wake up and find I’d been caught up in a nightmare, and then breathe again. But no.

For days upon days, the world watched news footage of the shooting, the wait at the hospital while doctors tried to save our president, the grim announcement that he didn’t survive, the manhunt for the suspect, the arrest and murder of Lee Harvey Oswald, the swearing in of Lyndon B. Johnson, the funeral procession, the lying-in-state, the services, and the eternal flame. Time stopped. For awhile. But then, as it always does, life continued on, and here it is November 22, 2009.

For one of our anniversaries, Gar gave me a framed work that included those cute pictures of  children all dressed up like young adults. The theme of this particular work was marriage, and besides the photos, it included “The 10 Commandments of a Happy Marriage.” No author is credited, and I “googled” the title and lines to find the writer. No luck.

To many, these statements may seem dated, but to old married folks, they ring true. Unselfishness lies at the heart of these commandments and at the heart of good marriages. The 10 are difficult to keep, but continuous effort brings forth the desired results ~ a lasting marriage filled with joy. What do you think?

The 10 Commandments of a Happy Marriage

1. Thou shalt always remember that thy marriage is a partnership between thee, thy spouse and the Lord. For in knowing this, thou wilt have the strength, courage, and determination to conquer all challenges that may come into thy marriage.
2. Thou shalt cleave unto thy spouse and let not thine eyes wander, nor do anything like unto it. For it is through fidelity and commitment that thou shalt find confidence and trust.
3. Thou shalt not be selfish with thy time, nor  with thy money, nor with anything else that is thine. For in doing this thou shalt avoid resentment and find harmony.
4. Thou shalt remember that thy parents are good, but need to give thee space in thy marriage. For it is through relying upon each other that communication and unity is formed.
5. Thou shalt always remember to call thy spouse sweetheart, honey, or whatever else makes them happy and to remember the little things. For it is through little acts of kindness that thou shalt find love and tenderness.
6. Thou shalt remember to always use kind words and cease to find fault with thy spouse. For in doing this, thou shalt find peace.
7. Thou shalt enjoy each other’s company and remember to date often. For it is in spending time together that one truly gets to know their spouse and find intimacy.
8. Thou shalt add the words “I’m sorry” to thy vocabulary and use them often. For in doing this, thou shalt melt down the barriers of anger and resentment and find mutual forgiveness.
9. Thou shalt recognize and acknowledge the desires, efforts and accomplishments of thy spouse. For in this thou shalt find appreciation and gratitude for one another.
10.  Thou shalt live within thy means and learn the difference between wants and needs. For in doing this thou shalt avoid needless stress and find contentment.

It’s a hard time for so many neighbors, friends, and family members who have lost jobs, accepted demotions or pay-cuts, watched their homes go into foreclosure, or declared bankruptcy. We empathize because we know how difficult such experiences are. Back in the late 80s, the semi-conductor industry foundered, and very early one January morning, the telephone rang. My husband’s short, abrupt responses sent a surge of anxiety straight to my stomach. I knew the dreaded news we’d been anticipating for several months had finally found us.

I wish I could say we were prepared for that day, but we weren’t. We hadn’t saved money, stored food, or paid off bills. Like ostriches, we just buried our heads and hoped we’d luck out. I HAD started back to college with the goal of completing my degree so that I could teach school and supplement our income. But I had a LONG way to go! In fact, I worried that I’d have to drop out of school a second time to find a job as soon as I could to help support the needs of our four growing boys.

Although we were terribly unprepared for this misfortune, we did have a few things going for us. First of all, my husband HAD and HAS an amazing work ethic. While completing dozens of applications, he didn’t sit back and wait for something to come his way. Of course, he filed for unemployment, but he also looked for any kind of available work. For example, he contacted his brother who operated a small janitorial service, so he and our sons cleaned offices at night. Gary also delivered Yellow Books every time that temporary job opened up. When spring broke, he borrowed a lawn aerator and offered yard services to  neighbors, friends, and relatives. With our sons’ help, it didn’t take long for him to build up a decent little business.

We looked at every possible way to bring in money, including selling whatever we could. Our Suburban was the first to go even though we had to sell it at a loss, and then we also held a few garage sales. Our sons withdraw from some of their extra-curricular activities and other opportunities. The sacrifice was not easy for them or for us because we hated to deny to three younger sons what had been given to the oldest.

Hubby and I talked often about whether or not I should quit school. I had very little work experience outside of mothering and running a household, but when my brother-in-law invited me to his accounting firm to interview for a secretarial position, I felt obligated to apply. FORTUNATELY, I failed the typing test – embarrassing as that was! I wanted so much to finish school that I decided to do everything I could to continue my education AND bring in some kind of money. I applied for every student loan, grant, and scholarship for which I qualified. When I learned that I earned the scholarships and would receive the needed financial aid, I decided I better carry as heavy load as I could to hasten graduation. And so, I carried between 15 and 21 credit hours a semester for the final two years.

It took four months for Gary to find another job at First Security Bank. It was good work that didn’t pay very much – 1/2 of what he’d been earning before. At one point, a neighbor approached him about leaving behind manual labor to sell Amway products. When Gar turned him down, our friend couldn’t understand it, wondering how he could “lower” himself to work at such menial jobs when he had the potential to earn 1000s with Amway. Honest labor was/is not an embarrassment to my husband, and KNOWING that he could put food on the table and keep a roof over our head was more important to him than HOPING he could through POSSIBLE sales.

In the meantime, I finished my 2 last years of schooling. I could not have accomplished it without a husband who encouraged me to reach my goals, even though it meant he had to  work three jobs. I also credit my boys for assisting their father in providing for our family and putting their mother through school. I’ll never forget how hard they worked and what they gave up. One particularly difficult month, our Joe bought school clothes for his little brother with money he earned from working at Taco Time.

Gary and the boys  continued with the yard and janitorial work until I procured a position with Jordan School District as an English teacher in 1991. Because of them, I earn a living doing what I love to do.  We’re not rich by any means, but we’re in a situation described in Gary’s patriarchal blessing: We can help those in need, including our children when they and their little families are struggling financially. For that, we are so grateful!

Sometimes I get caught up in wishing for this and that instead of appreciating what I have experienced. For example, I often daydream about going to Great Britain. I even check out prices when Travelzoo sends a message announcing travel at great savings. Some plane fares and accommodation charges are tempting, but we just don’t have the money … especially for the kind of trip I’d like to take! There is so much that I want to see and do that I would have to move there to take it all in.

You see, I want to take a family history trip because my ancestry originates there; and I long for a literary tour to see sites connected with Jane Austen and Wm. Shakespeare. Because of a historical interest in the tragedy of the Titanic, I HAVE to visit South Hampton. I’ve even written two chapters of a Young Adult novel about the voyage, and I think I really need to conduct research beyond the dozens and dozens of books I’ve read. I NEED TO GO THERE, DARN IT!!!

If I truly have an attitude of gratitude, however, I think about the great travel opportunities I’ve enjoyed over the years. I could blog about each one, but will just highlight one favorite with plans to expand upon more experiences at a later time. When I attended college at Brigham Young University, I was involved in the International Folk Dancers. I really couldn’t dance a lick, but made the team because I can SMILE big! Well, each year the director took a group of dancers to Europe. I cannot tell you how much I wanted to go on that tour, but when I asked my parents about the possibility, they told me NO! Can you imagine parents saying no to such a great opportunity – a once in a lifetime chance to dance across Germany, France, Austria, and Switzerland. How could they? I wasn’t used to that two-letter word. Of course, I didn’t really ask for much because they were such generous parents.

When Mom and Dad talked over the situation with me, they told me that my sister would not be able to join me at BYU the following year if they spent the money they’d saved for her college education on a trip to Europe for me. What could I say? I don’t remember being all that upset. Perhaps I didn’t think I would really make the traveling troupe anyway because a big smile can only take you so far. I was also very homesick that spring, and ready to return home for a while. Even the lure of Europe couldn’t erase that. I wanted to spend time with Mom and Dad and Connie and Puddles – our Pomeranian/Chihuahua.

Hospital not far from our cute apartment!

Fast forward a couple of years to 1970. I not only visited Germany, France, Austria, and Switzerland, I lived in Germany with my cute new hubby and we traveled to those other countries more than once. That little lesson taught me that deferred dreams don’t always mean denied dreams. Such desires are sometimes fulfilled in different ways and at different times than we imagine. And waiting a little longer never hurts and often makes the fruition all the sweeter.