Writing My Life

It’s not every Saturday that I enjoy High Tea at the America Grand Hotel with anyone, let alone dear friends with whom I tramped the streets of Vienna! The occasion sort of commemorated the 10th anniversary of our Austrian adventure. Mingling memories with hot chocolate, scones, and tiny sandwiches was the perfect way to rehearse the details of our trip to that beautiful city. 

I’ve always associated sipping cocoa on a wintry day with my childhood, but now I also travel back to the Vienna Woods and Hermes Villa on a January day in 1999. Emperor Franz Josef presented the villa to his wife Elizabeth (Sisi) as a gift, a “Castle of Dreams,” with the hopes of keeping her home in Austria. You see, poor Sisi suffered from “wanderlust.”

While we might define this condition as a “love of travel,” the emporess’ state exemplified the dictionary definition: “a STRONG, INNATE DESIRE to rove or travel about.” If Sisi wasn’t on the road, she suffered tremendously from physical ailments and mental depression; but time spent in Greece, Hungary, or Great Britain restored her health and sense of well-being for a time. 

As magical as Hermes Villa seems, however, the Castle of Dreams failed to captivate Sisi. Not even bedroom walls painted with scenes from Midsummer Night’s Dream enchanted her royal highness.  The romantic mansion, located on a former game preserve on the outskirts of Vienna, was not far enough away for Elizabeth’s escape from the pressures of the royal court and the prying eyes of a controlling mother-in-law.

That day, hoarfrost-covered trees lined the paths that meandered through the Vienna Woods leading to the villa, adding a visual chill to the frozen air. The cold beauty and the overcast skies introduced us to the melancholy that haunted the grounds and the rooms of the mansion. Sisi’s displayed dresses, combs, brushes, jewelry, and other personal effects only added to the emptiness of a sad life and a broken marriage.

Drinking hot chocolate in the Hermes Villa café, my friends and I talked of the Empress at length. For whatever reason, we felt more of a closeness to her that day in that place than we did at any of her other castles. It was there that we realized Sisi could NEVER have satisfied her search for happiness because she knew what she wanted to escape, but she didn’t know what she sought.

Nevertheless, the people of Austria and Hungary loved the empress, and they still do. In spite of Sisi’s idiosyncracies, they admire her beauty, her athleticism, her intelligence. She was passionate and compassionate. Many compare her to Princess Diana of Great Britain, and there exists a few interesting similarities, including tragic deaths.

Empress Elizabeth brought us all to Vienna once upon a January, and so it’s only fitting that we bring her to Salt Lake City once in awhile to join us for hot chocolate and warm friendship.

During NaBloPoMo I wrote about a couple of historical moments: President Kennedy’s election and assassination, and the Berlin Wall’s destruction. In both of those posts, I mentioned that I wished I had recorded my feelings when the events occurred. To a small degree, I remember how I felt, but hindsight provides a very different view.

With that in mind, I decided I MUST write about the historical moments I’m witnessing now. The most signficant is the 2008 election of Barack Obama, the first African-American president. His first year in office is coming to a close, and it has been a most difficult one. President Obama took on more problems than most presidents, excluding Presidents Abraham Lincoln and Franklin D. Roosevelt – who happen to be his heroes.

Among the challenges his administration inherited are an economy in crisis and a war being fought on two fronts. The U.S. AND the world are slowly climbing out of “The Great Recession,” a descriptor that indicates the severity of the situation that is reminiscent of “The Great Depression” of the 1930s.

Tonight President Obama also announced a troop build-up in Afghanistan where Islamic extremists and terrorists are swelling in ranks. This is an 8-year struggle that was neglected after President George W. Bush decided to take out Saddam Hussein – his father’s old nemisis. (But that’s ANOTHER story of unfinished business and imaginary “weapons of mass destruction.”)

While I did not vote for President Obama, I really WANTED him to win. I’m accused of being enamored of his charismatic personality and his eloquent oratory, and that is partially accurate. But I am also drawn to his intelligence, his grit, his courage, and even his politics. (Now that really freaks out some individuals who are certain that the man is pushing this country  into becoming a socialistic nation – a state just a hair above Hell.)

President Obama’s dedication to reform health care is at the heart of this criticism. I guess I am liberal-minded because I believe in affordable health care. Furthermore, I also believe that American taxpayers will pay for an improved program, or we’ll pay for the uninsured that turn to welfare and bankruptcy, etc. Whether it’s increased taxes or fees and interest, we’ll be out-of-pocket.

One interesting backlash for my support of  President Obama occurred on Facebook – a popular social network. An old high school acquaintance “befriended” me and occasionally commented upon my FB wall. I usually avoid topics concerning religion or politics, but when an outrage erupted over President Obama’s desire to speak to the nation’s students at the beginning of the school year, I HAD to say SOMETHING!

I could not understand why people were against his desire to encourage America’s youth to study hard and to make the most of their education. I was appalled at the lack of respect for our nation’s leader. Good grief, he didn’t want to BRAINWASH them with socialist drivel! He wanted to INSPIRE them. I felt like some parents were afraid that their children would hear this positive message and actually LIKE the man and what he said. Mommies and Daddies just didn’t want to run the risk of kidlets becoming critical thinkers.

This is what I wrote on September 3, 2009:

Is the president of the United States going to present a message that is rated PG? Or PG13? Thus requiring parental consent? From what I understand, the content of his speech centers on the importance of setting goals and getting an education, being of service to our fellowmen, and taking care of our earth. I did not vote for President Obama, and I do not agree with all of his policies; nevertheless, I respect him as the president of this great nation. This is NOT a state of the union address; nor is he “candidate” Obama. So why should “someone respond” to his remarks? He is the president. How would “someone” respond? Quit school? Turn against your neighbors? Trash the earth? Who is making this political? And why? Is the message one of indoctrination or one of concern about the youth of this nation? I prefer to believe it’s the latter. And if I am disappointed, I’ll talk to the children in our family about it.

My old school mate commented that she was too conservative for the conversation that eventually erupted, and I replied that I welcomed ALL comments. I think it’s a healthy discourse when people civally disagree. And then she added …

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!