Things I Don't Do Well --- Technology & Unwanted Wild Things

Just when we thought we'd conquered most of the frustrating new things we got a cell phone. Our son Jim had previously discussed putting us on a family plan with him since Cameron is now 12 and thought he'd do well to have his own cell phone. Not such a great idea until Jim's cell phone suddenly said NO SERVICE, only minutes after it was working up Millcreek Canyon, for goodness sake. That's in the eastside Salt Lake mountain area a few miles from home.

His complaints got him a new phone and access to a couple more for not too many dollars so we took one, and Cameron the other, and now we're in the real world. Trouble is, just rry and read the instruction book. Whoever wrote it is a foreign idiot bordering on terrorism. First of all, the little signs are just that, very little, and we cannot make sense out of their lovely codes. Jim kindly programmed in family phone numbers, and showed us how the unwanted camera worked. We already have a nice digital, so a camera phone was not on the list but try and get one without that feature.

I put the instructional CD into my computer but even going online as it suggested merited absolutely nothing. Next try was to just type in Verizon help. No help. Then Motorola help, since that's the make of our phone. My computer screen said something about that could not be accessed and Engineers were aware of the problem and would fix it right away. Thanks, but I need help now.

About that time Alan came in to say he'd kindly captured a 12-inch blowsnake outside, from inside our laundry room window well. In 41 years on Monte Verde we've not had that kind of widlife. Closest has been a baby mouse that got into the same window well and was finally rescued by sticking a broom down it so it could climb up. So what does a snake have to do with a new cell phone? Only this: TOTAL FRUSTRATION. Now I don't dare go outside to sit in our lawn swing to get out the mental kinks since surely one 12 inch young snake didn't get into the window well without an adult nearby. Yes, we live on the edge of the mountain. Yes, we know wildlife like mountains as well as we do, and we're willing to accept most of the critters. However, only three times in 41 years we've seen other snakes, including a big one on the lawn this spring--which Alan kindly hauled off. We think it was the same one Dallin found last year on our 50th Anniversary party day. That one got hauled off back to it's habitat. But it didn't stay there, or else spread the word that this was a good spot to practice terrorizing the neighborhood.

Trouble is, a 4-year old boy was bitten by a rattlesnake a week ago at the school's habitat garden just east of Eastwood School. I already saw snakes in every twig.
They and I don't get along. Neither, apparently do cell phones and I. I'm ready to go back to the good old days when we had neither snakes, nor a cell phone. The little boy was treated at ER and is fine. His mom captured the culprit by dumping out a box in her Suburban, and took it along to ER, as instructed on a recent TV show she'd seen. Score one for her. Zero minus for the rattler, which was supposed to be a young one. Eyewitnesses said it was a good size rattler, young or not.

Any advice appreciated. What do I do if (1) Jim isn't availaable for my help line on technology and (2)If Alan isn't available to save me from snakes, especially those that think they ought to invade our territory. We've been here longest, so they have to go. How do I get proficient in cell phone useage when I cannot get the CD instruction to work, and when I cannot understand the book. How did a nice little old lady like me get into such a predicament. I can always call Wildlife Control to get rid of snakes, I expect. Who rescues me from cell-phone panic? Both scenarios raise the blood pressure.

Okay, so I admit it. I'm a technology challenged grandmother.

The Old Pot Belly Stove

When it gets warm in the early spring we want to plant the garden, put out the lawn furniture and begin to enjoy the outdoor atmosphere. Spring fever hits with a vengeance after winter is waning.

I always am reminded of the years in Idaho when our living room was heated with an old fashioned and very ugly potbelly stove. It did heat the room but oh, it was so unattractive. After a warm spell, and then a cold one, we were ready for spring for sure. When it arrived, even temporarily, we looked at that old stove and wondered if it might not be time to take it down and store it in the dirt floor cellar under the house.

After about 5 days of very warm weather Dad would say, "What do you think. Shall we take it down?" Mother's reply would be something like "I don't know. It sure is ugly. Better wait." If the weather turned cold and rainy she was glad she decided to wait to take down that old stove. We welcomed the warmth of the coal and wood fire. But if a week went by, then another,of nice weather they'd finally give in and Dad would dismantle the stove & chimney, and carry the little black & sooty cast iron stove down the stairs. Sure enough, within a day or so it was chilly. Oh, but it will warm up tomorrow. Or the next day. After several days of shivering or sitting in the kitchen around the old green cook stove, Mother would say, "I know I told you to take down the stove, but I guess we need it. Summer isn't here after all."

Perhaps it was Dad, who hated the cold who just gave in and had Richard help him bring it back, sooty chimney and all. There would be some discussion on wishing for a nicer stove for the living room, but of course in the early 1940's that wasn't possible.

After a year or so of realizing this pattern I'd want to tell them not to take the stove down, no matter how much we disliked it in warm weather, because for sure it was going to get cold again. Like Dad, I really disliked cold inside. I knew no one would pay attention to me, because I was just an old fuss budget, and needed to mind my own business. Chidren were seen, and not heard in that time.

At long last the time came when somehow there was enough money to afford a wonderful new tall brown enamel Heatrola. It even had a little place on the back where we could add water to humidify the room. What luxury. It was so nice and looked like a suitable piece of furniture and no need to even think of taking it down. The top was flat, and we could hold our hands out over it to get them warm. Or another bonus was to have a space to carefully dry wet clothes if washday was rainy. Note the carefully part. We soon learned that scorched clothes weren't nice. Mother frowned if it was thread-bare towels left on too long and she scolded if it was sheets. In that day, white sheets were a must - there were no colored sheets until much later, after the War was long over. By white, it meant snowy white. The family honor hung on how nice the sheets looked flapping on the clothesline, and for certain the neighbors would comment if we had brown scorch marks. There were no secrets in rural Idaho then or now. Also it was very important at how early they were out to dry Monday mornings but that's another story.

Oh the wonder of a new toasty warm nice looking front room stove with plenty of room to pull up a chair behind it, at least quite close, and read a good book. It was also wonderful if our white ankle socks or undies weren't dried, or truthfully, not hand-washed the night before. Washday was once a week, and anything that needed washing was done by hand in the enamel washdish, water poured from the teakettle on the kitchen stove. Later we got a sink in the kitchen with cold running water, so not necessary to go out to the pump to fill the water bucket & the teakettle. That, also is another story.

Since we often only had one pair of socks without holes at a time, and no one with any class at all wore dirty socks or those with holes, we'd scrub them daily. Once again, caution was the byword. Don't leave even for a second, turn the drying things often, and hope the bus wasn't coming yet. This was when we were old enough to care about appearances in our early teens. Twenty nine or thirty five cents of many a weekend baby sitting dollar often was spent on a new pair of white anklets to wear with our saddle shoe oxfords.

All these memories just because we have a warm spell, followed by a return to winter in the early spring. "The kind of day we'd wish to take down the old stove," I say. A furnace is wonderful, but never as cosy and warm as a nice coal stove, especially if it is a Heatrola.

Shelling Peas Maybe not such a good idea

Here is a picture from the past only the ancient will appreciate fully, but maybe the rest will get a glimpse into a world they don't know.

One year my mother had 2 bushel of peas to put up in bottles, using her pressure cooker. Canned peas were then and still are the lowest vegetable on the panty shelf. It was a wonderful day when we could freeze peas and enjoy them.

The two bushel of peas were a lot to shell as anyone who raises a garden will realize. I think someone gave them to us, perhaps a Riverside neighbor who was raising quite a lot of them. Certainly we didn't ever grow that much in our big garden that was our food storage back in the 1940's.

We all looked at that big job and brightened up when Mother said someone had told her it was possible to shell peas by putting them through the washing machine wringer. For the record, a washing machine before the days of automatic washers, had a big tub in which all clothes were washed in the same water, beginning withi whites and ending up with overalls. To get the water out, and to save the water, the clothes were put between two rubber rollers, carefully, since getting fingers in between the wringer rollers were disasterous. I suggest you check out an old-time catalog to see what a real washing machine looked like. Ours was a trusty Maytag, purchased when I was born 1935, by selling a cow. I think it cost about $100. The doctor bill for me was $25, and he came from Logan to Clarkston. That's another story.

First, we scrubbed the washing machine very thoroughly, since we also stored dirty clothes in it between Monday washdays. Yes, we only washed once a week and that also is another story.

Once the washing machine and wringer was properly sanitized, we began the task of trying to feed the peas in their pods through the rubber rollers. Squished green peas make one big mess on rubber rollers that will have to squeeze water out of clean clothes before going into the rinse tub. We tried, and tried. No matter how many methods we used, including loosening the pressure on the rollers, all we got was a dreadful green mess. The day was quickly passing and we still had a good part of the 2 bushels of peas needing shelling.

Finally in desperation we said, as we often did in our farm environment, "There has to be a way, if we only knew it. I expect it was Juanita Nelson who was smart enough to shell peas with her wringer. Ask Dennis about Juanita. She was the original Molly Mormon with a few rough edges. Also another story.

Not only didn't we have our peas shelled, we had to scrub down the wringer and the washer, so we didn't have green clothes for the next forever. We did get the peas into bottles and they didn't taste good, but then, we needed vegetables in our diets so were glad to have the "vitamins" they provided, even if they didn't. Enjoy frozen peas.

We sighed a bit, then laughed more at our failed effort to quick-shell green peas. Whenever I'm in a hopeless lost cause I remember we survived even though we never did learn how to shell peas by using the washing machine. It was sort of like the race horse spuds we raised. I'll save that one for next time, and give you something to anticipate. Am I full of stories? Oh yes, and they're all true. Maybe remembered a bit better because of time, but none the less, true. Comments appreciated.

Mother Teresa didn't compose the Paradoxical Commandments

Mother Teresa gets a lot of credit and deserves it but the list attributed to her "Do It Anyway" wasn't her writing at all, just a sign posted on the wall of a chidren's home in India. The real author was Kent M. Keith, who is the author of a new book Jesus Did It Anyway. He spoke at our Enrichment meeting since he was in Salt Lake to teach leadership skills at the Salt Lake Community College, and his cousin just happens to live in our ward. Well, turns out the Paradoxical Commandments were written and copyrighted by him in 1968 when he was a college student and trying to change the world. He put it into a pamphlet for student leaders first, then later a small booklet, also on training student leaders. Then he moved on, and 25 years later was shocked to discover just how far his words had gone, attributed to many, including Mother Teresa. He gives retroactive permission to publish to anyone who has infringed on his copyright law, so don't panic if you've done it or seen his words elsewhere, including by many prominent people, even Steven R. Covey. He just asks that in their next edition he receive proper credit.
Good words to think about, now globally passed along in many places, many languages. 1. People are illogical, unreasonable and self-centered. Love them Anyway. 2. If you do good, people will accuse you of selfish ulterior motives. Do good, anyway. 3. If you are successful, you will win false friends and true enemies. Succeed anyway. 4. The good you do today will be forgotten tomorrow. Do good, anyway. 5. Honesty and frankness make you vulnerable. Be honest and frank anyway. 6. The biggest men and women witrh the biggest ideas can be shot down by the smallest men and women with the smallest minds. Think big, anyway. 7. People favor underdogs but follow only top dogs. Fight for a few underdogs anyway. 8. What you spend years building may be destroyed overnight. Build anyway. 9. People really need help but may attack you if you do help them. Help people anyway. 10. Give the word the best you have and you'll get kicked in the teeth. Give the world the best you have anyway. Now you have the rest of the story. Give Kent Keith credit. His book is a good read, also. He lives in Hawaii, and is a Protestant lay teacher.

On Seeing One's Self, Interviewed

When I was quite young, maybe 13 or so, I remember looking at a funny girl who seemed to stare at me while browsing through our one department store in Blackfoot. That's aside from J.C. Penneys. Anyway, this girl just kept looking at me with such an odd expression, and wondered at her poor manners. Well, you guessed it. I was looking in a mirror. It really was a shock to realize what I looked like. Nothing like the glamouress self assured teen I thought I was. Well, deja vu and I'm there again. This time it was seeing Gordon's newly composed DVD showing Alan and I at our 50th anniversary interview on the park bench on our front lawn. We were not told ahead of time this would happen, and I talked fast, knowing it was probably my only chance to say a few things my family didn't want to know.

On the screen I look as though I ought to open my mouth wider. My hair looks nice, but I sit taller than Alan, who isn't anxious for this interview at all, which means I talk more. When he finally does talk, he gets some basic facts very incorrect so of course I set the story right. Our first car, purchased the day after we were married cost $225, and we paid it off at $12.50 a month. Isn't that an important fact? I thought so. Our children are appalled to think I'm correcting Alan, but I've lived with him 50 years, and know his stories better than he does at this stage.

Not to worry. Eventaully he does loosen up and say a few words, especially when someone in the background comments that I'm sitting taller than he is. He says I've always sat taller (true) but he stands taller. (true).

As we're viewing this with Gordon, at almost midnight, so he can share it with his sister for Christmas - yes I know, it is midway past January, but she's in town for her father-in-law's funeral, and when you live 12 hours from home base, Salt Lake, well, saving a stamp or two and the bother of putting something in the mail is worth a crash job even if it ends at midnight. Alan suddenly begins to say he looks a hundred years old. I'm thinking I look ridiculous, but I truly was afraid if I quit talking the camera would go away and I'd have missed my change at fame. Seeing oneself as others see us isn't usually comfortable, but it wasn't that. I just wanted a few facts like how much we've communicated all these years known to our kids who think we never talk. We talk plenty, but usually privately. I've gone from the very shy one to the upfront person, partially as a protection. Alan knows he mixes up words, can't remember all our grandchildren's names, so I front for him. He prefers not to jump in, but of course in most conversations, the silences don't come often for one who is deliberate. Quiet, he'll say. Let me talk, when he thinks he wants to. That sounds rude to others, but I know him so well I know it isn't meant that way. Our kids have always thought we probably were on the edge of calling it quits, but mostly I just stand up and defend myself.

Still, back to the teenager I didn't think was me in the mirror, now I face reality and know it is me on that DVD. Is it too late to ask for a remake? Yes. Is it too late to be glad it was done? Yes. Am I sorry I faced me and sighed? No. Comments ought to go through this time. I've disabled whatever was enabled. Love you all, whoever.

A snowy trip home

On December 30, 2005 I was in such a hurry going down our hill that I ended up sliding hard into the curb during a light but wet snowstorm. I hit hard enough that my eyeglasses ended up in the back seat, and my purse contents dumped onto the floor. A sidenote was that when I opened the passenger side of the car to stuff my purse contents back into at least a semblance of order apparently some very imprtant papers fell out into the snow. I also bent the rim of the tire and the car drove funny until Alan changed it. Hum one line of It's so Nice to Have a Man Around the House here. Next, I discovered it was a blessing I lost those papers which apparently went all the way down and into the storm drain after the snow turned to a good rain. Meanwhile I cleaned a lot of things trying to figure out where they could be. Not in the house. Alan figured out what must have happened but no papers in sight. He suggested I walk all the way down to the boulevard and see for myself. In doing so I found a neighbor's social security card. I didn't know him, but we got acquainted when he came to retrieve the card. He'd been robbed at gunpoint, at 6:20 at night, in the dark, and the robbers got $13 for their trouble, and jail time when caught because of the gun. A man riding his bike to work found the wallet and most contents the next day at the bottom of Eastwood Drive. So. I lost my papers, found someone else's, and eventually discovered losing those particular papers was not as bad as it seemed since they were legal papers and filled out slightly wrong. What did I learn? That I wish messages could be sent in a less violent manner. I think I'd listen if the promoptings were to re-do those papers. I learned I am glad to have a live-in fixit man who can change a tire and rim, and who can tell me my papers are down the drain. Literally.

Who could script such a day.

I also learned a small crash in a slow moving car has left me more anxious than I care to admit when I must be out in the snow.

I learned I am not the only one who has more adventure than we'd like in our quiet neighborhood. Comments appreciated.

Cleaning up the system Second Time around

I'm trying to clean up my site. Still learning. Wrote a second Christmas piece and lost half of it. Oh well. Anyway, I get a few more lessons in a week or so on how to do a better blog. Maybe even how to add photos. We had a great Christmas, all our local family in and out to enjoy Alan's little train & village that takes up a third of our front room. He's down on is knees with the grandkids (young ones) and the great grandkids, and loves it when they discover the candy he has in his train cars. I think we'll pack it all up in the next day or so. Happy New Year.

Cleaning up the system

I've gone through my little renderings and taken a few off, just in case someone I don't want to read them does. How's that for honesty? Write and deny? No, just edit and clean it up. Wish I could get the whole teenage world to clean it up - language, dress style, and lifestyle. I'm too old for my own good, since I remember simpler times. Comments appreciated.

Another Christmas memory

Before we moved to Riverside in January 1940 we spent a few weeks at my grandparents' home, Zeke & Agnes Godfrey in Clarkston. I was used to playing with my cousins Delon and Deloy Archibald, who were a year older and a year younger than I was. However, at this time mother kept David and I in the parlor most of the time so we wouldn't bother Grandma. I never felt I bothered her, although of course Grandma Agnes Godfrey let us know in no uncertain terms when we did something wrong and promptly gave us an unpleasant job to do if we didn't quit whatever it was we weren't supposed to do.

I remember the men bringing in a Christmas tree on probably Christmas Eve day, a cedar, I expect, since that was the kind of tree Dad (Elbert) always cut if he went to the hills for a tree. I was about 4 and a half. Grandma Agnes wasn't overly excited at the tree, saying Oh laws, a tree in the house, but a few garlands were hung on it. Then after Christmas she was ready to "get that thing out of the house. It makes such a mess."

I remember my young uncle Jess, a teasing teenager who pointed to a big gallon jug half full of a pink liquid and he said, "Want some punch? Drink this." Grandma quickly scolded him and told him not to tease us like that, and it wasn't punch. Mother said, no, don't drink that, in a tone that told us we sure better not. Turns out it was antifreeze for the car, deadly to a child if taken internally. Times were simpler then, even he teasing but the chastisements were strong and we'd better listen. I always think of Grandma Godfrey as my every day, no-nonsense grandmother. As a teen I came to really appreciate her.

In the Scholes home in Logan it was entirely different. They had a large home, lots of Scholes cousins who lived close by who were in and out, but the tradition was to have the tree set up in the drawing room or music room as it was called. Big sliding doors were closed and locked and children were not allowed in until Christmas morning. A lot of mystery and excitement about what was behind the closed doors, I am told. We didn't get in on that, but we did get in on the feeling of excitement. Mother said as a big family they always drew names. %