What I Miss Most about Being a Child

            I received a different but interesting and appropriate gift for Mother’s Day. One of my daughters gifted me with a subscription to “StoryWorth.” The idea behind the subscription is for me to write the stories of my life. Each week my daughter will select a question, and the company will email it to me. I am supposed to write the answer to the question and send it back. The company will send the answer to my daughter as well as combining the answers into a book at the end of the year. Here is another picture into who I am.

            The question for week 13 is: What about being a child do you miss the most? The thing that I miss most about my childhood is the feeling of being carefree. I was reared in a home where I felt very secure. I knew that my mother and father loved each other, and I knew that they loved each of their children with all their hearts. I had no doubts that they would do anything in their power for me and my happiness, and I never worried about having a place to stay or food to eat except for one time.

            Something happened. I do not know the reason, but I decided to run away from home and even left the house. I had no plan, and I did not take any blankets, food, or extra clothing with me. I was about an eighth of a mile down the road when I considered my situation. I wondered what I would eat and where I would sleep, and I immediately turned around and went back to the house. I never ran away from home again.

            My family lived on a farm that provided much of our food and money. My father worked the graveyard shift at a gas station in town for extra income. We were poor, especially by today’s standards. We had the essentials for health and life but little more, and I understood enough to not ask for anything expensive. I wore mostly hand-me-down clothing until I was in junior high school and learned to make my own.

            I understood that my family did not have as nice of a house or the newest clothes, but I never felt poor. I did not have my own bedroom or even my own bed, but I did not think anything about it. I did have my own drawer in the dresser because Mom insisted that we each have a private space. Other than my own toys and clothes with a drawer to hold them, I did not really have much of anything that I could call my own. I remember being in about the fifth grade and receiving a briefcase-type bag to carry my papers and stuff to and from school. I was so proud of that bag!

            I did not have a bicycle. In fact, no one in the family had a bicycle. We either walked the mile or so to visit a friend, or we rode a horse. We had one old brown work horse that had the creative name of The Sorrel. He was one of a pair of horses with the other one name Blue. Guess what color he was? Blue died when I was almost too young to remember him, but The Sorrel was still living when I was a teenager. He was huge and gentle, and we rode him bareback.

            We could climb all over The Sorrel, and he would just stand there. We could put children on him from his tail to his ears, and he would carry them wherever they wanted to go. However, he sometimes got back at us in a sly way - but never when little children were on him. I remember several times when he pulled his trick while I was riding him. We would be trotting along and making good time. Then he would take a side step. I would keep going forward with the momentum and land on the ground. Then I would have to find a fence or something to stand on before I could get back on his back. I remember another time that he got back at me, but I do not think that it was intentional. I was putting a child on his back, and he stepped on my left foot. My foot hurt so badly! I thought he would smash it before I could convince him to lift his foot! He was a good horse even though he was old and fat, and I have many fond memories with him.

            I loved being outside even as a child. It could have been the small house with the large family or my need for space and privacy. I do not know the reason. I simply know that my favorite memories of living on the farm happened in the spring. I loved running through the yard and pastures with the winter snow barely melted and the March winds blowing their chill breath. I was free, and I loved it! I loved the freedom so much that even the chilly wind could not drive me back in the house. I would find a ditch or a low spot where I could hunker down to get out of the wind, and I would stay there until I was warm enough to run and play again.

            Even though I had a carefree childhood, I also had a few fears. My biggest fear was being afraid of the dark. It was not so much the dark that frightened me but what or who might be in the darkness. I was afraid to go to the outhouse any time because I thought Satan lived in the hole in the ground under the toilet. I particularly did not like going out there alone in the darkness. I did not mind walking the quarter of a mile to or from the meetinghouse in the darkness if I was with someone, but I was frightened to do it by myself. In the first place, badgers lived at “the little hill” that was about halfway between the church and the house. We knew they were there because various members of the family had seen them. So I was afraid of badgers even though I never personally saw one. I was also afraid of anything else that might lurk in the darkness.

            I still do not like the darkness. Why do I live in a place that has such long hours of darkness? I stay close to home at night, and I do not like to be home alone at night. I was okay being home with the children in the house and my husband traveling, but I feel quite different being here alone at night. Even now I calm myself by giving myself some serious counseling – “There is no one out there watching you!”

          

            My other big fear was missing the school bus. We watched for the bus every morning because we could see it coming over the hill above the farm. The call would go out, “The bus is coming!” We walked a quarter of a mile to the bus stop every morning, and the bus had one and one-half miles to travel from the time when we could first see it until it was at our bus stop. We had to do the farm chores - milk the cows and feed the animals – before we could get ready for school. If we got up late or something went wrong, we would not leave the house when we normally would. Then we would run. I remember running to catch the bus many times and the bus waiting for us. I still hate to be late, but I wonder if I developed my running speed because I had to run for the bus so many times as a child. I still have nightmares sometimes about running for the bus.

            There have been times in my adult life when I yearned to be back in my childhood years. I finally figured out that I wanted the security that I felt with my parents and siblings. When I understood my need for security, I could look at my life and figure out what I needed to do to feel more secure. Now that I am in my older years, I feel somewhat carefree again. It is good!

Favorite Possessions

            I received a different but interesting and appropriate gift for Mother’s Day. One of my daughters gifted me with a subscription to “StoryWorth.” The idea behind the subscription is for me to write the stories of my life. Each week my daughter will select a question, and the company will email it to me. I am supposed to write the answer to the question and send it back. The company will send the answer to my daughter as well as combining the answers into a book at the end of the year. Here is another picture into who I am.

            The question for week 11 is: What are your favorite possessions? Why? This is another interesting question and one that I would not have included in my personal history! The possessions that I consider to be the most important in my life would include my temple recommend, my scriptures, my family ring (diamond from my engagement ring plus a birthstone for each of my children), pictures, family history, and heirlooms from my parents and grandparents. I protect these items carefully, but I do not consider them my favorites.

            My favorite objects include things that can be easily replaced and items that I use in my daily life, such as my sewing machine. I now own several sewing machines and have my eyes on another one. I could sew for several hours every day and never tire of it. I enjoy sewing because it allows me to be creative while it relaxes me. I have sewn many items of clothing in past years, including clothing and costumes for my children and grandchildren as well as prom dresses and wedding gowns for my daughters. I am now more interested in quilting projects and am in the process of making a quilt for each of my grandchildren. I have learned through personal experience that quilting has the same effect on me as putting puzzles together or working with Legos. The simple act of putting pieces together to make something beautiful distracts me from my daily life as well as relaxes me.

            Other favorite items include my gardening tools, particularly my shovels, rakes, pitch fork, and wheelbarrow. I love working in my yard and garden because it brings me closer to nature and to God. I have been blessed with numerous personal revelations as I worked in my backyard. I am grateful to have these tools available to me as I create more beauty. The shovels, rakes, and wheelbarrow have many uses in my gardening projects, but the pitch fork is irreplaceable as I work my compost piles. I did not own a pitch fork for many years until I started composting. Then I remembered my life on the farm and how we used pitch forks daily to move the hay into the mangers for the cattle and sheep, and I immediately made plans to buy one!

            Another favorite item is my iPhone because it keeps me in touch with my children and grandchildren. I had no use for a cell phone when they first came out. I remember being amazed when I saw people walking down the street with a telephone in their hands. It was such a new and exciting thing to see that I marveled at it for a long time. Then my husband and I started traveling, and I needed to have a cell phone. That was when I learned that I had instant contact with my children. I have had an iPhone for about seven years and enjoy staying up with daily events and activities of friends and family. I would have a difficult time going back to not having this link – but I suppose that I could make that adjustment also.

            I am sure that I have numerous other favorite things, but I think that you can understand why these things among my favorites. My relationships with God and my family are extremely important to me, and I can use these objects to improve those relationships as well as to develop my own gifts and talents.

Childhood Anticipation

            I received a different but interesting and appropriate gift for Mother’s Day. One of my daughters gifted me with a subscription to “StoryWorth.” The idea behind the subscription is for me to write the stories of my life. Each week my daughter will select a question, and the company will email it to me. I am supposed to write the answer to the question and send it back. The company will send the answer to my daughter as well as combining the answers into a book at the end of the year. I have not posted my story for a few weeks, so I thought I would share a little more of my life.

            Here is the question for Week 9: What did you look forward to the most as a child?

I do not remember having many things or events to anticipate. I think that my family generally took life one day at a time and accepted whatever happened that day. I looked forward to completing the chores because we had lots of fun playing games together after we finished. I looked forward to Christmas and my birthday like any child does. I looked forward to visits from older siblings who were living elsewhere. I looked forward to new babies in the family.

            I suppose that I looked forward to Friday evenings. (My sister says it was Thursday evenings.) There was no television in the area when I was a child, and my family never had one. I cannot remember whether it was weekly or monthly, but I think it was weekly. The bishop (pastor) would rent a movie with a cartoon and show it for free at the meetinghouse. I think the ward paid for the movie by selling “all day suckers,” candy bars and popcorn. It was a big social event enjoyed by all who attended.

            I looked forward to the annual ward (congregation) rodeo that was held at the rodeo grounds about a mile from the farm. It was always held on Labor Day weekend. It was a regular rodeo with all the usual rodeo events, plus some other events such as chariot races. My dad was in the chariot race at least once and my older brother did horse riding events. We had a rodeo queen with attendants, but neither I nor any of my sisters was ever chosen. I particularly liked the fact that Mom would give me a few dollars to buy goodies, but I do not remember what I purchased – probably candy, popsicles, and ice cream.

            I think the event that I anticipated the most was school. I did not attend kindergarten, so I did not start school until I was six years old. I anxiously looked forward to the day when I would be old enough to ride the school bus with my siblings. This anticipation did not stop once I was in school because summer vacations were much too long as far as I was concerned. I enjoyed school for two valuable reasons.

            One reason was for the social life. During the school year I was able to play with my friends who did not live close to me. I did not see any of my friends except those in my ward during the summer unless there was a special event, such as stake conference, a local, three-day convention, girls softball game, etc. Plus, there were no girls my age in my ward.

            A second reason – maybe more important to me than social – was that I loved school. I loved everything about it, but I particularly loved to learn new things. I was much like a sponge in that I soaked up everything that the teachers would present. I was a good student, got good grades, and received wonderful comments from my teachers.

            Being too ill to go to school was absolute torture to me, and I did not miss many days of school for illness and even fewer for other reasons. My siblings and I had whooping cough when I was in the first grade and missed six weeks of school. I remember two things about this experience: I went from the top reading group to a much lower one, and Mom would not give us any popcorn because she thought that we would choke on it if we started coughing.

            Another time when I was too sick to go to school happened about the eighth grade. I got a sore throat that was really bad. When I told my mother that it felt like I was coughing up pieces of my throat, she whisked me away to see the doctor. He gave me a shot – probably penicillin - in my rear and told me that I could not go to school until the next day. I had dressed and prepared to go right to school, but I reluctantly went home with my mother.

            I remember being in the eighth or ninth grade and being told that I would have to stay home when the sheep shearers came to shear the sheep that spring. I accepted the responsibility willingly even though I did not want to do it. I had a wonderful excuse to stay home - one that many children and teens would hope for - but I really wanted to go to school. My oldest brother and his wife were at the house; he would help with the sheep, and she would fix the food for the men – probably five or six. Mom was there, but apparently she was ill, injured, or something. I do not remember why she could not help.

            I had a good experience working with my sister-in-law as we fixed the food. I made a batch of bread – probably the main reason that I needed to stay home – and helped with the rest of the meal. I know that Mom and Dad appreciated my good attitude and that my sister-in-law appreciated my help. I also know that they understood that I wanted to be in school. Even at that young age, I knew that sometimes I needed to sacrifice for the good of the family, and I willingly did it.

My Grandparents

            We can strengthen our families, communities, and nations by sharing stories from personal and family history. I received a different but interesting and appropriate gift for Mother’s Day. One of my daughters gifted me with a subscription to “StoryWorth.” The idea behind the subscription is for me to write the stories of my life. Each week my daughter will select a question, and the company will email it to me. I am supposed to write the answer to the question and send it back. The company will send the answer to my daughter as well as combining the answers into a book at the end of the year.

            Here is the question for Week 4: What were your grandparents like? I personally knew only one of my four grandparents because three of them passed away before I was born. I knew only my mother’s mother, plus my father’s step-mother known to me as Aunt Mary. I do not wish to sound critical about any of my grandparents as I share what I know about them.

            Dad’s parents had four children – with Dad as the youngest – when Grandpa was called on a mission to Great Britain. Grandma worked really hard to take care of the children and earn the money to keep her husband in the mission field. When he returned from his mission, he brought a young woman named Mary and her brother home with him. He did not treat Grandma well, and they eventually divorced. Grandpa married the young woman, and they had four children together – two boys and two girls.

            Aunt Mary was sort of plump when I knew her with long white hair worn wrapped around her head in a braid. Even though Aunt Mary was not always kind to Dad and his father was sometimes violent, Dad always spoke of them with respect. I remember visiting Aunt Mary as a child/teenager with Dad and Mom after Sunday School. He always treated her honorably. I developed a relationship with her when I was junior high school. My friend and I would walk the short distance from the school to her home occasionally to see her. After I married I did not think so highly of the woman who was instrumental in the divorce of my grandparents.

            Grandma later married again. She encouraged and helped him to be sealed to his first wife. At the time a woman could be sealed to only one man, and Grandma was already sealed to Grandpa. I read somewhere that she said, “I am sealed to a man who does not want me, and I cannot be sealed to the man who loves me” – or something similar. She died on the way to a hospital – maybe from cancer. I was happy to hear that she was sealed to her second husband.

            My mother’s father was a few years older than his wife. He had several occupations, first working for a saw mill and later becoming an Indian agent. The family lived in Oregon and Arizona before settling in Fort Duchesne. I understand that Grandpa helped to build the Vernal Tabernacle, now the Vernal Utah Temple.

            My mother’s mother was tall – about 5 foot 8 inches – and slender. She too had white hair that she wore in a bun at the back of her head. She also had a large – about one-half inch in diameter – brown age mark in the middle of her left cheek. After her husband died she moved to Salt Lake City and found work at the Salt Lake City Library. She worked at the library until she was 80 years old. The local paper printed an article about her when she retired.

            Grandma was always well dressed – like she was going to church - and even wore a hat with a hat pin holding it to her hair. She walked two blocks every morning to catch the bus uptown and two blocks home after work. She had a fun porch swing sitting on her front porch. I remember her being quite upset when someone stole some inserts from the arms of the swing.

            Even though she always seemed happy to see me, I knew that she favored my aunt’s children. They lived with her off and on between my aunt’s marriages, so it was only natural. However, I did feel sad when I learned that she gave my cousin a stuffed animal and did not send me even a birthday card. One day when I was staying with my grandmother, aunt, and her children, we had lunch or dinner. Everyone started to eat but me, and I sat with my arms folded. Someone asked why I was not eating, and I replied that we had not said the blessing. I was asked bless the food. I think that my grandmother drank coffee or tea, but I do not know for sure. I do know that she heated water and made a hot drink that had a strong smell to it.

            I believe that my father’s mother was the most faithful member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. She completed a lot of genealogy and made sure that her second husband was sealed to his first wife. Dad always said that if he ever had to choose, he and his family would go with his mother.

            I am grateful for this Mother’s Day gift that encourages me to write the stories of my family. I feel certain that knowing a little bit about my grandparents will strengthen my family and thus strengthen our communities and nation.

Greatest Influence

            We can strengthen our families, communities, and nations by sharing stories from personal and family history. I received a different but interesting and appropriate gift for Mother’s Day. One of my daughters gifted me with a subscription to “StoryWorth.” The idea behind the subscription is for me to write the stories of my life. Each week my daughter will select a question, and the company will email it to me. I am supposed to write the answer to the question and send it back. The company will send the answer to my daughter as well as combining the answers into a book at the end of the year.

            Here is the question for Week 3: Who had the most positive influence on you as a child?

This is an interesting question and one that I have not previously considered. My parents and siblings had a lot of influence for good in my life. However, I feel that I should write about a man who was a member of our ward. Doug and his wife Donna were involved with the youth program. I think that they were the ward dance directors at a time when each ward put on a ward Gold and Green Ball. I was not old enough to go to the dances but heard from my siblings about Doug and Donna and how much fun they had with them. Doug was later a member of the ward bishopric, and he was friendly with everyone.

            Doug’s influence on me came as the school bus driver. My earliest memory came when he drove the bus route at night in order for all the children and their parents to get to the elementary school for the Christmas program. It was so fun to watch for the bus lights to come down the hill to pick us up and to ride the bus with my mother and younger siblings.

            Another experience was track and field day. My older brother Dick had taught me how to pole vault. He gave me a “pole” made from a small tree that was about 10-12 feet long. I wanted to do pole vaulting at school and took my pole to the bus stop. Doug allowed me to slide the pole under the seats to take it to school and again to return home.

            Doug taught me a lesson about integrity while I was still in grade school. One of my friends invited me to go to her house after school the next day, and my mother had given me permission. However, I failed to have my mother write a note to the bus driver. My friend helped me to write a note, and I signed my mother’s name. When it was time to get off the bus at my friend’s house, I handed the note to the bus driver and got off the bus. When we got to school the next day, the bus driver told us to stay on the bus while the other students got off. He told us that he knew that Mom had not written the note. I assured him that I had Mom’s permission, but he did not let it slide. (Did we think that he would not notice the childish writing?) He talked to us about being honest in our dealings and asked us to not pull that trick again. I never did.

            When I was a sophomore in high school I wanted to join the Future Homemakers of America (FHA). As part of the initiation I had to wear a long dress (had to sew a big ruffle on one of my dresses), put baby powder in my hair, wear shoe boxes on my feet, and scrub the steps of the school with a toothbrush. I also had to beg for pennies. My friend Allen told me that he would give me a bunch of pennies (maybe 25-50 – I do not remember) if I would ask Doug to marry me. I went to the front of the bus and kneeled by his seat and proposed to him. I cannot remember if he laughed or if he said yes or no, but whenever he saw me afterwards he would tell me that I was the girl that proposed to him.

            There was another man in our second ward. After our meeting house burned when I was twelve years old, our ward met at a nearby ward building while waiting for a new one to be built for us. About a year after the fire, the ward was divided. Doug’s family and neighbors became part of one ward while the rest of the ward was put in another ward.

            Apparently, my age group was difficult to teach because we went through a number of teachers. We were not bad kids, but we did do a lot of talking and laughing in class. As an adult I understand how such behavior can frustrate a teacher, but I was too self-centered to realize that my class was frustrating teacher after teacher.

            One Sunday a new teacher came to teach our class. He was also new to the ward. I do not remember his name, but I remember that he lived in a tiny house close to the junior high school. On his first Sunday he flatly told us something similar to this: “I do not care what you do or say because you are stuck with me. You cannot drive me out!” His statement shocked me because I had not realized that we were the reason why we kept getting new teachers. Like Doug, this teacher was not afraid to be tough with us and to challenge us to change our behavior. As I remember, this man and his family did not stay in our ward more than a year or so, but he was there long enough to teach us how to behave in Sunday School class. Whenever I am assigned to teach a difficult group of children or youth, I remember this man and how he stuck with our class until we learned. The remembrance of his example gives me the fortitude to stick with any class!

            I am grateful for this Mother’s Day gift that encourages me to write the stories of my family. I feel certain that knowing these stories will strengthen my family and our communities and nation.

My Mother

            We can strengthen our families, communities, and nations by sharing stories from personal and family history. I received a different but interesting and appropriate gift for Mother’s Day. One of my daughters gifted me with a subscription to “StoryWorth.” The idea behind the subscription is for me to write the stories of my life. Each week my daughter will select a question, and the company will email it to me. I am supposed to write the answer to the question and send it back. The company will send the answer to my daughter as well as combining the answers into a book at the end of the year.

            Here is the question for Week 2: What was your Mom like when you were a child? The following information is my answer to that question. As I wrote this information, I felt a real weakness in my ability to put the goodness of my mother into words. I hope that she is pleased with what I have written.

            My mother was 37 years old when I was born, and she had four children after me for a total of 12 children. She was a small woman, about 5 foot 2 inches and 105 pounds. She had brown hair that turned gray early, and her mixture of brown and gray looked sort of yellowish. She put blue tints on her hair to cover the yellow, and I think that she was grateful when it turned pure white. She had lots of freckles in her younger years and even won a contest for having the most freckles – a contest where she was in the audience. The freckles merged as she matured and caused her to look permanently tan.

            Mom had wonderful qualities. She was a loyal wife, a loving mother, and a good friend. She honored her parents and loved her siblings. She worked hard and basically gave her life for her family because her body was worn out before she turned 71 years old. She made 8-12 loaves of bread several times each week to feed her large family. I do not think that she enjoyed cooking, but she did it because it was her “job.” She made quilts using pieces of outgrown clothing. I inherited many quilt blocks from her that I sewed into quilts for my children. She was the center of our home. She was at home almost every day when I returned from school. I remember how empty the house felt on those few occasions when she was not there. If she was not there, it did not matter how many other people were in the house because it still felt empty.

            I cannot remember my mother ever saying a bad word about anyone. If she could not say anything good about a person, she said nothing at all. She was active in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I think that she served mostly in Relief Society and Primary. She loved being a member of the Relief Society and especially enjoyed visiting teaching. I remember that she was quite upset when she was “retired” from being a visiting teacher at age 70.

            My mother was a private person and did not share her feelings easily. I cannot remember ever seeing her cry or being angry, but I do remember her taking sudden walks. She loved to read. One of my fondest and strongest memories of her is seeing her sitting on the open oven door of the coal and wood stove reading a book. She loved westerns, particularly novels by Zane Grey. I learned to love reading because of her example.

            Mom was a good athlete. She was captain of her high school girls’ basketball team. Dad said she was so good that she could have played for a college team if one was available. I remember going to a park in Roosevelt in order for Mom and Dad to play tennis. When the family gathered to celebrate her 70^th birthday, Mom played tennis with one of my brothers-in-law and won. When my older sisters were in the Young Women’s program, the girls challenged their mothers to a game of softball. The mothers won, and Mom was a big part of the winning team. I think that she was the pitcher, but I am not sure.

           

            My mother was a quiet woman who rarely expressed an opinion, if ever. I do not remember hearing her testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ, but I know that she had a strong one because of the way she lived. She was a very good woman who was honest and decent in every way. She never swore or used coarse language. She was kind and considerate of everyone. She was supportive of all I did and yet made sure that I knew the boundaries. She was a good example to me in all that she did, and I love her immensely. I miss her and look forward to seeing her again in the next life.

            I am grateful for this Mother’s Day gift that encourages me to write the stories of my family. I feel certain that knowing these stories will strengthen my family and our communities and nations.

First Job

            I received a different but interesting and appropriate gift for Mother’s Day. One of my daughters gifted me with a subscription to “StoryWorth.” The idea behind the subscription is to help me to write the stories of my life. Each week my daughter will select a question, and the company will email it to me. I am supposed to write the answer to the question and send it back. The company will send the answer to my daughter as well as combining the answers into a book at the end of the year.

            This is my first question: How did you get your first job? The following information is my answer to the question. I included more than a simple answer to the question because it is part of the story of my life and will be included my life history.

            My first paying job was babysitting a toddler when I was approximately twelve years old. There were not many babysitting jobs in the farming community where I lived. Most of the families were well established and had in-house babysitting services. Ruth, a friend to my older sister Bettie, asked me to watch her son while she went on a date with her husband. Ruth’s parents lived about half a mile from my home. Our families belonged to the same congregation, and Ruth’s father was our bishop. When Ruth married, she and her husband moved into a small house about half the distance between my home and her family home. I think that the going rate for babysitters at that time was 25 cents or less per hour. I might have received one dollar.

            I remember receiving much praise from Ruth and her husband upon their return home when they found their child in bed asleep and the house clean. I had washed the dishes, swept the kitchen, and generally tidied the living area. There was not much for me to do after putting the child to bed because there was no television in the area yet and I had not thought to bring a book. However, I remember thinking that I was being paid for my time in the home, and I should not be lazy while there. So I worked. I had one other babysitting job in the area.  

    

            When I was seventeen I went to my older brother’s house to help with his five children for the summer. I wanted to purchase a school sweater and a class ring, so he invited me to live with him for the summer. A sister in our congregation asked me to babysit for her, but she withdrew the offer when I told her that I charged 35 cents per hour. Soon afterwards, a neighbor down the street hired me to watch her children during the day. This job lasted for several weeks. I do not remember how much I was paid or why the job ended. Was it temporary while the regular sitter was out of town? Did I simply move on?

            My next job was working as a car hop at the Dairy Queen, moving inside to be a cook after several months. Buddy and Arlene were nice enough people, but they did not pay regularly. I remember receiving only one pay check from them, and I received it only because my sister-in-law asked for a loan to buy a new water heater or something. Maybe she knew more than I did because Buddy and Arlene declared bankruptcy soon afterwards. They sold the Dairy Queen to Kent and Thelma, and I started working for them and receiving regular pay checks.

            Kent and Thelma had five young children, so Thelma was usually home with them while Kent managed the business. When they purchased the Frost Top at the other end of town, I started working there. Kent was an interesting employer. He was as round as he was tall and very jolly. He was also a big tease and kept asking me to “belly bump” with him. I, of course, would turn red with embarrassment, and he would laugh.  I suppose that it would be called “sexual harassment” today, but I never felt threatened at any time. Kent started a side business while I worked for him. He made delicious onion rings to sell at the Dairy Queen and Frost Top. Apparently other restaurant owners started asking for them, and his business was born. I helped make onion rings when business was slow.

            There were two incidents that happened at the Frost Top. The first happened while I worked as a car hop and carried a tray full of drinks or shakes to a car. While attempting to hang the tray on the window of the car, one or more drinks tipped over. Some – or all - of the drink(s) went in the lap of the driver, but I cannot remember how much. I do not remember what happened after the accident. I just remember being quite embarrassed.

            The second incident happened while I was a cook. The other cook and I were assigned to change the oil in one of the fryers. We drained the used oil out of the fryer okay, but we had problems when we put the new oil in it. Apparently, we did not work fast enough because the fryer was too hot and caught fire as soon as the new oil hit it. I immediately called Kent, who was working at the Dairy Queen, but I did not think to call the fire department. I am grateful that a guy at the service station next door saw the smoke and called the fire department. The firemen were about to chop a hole in the ceiling when Kent arrived and persuaded them to stop. The fire was quickly extinguished, and there were no further problems. Kent said that it made him feel good to know that I thought to call him rather than the fire department.

            I worked for Kent for nearly two years before I was hired at Hill AFB as a clerk-typist. I had taken business classes – typing, shorthand, etc. – during high school and wanted to work in this field. I advanced to secretary to a major who was the Army liaison with the Air Force and later for his replacement. While working for the second Army major, I also became the secretary to an Air Force colonel and his deputy. I worked for them until my husband graduated from college, and I transferred to a Navy base in California where I worked for six months.

            When my husband was transferred to the oil fields of Utah, I was hired as a secretary at the First Security Bank. I took lots of shorthand and transcribed it into letters. I also opened many new accounts. I was there for about two years before we moved again. I went back to Hill AFB until my first child was born.

            Many years later when my youngest child started school, I worked part time and handled the money for the Barratt Inn in Anchorage, Alaska. When my job was eliminated, I became a teachers’ aid for the Anchorage School District. That was my last paying job and ended when I started making a wedding dress and doing other preparations for an older daughter’s wedding. I never looked for another job because I knew that my favorite job was being a stay-at-home mother!