Funeral Revelation

Between sessions of conference on Saturday, I attended a funeral for 93 year old man in our ward.  He use to be our home teacher.  He hardly ever said anything.  His wife had a lot to say.  My only memory of him that stands out was when he volunteered to drive the teenagers to girls camp one year.  He was in his eighties.  Who has a van, wants to drive a few hours in the mountains, with teenager girls in the car, when you're 80 something?!!  Why would you volunteer to do that?

I found out at his funeral.  He was an amazing family man.  His grandkids, all young adults now, love, love, love him.  They have amazing memories.  He was patient, fun, fun, fun, and always concerned and interested in others.  He was hard working, devoted, and a master mechanic.

He hardly said anything!  I knew him for 14 years, and never knew him at all.  A couple years ago there was another elderly man that I knew from church, who hardly said anything, but I found out that he was a nuclear physicist and WWII hero.  This funeral brought it home to me that we don't value, appreciate, or respect elders in our culture, like they do in others.  I knew these men, but never asked them anything, never asked about them, never listened, never got to know them.  My lack of effort and appreciation probably wasn't much to them, but a great loss for me.  I don't want it to happen ever again.

Stop & Break In (for old times sake)

In 1958 my dad and grandpa bought a beautiful piece of land in Island Park and started building a little one room cabin.  It turned out amazing.  I grew up spending many vacations, long weekends, and spring breaks at "the cabin".  I have hundreds, maybe thousands of memories, and all of them are good.  In the late 80s, Dad sold the cabin to my cousins.  I've only been back once.  As we passed through Island Park this time, we stopped to look around.  The key is still in the hanging pot on the front porch, so we didn't really have to break in.

The pump house always had a good stack of wood ready for the fireplace.  The red pump brought up the best tasting, ice cold water.  We had a great playground with a teepee, wooden horses, a sand pile (full of pine needles), a crazy rope swing, and the surviving teeter-totter.  I went out to look at the old clothesline, and noticed something new - a satellite dish!  We use to have a TV with a channel or two.  I only remember watching Lawrence Welk, Jack Lalaine, Mission Impossible, and Mannixs.

With all the upgrades, some things never change.  The fireplace, the ladder that is attached to a rafter beam, but swings down when you're ready to sleep in the loft, the tractor seat bar stools, the cookie jar, the enormous claw foot bathtub, the coffee table and the fridge.  It's the same fridge!  It must be 60 years old.  The shelves swing around so you can reach everything in the back.  There's duct tape on the door, and the outside of it has been painted, but other than that, it's the same fridge.

When we went to leave, we couldn't figure out how to lock the front door.  It took us about 5 minutes, but the place was secured when we left.  I'm so glad Terry got to see everything.  The cabin has been such a huge part of my life.  I guess we should have signed the guest book.

Happy Trails to You

I went to the funeral of my friend’s brother today.  He was 58, developmentally handicapped, a kind, hard working man.  He made the decision in life to be a Democrat… in Idaho.  He worked on every campaign.  Frank Church and Cecil Andrus knew him by name.  He also decided to be a Bronco, way before there was a reason to cheer.  He had season tickets to football and basketball games for almost 40 years.  He never missed a game.  He missed his sister’s wedding, but not the game.

It was a beautiful service.  His brother gave a thoughtful eulogy, very wise and witty.  The displayed cowboy boots and the Bronco balloons just fit.  So did the music, Morning Has Broken (my favorite Cat Stevens song), Let There Be Peace On Earth, and Happy Trails to You.  The music was happy, sweet, and perfect.

Brand New Pair of Roller Skates

My sister-in-law got a pair of 1961 Sears and Roebuck roller skates, with a key, for her birthday. 

Hers were in better shape.  They had the original leather straps that went around your ankle.  For any youngsters that are reading this, you used the key to loosen and tighten the bolts underneath, so that you could adjust the size to fit your shoes. We put the key on a piece of yarn and wore it around our neck. 

I don’t want a pair of vintage skates for my birthday, but I saw her skates displayed on a trunk in the living room, and was immediately transported to summer days in the sixties on Cherry Drive.  I was a pretty good skater.  It wasn’t an easy feat.  There weren’t sidewalks, just rough blacktop, and the four metal wheels were a far cry from the rubber wheels on the roller blades that would be the rage 25 years later.  I’m sure I scraped knees, but seeing the old skates this week, made me smile – all happy memories of neighborhood friends and summer days on the best street ever.