Southern Hospitality

John and I had been planning a trip to North Carolina ever since his cousin Kent Luton came to visit last spring. Kent told John he had 1400 board feet of walnut and cherry that were his for the taking; all we had to do was pick it up. North Carolina is a long way to go for hardwood, but John figured it was worth thousands of dollars and it was worth our time and money to take the trip.

John took our 2001 Tahoe on his Middle Fork of the Salmon river trip two weeks before we planned to leave.  He drove in snow and on dirt roads towing the trailer full of gear without a problem. But when I drove it into Salt Lake the transmission casing cracked. After 220,000 miles we finally said enough was enough, sold it "as is" for $950 and bought a 2006 Toyota Sequoia. It could have been so much worse, stranding John on a steep, icy, mountain dirt road in the dark or stranding us on our North Carolina trip in the middle of Nebraska. It isn't often I see such a direct answer to a prayer for safety and the car to function properly that we always say before a trip. I am sure it happens, we just don't always know it.

We had planned on stopping at Chris and Meg's in Kansas City and Matt and Erin's in St. Louis on our way cross county. It turned out that Matt and Erin's kids had fall break and we invited them along. It was also Erin's 40th birthday and Chris and Meg drove to St Louis with us to celebrate. When we got there we loaded up Matt's new Hobbie kayak sail boat, three sit on top kayaks and went to Creve Couer Lake, about 20 minutes away.

Matt can get the whole family on his Hobbie including Vader the dog

The cousins loved the little kid sized kayaks Matt and Erin had.

Fun times!

The next day we were off! North Carolina here we come. We took the southern route, through the Smokey Mountains. Gorgeous, clouds hovering like smoke, but still green. We were a little early for the fall foliage,

When we got to Elizabeth City, North Carolina we were welcomed with open arms. We stayed at Uncle Earl and Aunt Shirley's old home. Uncle Earl died last November and Aunt Shirley is living with Kent and Peggy, so the house is empty. It is over 100 years old and backs up to the Dismal Swamp. When the house was built they didn't put in a septic tank, just piped the sewage into the swamp. And it still is! It is kind of gross when you think about it. Every time I flushed I felt a little guilty. The house would be condemned if they tried to sell it now, it is not worth putting in a septic tank and bring things up to code, so they just keep it as the "Luton Hotel" and decide what to do with it after Aunt Shirley dies.

The last time we visited North Carolina was when we lived in Delaware. Thomas was a newborn, so Matt would have been 8, Chris 6 and Annie 3. Very close to Ian, Lily and Molly's ages. I remember being embraced by family. Even though they didn't know me. I was Martha's daughter-in-law, and John's wife, so I was family. We stayed with Uncle Earl and Aunt Shirley and they treated us with southern hospitality. They even rented the Lion's Club hall for a huge family gathering. Aunt Shirley cooked us southern food. We had butter beans, a form of lima beans that are grown in North Carolina. Uncle Earl took the kids on tractor rides and we went to Kitty Hawk.

This trip was a little like deja vu. We did the same things, 28 years later and were treated with the same southern hospitality. All John's Luton cousins came to dinner hosted by his cousin John. I was extremely touched by their family loyalty. We felt like the prodigal family returning to the fold. 

John with his cousins, he obviously didn't get the Luton short genes!

We had planned on taking the kids to Wright Brother's National Memorial at Kitty Hawk on the Outer Banks but the government shut down closed the park. A friend of Kent's told him about a back way into the park by climbing over a little two foot rope fence. There was a great life sized sculpture of the plane that the kids could climb on. and we could take a trail up to the memorial.

We also went to Jockey Ridge State Park, site of the tallest natural sand dune in the Eastern United State, and Nags Head Beach. I just couldn't go all the way to the Outer Banks and not see the ocean. It was a blustery windy day, but  cool, not cold.

When I made our family calendar last year I realized I didn't have any pictures of just John and me,
so I am trying to do more selfies. 

Our visit to the Dismal Swamp was anything but dismal. It was the sunniest day of our trip

. 

The Dismal Swamp Canal is part of the Intercostal Waterway. The sailboat is going up the east coast on the Canal.

Erin and Lily

All too soon it was Friday and time for the long drive home. We planned on getting to St Louis by Saturday afternoon, drop Matt and Erin off and drive to Kansas City to spend the night and get home late Sunday night. After loading the trailer with the cherry and walnut boards to the absolute max we enjoyed a southern home cooked dinner at Kent and Peggy's of fried chicken wings, creamed corn, collard greens, squash, green beans and field peas (like a reverse black eyed pea that are quite good) all preserved from their garden. 

Lily, Molly, Kent, Aunt Shirley, Ian, Peggy and John. 

We got up bright and early the next day and drove toward Norfolk, VA. John soon realized the trailer wasn't towing quite right and we stopped to have it looked at. We found it would take at least 4 hours and who knew how much money to fix it but we didn't dare not. So we left it with them and visited Historic Jamestowne to pass the time. John wouldn't tell me how much it cost to fix the trailer, only that it was a lot. We didn't get on the road again until 4:00. 

We started heading west, driving over a bridge/tunnel over/under the Chesapeake and were completely stopped for 1 1/2 hours by a multi car, multi injury accident. By 6:00, we had been on the road for almost 12 hours and made less than 100 miles.  After a late start Saturday morning to give the kids time to recover from the stressful day before we started again. We found that we couldn't drive over 60 mph or the trailer started to fishtail especially going down hill. It was the hardest driving I have ever done. I started to fishtail in a moment of inattention and scared us all to death. I realized I had concentrate on my driving all the time. Once we got out of the West Virginia mountains driving got easier, but we still couldn't drive any faster. We didn't get to Matt and Erin's home until 11:00 pm and spent the night there. We made a quick stop at Chris and Meg's on the way through Kansas City. We thought we would never get out of Nebraska and had to stop in Rawlings, Wyoming at 11:00 again.  We got up at 4:00 am and were home Monday morning by 9:30. Whew.

We have been asked if we thought the trip was worth it. A new to us car, repairs to the trailer and a extra night at a hotel were all costs we hadn't planned on. The drive was long and at times very difficult. The wood John got is great and he is very pleased with it. It was a delight to see the autumnal splendor across the United States.  But the highlight of the trip wasn't the scenery or the wood John got, it was the time we spent with family. Matt, Erin, Ian, Lily and Molly were delightful to travel with and grandma and grandpa time is always welcome. Reconnecting with John's North Carolina relatives was priceless, well worth the time, effort and money we spent. Are we glad we went? Absolutely. Would we do it again? Certainly, if we fly.

A Good Year

The first snows have fallen in the mountains. The gardening season is officially over.

The highlight of the season was the new deck that John built. It is made of Port Orford Cedar with a spruce pergola and arbor. He also rebuilt the deck and the planters on the foot bridge over the stream.

One of the things I have tried to do in my yard is highlight the areas I see the most, be it the first thing I see when I drive into the driveway or the view out the windows at the back of the house.

The view out the window from the kitchen table of the new deck and back yard. 

John and I sit at the kitchen table and watch the humming birds and the occasional deer (boo, hiss.) At times it seems like we can almost see the plants grow.

The humming birds seemed to like the flowers right next to the feeder. They would flit from one to the other,
drinking from both.

John custom made the planters on the bridge to stabilize the railing and to fit my self watering pots. As usual he managed to envision and build something wonderful.

My gladiolas are in a bed that I don't see from a window in the house. Often the stems are broken and and the blossoms torn and ragged before I remember to cut them. This year I remembered to cut them at their peak. My mother never liked glads because they reminded her of funerals, especially her father's. But I have come to appreciate the perfection of their blooms.

I saw Cinderella pumpkins at the Farmer's Market a few years ago and loved their shape and color. I finally found some seeds and grew some. They made me smile. I also tried several new tomato varieties. Lemon tomatoes (too mushy), pineapple tomatoes (a keeper, sweet, big and great on BLTs) and Margarita tomatoes (a good, large plum that were great for salsa, marinara and chili sauce.) I still don't like zucchini, but John does so I will only plant 1 next year in stead of two. (I know what was I thinking?) But I do like peaches and our five trees gave us fresh peaches from August to the end of September as well as plenty for smoothies this winter.  All in all a good year.

In the Middle

I was sitting in church the other day watching all the moms with their kids. Babies, toddlers, Tweens, adolescents and teens. It took me back to when I was that mom. The new mom, just a little unsure of her  mothering  skills. The mom with her 4th baby, confident, loving and relaxed. The mom who at times got so frustrated with her kids she could scream, or cry or both. The mom who loved being a mom to her teenagers.  The mom who watched her children grow up and move away for missions, schools, marriages and jobs.

These mothers in our ward  are in auxiliary presidencies, teach primary, young womens, and Sunday school. They carpool, work, chauffeur, clean, cook and referee. They are confident young women able to do just about what ever needs to be done. They are the same ages as my daughter and daughters in law who are doing the same things where they live. 

It is sometimes hard to remember that I had 4 children before I turned 30, moved around the country for John's job, endured financial ups and doens, was Relief Society President at 36, and graduated from collage at 40.  Whenever I see a young mother get called to a new calling or have babies close together, or go back to school I think how hard it will be for them forgetting I did the same thing.

It has been interesting to pass this title of "mom" to the next generation. Don't get me wrong, I am still a mother to four fabulous kids. But I am no longer a full time, child rearing, down and dirty mom. I'm an empty nester, a grandmother ----- middle aged. 

Middle age is not a misnomer. We are between the next generation of "moms" and our aging parents. I have found it much easier to watch my children become parents than watch my parents get old. 

Dad has been in the assisted living care center for almost two months now. It almost made me cry when the activities director said dad had a good day because he could stack blocks onto a stick. I was so pleased to hear him say " there's Beth Ann" when mom walked by last week. He hasn't called her by name for a while. But he still smiles when he sees us. Mom cried when dad tried to sigh his name for a VA form then tried to wipe it out when it was just scribbles. One day while we were visiting there was a man singing and playing Wille Nelson and Johnny Cash country western songs on the guitar for the residents. Dad was standing next to a care giver and mom took dad's hands and they started to dance. Mom was singing and dad was smiling as they swayed. I did cry then.

John's mother Martha is aging in a completely different way. She is 88 years old and is quite frail due to cronic pain, repeat infections and heart problems. I am almost afraid to hug her because she is getting so thin. She has been living with Rachel, John's sister for a couple of months but is determined to go home. She can't go home unless she gets stronger so she tries to convince everyone how well she is doing. When the home health nurse comes in she tries to act strong and won't admit to any pain.the other day the whole family was at Rachel's house. Rachel asked her if she felt like coming out for dinner. mom asked "Who's here?" Rachel said "Everyone." Martha said "Then I'm fine!"  She keeps saying "I don't want to be a burden, and I don't want to lose my mind." Her stoic southern roots  are showing through. 

But she is starting to get more and more confused and the Doctor told her last Friday that she could either stay with Rachel or go to a nursing home, it is no longer  safe for her to stay at home alone. And just today we got a phone call that she is back in the hospital because her chest hurt and she had a hard time breathing.  It wasn't a heart attack, but they will do more tests tomorrow. 

Note: Martha's tests showed a blockage where she had the heart attack last year. The Dr (cardiologist) said she could either have an angioplasty to see if a stent is need or try and control her heart pain and rate with medicines. He was very good, looked straight at her, not at Rachel or me and asked her what she wanted.  He said he knew she might be ready to see David and would not do anything she didn't want. It was all I could do to keep my mouth shut and not say " Are you kidding, an angioplasty when she is as frail as she is!"  Luckily I did and Martha made her own choice:  she would try the meds, she really didn't want another procedure and was not afraid to die. When she asked me what I thought, I was happy I could agree with her with out holding back my opinions. 

Why does it have to be so hard?

Labor Day Weekend 2013

We went on our annual Labor Day weekend to run the Snake River below Jackson's Hole again this year and I think it was one of the best ones yet. Admittedly I have a very short memory, but the weather was in the mid 80s except for the last day, the campground was beautiful and the company was great. Annie , her old room mate Trisha, and Thomas and Monica came up as well as Brett and Kerri, Mekenna, Cade and Tailor, sister Ann, Shelley and even Mom came up (she and Shelley stayed in a hotel in Alpine.) Not to mention 3 dogs.

We camped at the Big Elk Creek Campground across from the Palisades Reservoir, which was extremely low due to the drought this year, scarily so. There were acres and acres of dry land where the water should be. But the campground was beautiful, unfortunately, there were tons of flies, a long as you kept swatting they weren't too bad.

Big Elk Creek, thanks Monica for the picture

We did 5 river runs in 2 1/2 days, including a sunsest cruise and a 8:00 am float. I went on every one, which was a first. Usually I sit one or two out but I haven't been on the river this year and wanted to be with John, Annie, Thomas and Monica.

Rope Rapid is John's favorite!

Annie's little yellow boat was a lot of fun, even Cade and Mckenna wanted a turn

Both Ann and Thomas kayaked without taking a swim, we were impressed.

It rained on our last early morning run, but it wouldn't be a river trip without rain.
I rowed to keep warm, but it wasn't pretty.
.

The highlight of the trip was to watch the next generation take charge on the river. Thomas, Mckenna and Cade have all been guides for river companies and Annie has her own boat. They took over loading and unloading and rigging the boats as well as wanting time on the oars. John and Brett just backed off and let them do it. Part of them were grateful for the help, but they were also a little surprised. But they shouldn't be, they both went out of their way to teach our children how to read the river and row on river trips. Brett and John never said a word about less oar time,or complained about mistakes made. Even though it made Kerri and me more than a little anxious being in the raft as our inexperienced teenagers rowed through a rapid Brett and John still let the kids row. How smart they were. And the best part is, our children still like to play with us.

Three Squares and Who Me?

It is always interesting to learn what your adult children thought of you when they were kids.

Erin posted this haiku on face book last weekend:

     A little rant for you

     Kids don't flush poo

     Dog drinks from the loo.

Then when we were face timing with Matt on Sunday he said "Dad, I remember a certain family council when you talked about toilet paper. You told us we should only use 3 squares folded over each other."   He didn't remember why we had that particular family council, he thought we were just being frugal, or as he put it, "your usual cheap selves."  I looked at him and said, "it was because you guys kept plogging up the toilets because you were using too much toilet paper."  He said "I wondered, the  plunger and I were best friends last night. I told Erin we were going to have the toilet paper talk with the kids. When Erin heard 3 squares, she looked at me like I was crazy, so I told her OK 4 squares, inflation you know."  The funny thing is when I heard John say three squares all those years ago, I looked at him like he was crazy and said (to myself) there is no way I am only using three squares!  

The other day we were with Thomas and he said  to me "I always thought you were the obsessive compulsive one in the family, but now I am beginning to think it is dad because he is so annal about his wood projects."  

What? Me compulsive? I'm not compulsive, it's John who is. He's the one who can't let a project go, who gets up at 4:30 to work on them.  I said " How am I compulsive?  Wait, maybe I don't want to know what you thought of me." 

Thomas said,  "You were the one who had to have the table set just right every night, wouldn't let us put a pan on the table, or a food container. Things had to be cleaned your way before company with inspections and everything." 

Shoot. May be I am just a little compulsive. About things that are important to me. Like quilting, and gardening, and etc. 

I Would Prefer Not To

My favorite Herman Melville work is “Bartleby the Scrivener.” Admittedly I have never gotten through “Moby Dick”, my dad’s favorite book, but have read the opening line “Call me Ishmael. . .” enough times to make it part of my cultural literacy lexicon.

I first read “Bartleby” in college (my second time) when I was living with two teenagers, a pre teen and a 7 year old as well as a wonderful supportive husband. I instantly related to the narrators puzzlement when Bartleby replied to a simple job request with “I would prefer not to.” Bartleby’s preference to do nothing eventually led him to the loss of his job and a place to live. He finally starved to death in debtor’s prison, preferring not to even eat the food he was given.

My teens, especially my second son, were just starting to push the boundaries of parental expectations, especially where family chores were concerned and were trying to see what they could get away with not doing. “I don’t want to”, “why do I have to do?” and “what for?” were frequently heard. While “I’m the mom and I said so,” made me feel better it wasn’t very effective as a way to get them to do what needed to be done.

I remember telling them the story of Bartleby around the dinner table; explaining to them the consequences of an “I prefer not to” attitude. We laughed as we took their preferences to do nothing to the logical conclusions: I prefer not to do the dishes, so there will be no clean dishes, so we can’t cook, so we will all starve to death; I prefer not do my home work, so I will not get good grades, so I won’t get a scholarship, so I won’t be able to afford college, so I will have to work at the Sugar Factory (another story) where it is smelly, hot and pays minimum wage; I prefer not to do my jobs around the house, so the house will be dirty, so mom will be cranky and we will all have to live with her.

I am reminded of Bartleby because John and I are teaching the 17 year olds in Sunday School. We hear Bartleby’s excuse from some of the teens we teach. My kids tell me Rush (the musical group) says it as well:” If you choose not to decide, you still have made a choice.”  I want to put my arms around these teens and say look at the long term consequences of “preferring not to.” They are real and you are old enough that inaction is no longer an option. If you don’t decide, life will do it for you.

One day after our Bartleby discussion I asked Chris to do something and he looked at me with a twinkle in his eye and “I prefer not to,” I looked back at him, smiled and said “I know, but do it anyway.” He did. My college education paid off then and there.

Another Goodbye

We took dad to the assisted living facility today. I was so sad: sad because dad has dementia, sad because mom can no longer take care of him, and sad because dad didn't seem sad when we left.

 As I helped him up the stairs at Brett and Kerri's house his hand was warm in mine, but he couldn't straighten up and had to use the stairs in front of him for balance. His steps were hesitant and slow as I lead him out of the house. He asked where we were going and mom just said Bountiful. She couldn't bring herself to tell him we were taking him to a care facility. But I don't think he would have understood or remembered if he knew. I was a little teary in the silence as we drove. There didn't seem to be much to say.

Kerri insisted on painting his room a warm blue green. I thought the color was going to be too dark, but she was right, it looks very restful and calm. She and I spent hours getting the room ready and I think mom was very pleased. 

When we got to the Legacy House we took dad to his room. Dad sat in the chair for a while and then Brett took him to the common room. Dad seemed pleased to meet another man, but then he just looked at the TV. 

I think I wanted dad to be sad he was being left there, sad that we were leaving, sad as I was, but he wasn't. Not that I could tell. He hardly looked at us as mom and I were leaving.

 It was another goodbye in a series of goodbyes. I love you dad.