I used to love going to Grandpa Holt's house. It was only a once or twice a year thing so it seemed to be a real treat. It also seemed like it was more of a vacation at Grandpa and Grandma Holt's house. That might have been because it was further away and we stayed for a few days when we went. It might also have been because going to Grandma Hill's house was usually associated with doing some kind of work in her yard or house. Either way, I loved going to Grandpa Holt's house.
I remember feeling like the big city guy in town when we'd go visit. I didn't really have any friends, and don't recall ever playing with anyone in particular that was my age, but I remember feeling that way among the rural lifestyle folk in Enterprise, Utah. It almost seemed like they were just stuck in year's past - I wonder what they thought of us.
Most of the time down there we'd spend running around exploring the house, yard, old Holt house that was like a short but big barn with all kinds of fun stuff in it. I remember I got to take my bike down one year. I don't remember how we got it there, but I left it at the tennis courts that were by the elementary school. I don't recall ever getting it back. I think I learned from that experience to take better care of my things. We'd go to the Clove's grocery store and get fun things to play with. One of my favorite things to do down there as a boy was to go up to the dam and play around the honeycomb rocks. These were rocks that you could climb up and find little alcoves to hide in, or just sit back and relax in. We also caught crawdads up at the dam a few times. I remember bringing them back to the house once. We left them outside on the porch that night and the next morning they were all gone. I don't recall ever knowing where they went. I've just always thought they walked away. Thinking about it they may have gotten thrown away, or maybe Dad and Grandpa fried them up for a late night snack after we all went to bed.
I was always scared of Grandpa Holt's basement. It was cold and dark. There was also all kinds of things to explore down there. There was old fishing equipment, marbles, and who knows what else down there. The "what else" group also caused a little fear. Downstairs on the wall of the room we usually slept in was a big dear head that I suppose Grandpa had shot and had stuffed. I'm sure I've heard the story of it thousands of times, but I don't recall the story about that deer in particular. I do know that Grandpa was a great sportsman (even though when he was hunting or fishing it wasn't for sport it was out of necessity). I've heard numerous stories about him being a steady shot with his rifle and a great fisherman that always knew where to get some dinner. I think about Grandpa sometime when I hear the story in the Book of Mormon about Nephi breaking his bow and needing to get some food for his family. Nephi rigged up a bow out of some sticks and went to his father to ask where to go to hunt. I think Grandpa Holt spent some time on his knees when his family needed some food and he was out in the woods looking for a deer, or holding his rifle steady while looking across a ravine at a deer, or even when he was sitting at the waters edge hoping to catch some fish. I've never heard a story like that, but that is the kind of person I remember Grandpa Holt being.
I don't know why I remember this, but I remember being a happy little boy at some little town that I remember as Big Rock Candy Mountain. I know that is a song we used to sing growing up. But, I remember us being on vacation somewhere. We went into a little shop that I remember feeling something like a train car or a house on wheels. I remember looking around and at some point Mom or Dad bought some candy that looked like rocks. To me, they were delicious and I was a happy kid. I don't even know if this really happened, but I remember it. Maybe it was a dream.
When I was a bit older, but still single. I was able to take a few trips with one of my friends. I went to Washington DC, upstate New York and the surrounding areas on a bus tour of US and LDS Church history sites. I went with Ben Barazza. We were on the tour with a bunch of people that were highly involved with government affairs in Utah. There were a few that were in the state legislature, others that were large business owners, and then there was Ben and I. One of the couples on the tour had brought their two daughters. Another had brought a few of their boys. Ben and I pretty well stuck together, but we did have a few folks take us on as their kids on this trip - even though we were probably mid-twenties at the time. This trip was super fun and enlightening. I learned a lot about our nation and the pioneer heritage that we have.
I also went on a trip a year or so before that with my friend Jason Lewis. We went on a LDS Church history tour to Nauvoo and the surrounding areas. This was also a bus trip. This tour was with the same guide as the one in New York - one of the Ogden LDS Institute instructors. He was one of six or seven authors of the 400-500 page LDS History manual that the institutes use to teach out of. The guy was a great guide and story teller. I remember listening to story after story on the hours we spent on the bus driving from destination to destination - sometimes being lulled to sleep by the gentle rocking of the bus. Both trips were great experiences and I hope to do them again someday with my family.
Kelly and I had the great opportunity to go on a few fun trips before we had children. While that might seem harsh towards my kids, it is not intended that way. We enjoyed a different lifestyle when we were recently married. We were both employed with great jobs with little debt or care to attend to. So, we traveled and enjoyed exploring new foods and cultures. One of my favorite trips with Kelly was a small trip we took to Seattle. One of Kelly's favorite bands from the UK - Keane - was on a US tour and Seattle was one of the stops. Kelly has some family that lives in the area, so I got her tickets to the show for Christmas. We went up there in January to perfect weather. We rented a car - it was supposed to be a smaller "economy" car - that ended up being one of the largest cars I've ever driven a Ford Crown Victoria. So, we rolled around the streets of Seattle and took a ferry boat out to one of the islands. We stayed out in a quaint Bed and Breakfast. It was a great trip. The concert was great as well, but that time was just a fun time.
Another fun trip we went on, just six weeks after Ivin was born. I was in the final stages of my Master's program at Westminster College. Part of the program was to do an international tour. One of my options was Ireland. Kelly's family a few generations back comes from Ireland and Scotland. Kelly's sister Katie was big into Irish step dancing and just so happened to be on an LDS mission at the time in Ireland. I had always wanted to go to Europe, so this was my chance. I went on the trip with my fellow classmates to Ireland then a quick trip to London. Kelly and 6-week old Ivin flew over with my sister Amy and her husband Jason Brown and met up with us on the last day or so of my trip. We stayed in London then rode a taxi, train, ferry and another taxi to get up to Ireland. We toured around Ireland for a few days and even got to meet up with Katie for a quick dinner and visit with one of the people she was meeting with about the gospel. This was one of the neatest trips I have been on in my life. It may have been a once in a lifetime event, but I would love to go back again. There is so much history across the ocean. I always hated history in school. Experiencing it brought some life to my bones for discovering my own history - that may be part of the reason I started this family history journal.
While I've only mentioned the huge fun things and trips that I've been on, these do not overshadow the day-to-day fun things that I enjoyed doing as a kid. Some of my funnest moments as a kid was just experiencing the joy of riding a wheelie on my bmx bike for the first time, then getting better and being able to do it the whole way down the block; jumping on the dirt hills with my friends; sleeping out on the trampoline; running in a race and achieving a personal best at that distance; getting good grades at the end of a tough semester and having Mom and Dad be proud of me; or performing at a concert and seeing Mom and Dad watch with smiles on their faces. Those are the things that really have brought me to being the person I am today. The big things seem to stick out. The other fun things make us who we are. I think that those simple pleasures have made me enjoy the simple lifestyle that Kelly and I enjoy now. We constantly work to be more self sufficient. When we reach a new level, it is fun. We reached a goal a week or so ago that we've worked hard on for just over a year to pay off my school debt. It was fun to have that goal met and to relieve ourselves of that weight on our shoulders.
Just today, in rare form, I had both boys sitting on my lap during one of our church meetings. Ivin reached over me to William and gave him a big hug and a kiss. A few nights ago after prayers, Ivin and Kelly gave me a tickle torture that had me laughing as hard as I have laughed in a long time. I went on a bike ride with Ivin the other day and had to work to keep up with him on his little balance bike. Every night recently when Kelly is putting William in to bed, as she walks out of our room with him to take him to his room, he looks back at me and smiles. If Kelly's head gets in his way, he reaches his head over to be able to see me and smiles again. Every once in a while, one of the boys will do something and Kelly and I either burst into laughter or exchange a glance that says more than a paragraph of words could tell. Kelly wrote me a note and got me one of my favorite snacks the other day. These are a few of the every day fun things that I get to enjoy right now as a father and spouse. These little things are worth just as much, if not more, than all of the big fun things I've been able to do in my life. I'm sure they will be just as memorable as well.
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Sunday, January 22, 2012
Week 4 - Write a valuable learning experience as a child. Write one you had as an adult.
Alright, this is going to be a difficult one. How do you remember the things you learned as a child? Most of the things you don't actually realize that you learned them as a child until you are an adult. Things like, don't touch a hot pan.
Here's a story. I'm pretty sure I knew that one, but as an adult in Korea I really learned it. We lived on the outskirts of Seoul, still a city that looked and felt larger than anything close to what we've got here in Utah, but not in downtown. Anyway, there were four missionaries in our house. It was a rough time in the mission for me, and we were in a rough area. I struggled probably the first year of my mission with figuring out what I was really supposed to be doing. I was on the wrong side probably hurting the work more than I was helping. Anyway, it was in this house that we did a lot of food things together with the other missionaries. One day we were frying up something in the frying pan - probably eggs, we used to eat fried eggs over rice multiple times a week. After frying up the eggs, there was a dare or one of those, I wonder what would happen if thoughts that crept into my mind. The next thing I knew, my tongue was sizzling on the frying pan. It didn't sizzle long before I tugged it off. It pulled a bit kind of like your tongue would if you stuck it to a pole outside in the winter. It was then that the lesson Mom always taught about staying away from the hot pan and hot stove really stuck with me.
Another lesson that finally stuck home with me was the always unspoken rule told only by the sticker on the lawnmower of don't put your hand here or else it'll have something bad happen. After my mission, I moved away from home, only 10-15 miles away, up by Weber State University with a few of my friends. We lived in a big house, seven of us. It was a great time and a great place to be. I was running quite a bit and had just returned from a race that I did really well at. I was still all sweaty and gross, so I decided to mow the lawn before showering. The yard wasn't that big, compared to Mom and Dad's yard where it took two hours to mow the lawn, and it only took 30 minutes or so. The grass really didn't grow well either, so it was more of a weekly formality than really a necessity. Dad had donated his old lawnmower to us. It worked fine, once you got it going. It was such an ordeal some days getting it going that I had rigged up something with rope to hold down the bar that kept the lawn mower on instead of shutting down when it was released. This allowed you to empty the catch bag, put it back on and keep going without the battle of starting up the machine again. Mowers nowadays have two levers, one that engages the blade and one that engages the drive, this mower didn't have that luxury. After emptying the bag, I cam back to put it back on and there was a large pile of grass that fell out of the bag as I took it off. I had to get it out of the way to put the bag back on, so without even thinking about it I reached down, grabbed the grass and felt and heard the cutting go right through my fingers. I pulled my hand out and ran into the house to check out the damage. It took me a while to get up the nerve to take the pressure off of my fingers. I knew something bad had happened, but didn't want to see it. I finally took the pressure off, looked at my hand and promptly put the pressure back on. I don't even know if I ran any water over them to try and clean it out. I ran around the house looking for a roommate to take me to the hospital to get my fingers fixed. Luckily, one of them was home. he took me to McKay-Dee Hospital's emergency room and waited with me while the doctor came in numbed my hand, cleaned it up and stitched my two fingers back together. My left pointer finger wasn't the same for a while. The middle finger wasn't cut too bad and was back to normal in a few weeks. Now, seven or eight years later, the finger it totally functional, but a little misshaped if you really look at it and the nail is a little harder than the other fingers. Lesson learned, don't put your hand in the lawnmower, or obey the stickers/warning signs.
One of many things I have learned from Dad - work hard and put in an honest days work for an honest days pay. This lesson doesn't only revolve around the work put in at the office for your employer. Dad worked in the court house in Farmington, Utah for as long as I remember. Towards the end of his career he put in some time at Syracuse City, but his career was for "the county" at the court house. It took just over twenty minutes to get to the court house. Dad would leave for work every day at 7:30 a.m. and, like clock work, the garage door would open just as the clock on the microwave in the kitchen was turning 5:30 p.m. as we all sat around the bar with dinner hot and on the table. Dad put in a honest day's work for an honest day's pay at the office. Sunday morning we'd wake up to Mom singing some church song - whatever was on her mind that day. We'd get up and rolling, pile into the car/van with her and go to the church. As we walked into the church and by the clerk's office, there was Dad waiting to walk into the chapel with us. Then, he'd go up onto the stand and sit there to do whatever clerks do on the stand. He did this for years. Dad put in an honest day's work with his church callings as well, for an honest day's pay of blessings. Dad was the first one to point out as soon as we were old enough to understand that we were very "watched over" or "blessed." Now, I find myself pointing out those things in the very same manner. Dad taught that when you do what the Lord asks, He is bound to bless you and He does. Dad always gave all the credit to being watched over by our Father in Heaven. I have learned now that Dad wasn't just being the humble guy that he is, he was speaking truths. Kelly and I have seen numerous blessings come into our lives that can only be explained by we are doing what our Heavenly Father has asked us to do.
When I was old enough, Dad taught me to mow the lawn and I took over responsibility for the lawn from my older brother Jason. While this was exciting at first, it became a drag and I'm sure I complained quite a bit about it. But, it was nice to have a little bit of money. Dad paid at first $5 for mowing the lawn, then $10 and I think when I got old enough he even paid $15 for mowing and trimming the lawn. I was responsible for making sure I had enough gas to do the job. If I remembered, we could take the gas can when we were filling up the car, but quite regularly I'd forget and nobody was available to take me to the gas station when I needed gas to mow the lawn. Old Farm Market was only two blocks away. It was across the 3500 West, the main road by our house, but Mom and Dad would let me go by myself once I got old enough. When I got gas, I'd usually get a goody like a Mr. Goodbar and a soda. I liked to mix a few different soda's together for a new taste each time I went, but Sprite was my favorite soda growing up. One day when I was over at Old Farm Market, I didn't have enough money for a goody, but I really wanted one. The candy isle was on the other side of the counter. I waited until the lady working the counter was helping someone else, and I stuck a candy bar in my hat, put my hat on and walked out. It was so easy. So, I did it a few more times. One time I even remember having so many pieces of candy stuck in my hat that I'm sure it was sticking out as I walked out the door. I may have even been walking kind of funny to keep the hat on my head. I can't remember why I stopped stealing candy. I was never caught by Old Farm Market, or my parents. I remember just telling Dad about this a few years back as I was searching for the owners of Old Farm Market to pay them back. I do know the pain and guilt that has haunted me through the years about the things I took from Old Farm Market without paying. I wasn't honest and it has stuck with me. Thankfully, our Father in Heaven created a part of the plan that allows us to clean ourselves of these times when we aren't honest with ourselves and others. I've learned that we can clean our hearts and minds with the power of the atonement through repenting of things we do that are wrong. While it isn't easy, it works. We feel guilty about doing something. We asked for forgiveness, repay and debt that may be there and never do the act again. It works. I am thankful to a knowing Heavenly Father that made a plan that was usable by His children He knew wouldn't be quite perfect, but could become perfect through His plan.
Here's a story. I'm pretty sure I knew that one, but as an adult in Korea I really learned it. We lived on the outskirts of Seoul, still a city that looked and felt larger than anything close to what we've got here in Utah, but not in downtown. Anyway, there were four missionaries in our house. It was a rough time in the mission for me, and we were in a rough area. I struggled probably the first year of my mission with figuring out what I was really supposed to be doing. I was on the wrong side probably hurting the work more than I was helping. Anyway, it was in this house that we did a lot of food things together with the other missionaries. One day we were frying up something in the frying pan - probably eggs, we used to eat fried eggs over rice multiple times a week. After frying up the eggs, there was a dare or one of those, I wonder what would happen if thoughts that crept into my mind. The next thing I knew, my tongue was sizzling on the frying pan. It didn't sizzle long before I tugged it off. It pulled a bit kind of like your tongue would if you stuck it to a pole outside in the winter. It was then that the lesson Mom always taught about staying away from the hot pan and hot stove really stuck with me.
Another lesson that finally stuck home with me was the always unspoken rule told only by the sticker on the lawnmower of don't put your hand here or else it'll have something bad happen. After my mission, I moved away from home, only 10-15 miles away, up by Weber State University with a few of my friends. We lived in a big house, seven of us. It was a great time and a great place to be. I was running quite a bit and had just returned from a race that I did really well at. I was still all sweaty and gross, so I decided to mow the lawn before showering. The yard wasn't that big, compared to Mom and Dad's yard where it took two hours to mow the lawn, and it only took 30 minutes or so. The grass really didn't grow well either, so it was more of a weekly formality than really a necessity. Dad had donated his old lawnmower to us. It worked fine, once you got it going. It was such an ordeal some days getting it going that I had rigged up something with rope to hold down the bar that kept the lawn mower on instead of shutting down when it was released. This allowed you to empty the catch bag, put it back on and keep going without the battle of starting up the machine again. Mowers nowadays have two levers, one that engages the blade and one that engages the drive, this mower didn't have that luxury. After emptying the bag, I cam back to put it back on and there was a large pile of grass that fell out of the bag as I took it off. I had to get it out of the way to put the bag back on, so without even thinking about it I reached down, grabbed the grass and felt and heard the cutting go right through my fingers. I pulled my hand out and ran into the house to check out the damage. It took me a while to get up the nerve to take the pressure off of my fingers. I knew something bad had happened, but didn't want to see it. I finally took the pressure off, looked at my hand and promptly put the pressure back on. I don't even know if I ran any water over them to try and clean it out. I ran around the house looking for a roommate to take me to the hospital to get my fingers fixed. Luckily, one of them was home. he took me to McKay-Dee Hospital's emergency room and waited with me while the doctor came in numbed my hand, cleaned it up and stitched my two fingers back together. My left pointer finger wasn't the same for a while. The middle finger wasn't cut too bad and was back to normal in a few weeks. Now, seven or eight years later, the finger it totally functional, but a little misshaped if you really look at it and the nail is a little harder than the other fingers. Lesson learned, don't put your hand in the lawnmower, or obey the stickers/warning signs.
One of many things I have learned from Dad - work hard and put in an honest days work for an honest days pay. This lesson doesn't only revolve around the work put in at the office for your employer. Dad worked in the court house in Farmington, Utah for as long as I remember. Towards the end of his career he put in some time at Syracuse City, but his career was for "the county" at the court house. It took just over twenty minutes to get to the court house. Dad would leave for work every day at 7:30 a.m. and, like clock work, the garage door would open just as the clock on the microwave in the kitchen was turning 5:30 p.m. as we all sat around the bar with dinner hot and on the table. Dad put in a honest day's work for an honest day's pay at the office. Sunday morning we'd wake up to Mom singing some church song - whatever was on her mind that day. We'd get up and rolling, pile into the car/van with her and go to the church. As we walked into the church and by the clerk's office, there was Dad waiting to walk into the chapel with us. Then, he'd go up onto the stand and sit there to do whatever clerks do on the stand. He did this for years. Dad put in an honest day's work with his church callings as well, for an honest day's pay of blessings. Dad was the first one to point out as soon as we were old enough to understand that we were very "watched over" or "blessed." Now, I find myself pointing out those things in the very same manner. Dad taught that when you do what the Lord asks, He is bound to bless you and He does. Dad always gave all the credit to being watched over by our Father in Heaven. I have learned now that Dad wasn't just being the humble guy that he is, he was speaking truths. Kelly and I have seen numerous blessings come into our lives that can only be explained by we are doing what our Heavenly Father has asked us to do.
When I was old enough, Dad taught me to mow the lawn and I took over responsibility for the lawn from my older brother Jason. While this was exciting at first, it became a drag and I'm sure I complained quite a bit about it. But, it was nice to have a little bit of money. Dad paid at first $5 for mowing the lawn, then $10 and I think when I got old enough he even paid $15 for mowing and trimming the lawn. I was responsible for making sure I had enough gas to do the job. If I remembered, we could take the gas can when we were filling up the car, but quite regularly I'd forget and nobody was available to take me to the gas station when I needed gas to mow the lawn. Old Farm Market was only two blocks away. It was across the 3500 West, the main road by our house, but Mom and Dad would let me go by myself once I got old enough. When I got gas, I'd usually get a goody like a Mr. Goodbar and a soda. I liked to mix a few different soda's together for a new taste each time I went, but Sprite was my favorite soda growing up. One day when I was over at Old Farm Market, I didn't have enough money for a goody, but I really wanted one. The candy isle was on the other side of the counter. I waited until the lady working the counter was helping someone else, and I stuck a candy bar in my hat, put my hat on and walked out. It was so easy. So, I did it a few more times. One time I even remember having so many pieces of candy stuck in my hat that I'm sure it was sticking out as I walked out the door. I may have even been walking kind of funny to keep the hat on my head. I can't remember why I stopped stealing candy. I was never caught by Old Farm Market, or my parents. I remember just telling Dad about this a few years back as I was searching for the owners of Old Farm Market to pay them back. I do know the pain and guilt that has haunted me through the years about the things I took from Old Farm Market without paying. I wasn't honest and it has stuck with me. Thankfully, our Father in Heaven created a part of the plan that allows us to clean ourselves of these times when we aren't honest with ourselves and others. I've learned that we can clean our hearts and minds with the power of the atonement through repenting of things we do that are wrong. While it isn't easy, it works. We feel guilty about doing something. We asked for forgiveness, repay and debt that may be there and never do the act again. It works. I am thankful to a knowing Heavenly Father that made a plan that was usable by His children He knew wouldn't be quite perfect, but could become perfect through His plan.
Sunday, January 15, 2012
Week 3 - What was your neighborhood like growing up?
We lived in three houses growing up, one of which I remember. So, that is the neighborhood that I'll write about - Wheatridge.
If I recall correctly, we moved to Wheatridge when I was four years old. Wheatridge is the neighborhood just north and west of 5600 South and 3500 West in Roy. To this day my parents own the house at 3452 West 5300 South. While the area has changed significantly from when we first moved there, it is what I call home.
My parents built the house in Wheatridge and I'm pretty sure that Dad had something to do with the design of the house. Dad loves to draw, design houses and play with architectural-like stuff. I recall numerous times watching him draw on his pad of graph paper. He has often told me that growing up he really wanted to design cars. I think Grandpa Hill had some of his connections build the house. While I still don't know much about Grandpa Hill's life, he did a lot with construction and I think he had some connections to the lot we built on and he and Grandma Hill helped to finance the house.
The house was huge for us. The basement remained unfinished for quite a while and we spent a lot of time playing down there. We'd ride bikes, roller skate and shoot Jason's bb-gun down there (I'm pretty sure Mom and Dad knew that, if not... surprise!). Dad did a lot of work down there finishing the house. I think I remember helping him down there on occasion. I had a memory in my mind of doing something with the framing downstairs on the wall that would have been between Amy's room and the hallway. I don't know if anything significant happened there, but I have one of those memory flashes that pictures me there with Dad working. The house was built on what all the neighbors used as their pet cemetery. I know we added quite a few pets to that yard in the back corner while we lived there as well. I'm pretty sure we added at least a few of our cats, hamsters, bunnies and the like to the lot.
The house was built on one-half acre of land. The front two-thirds of the lot had the house and yard, the back one-third was garden for as long as I remember. It was only recently that the garden spot was cut back to the back 15 feet or so of the lot. We would spend hours every morning during the summer in that garden. There were numerous lessons that were taught in that garden, some of which I didn't learn until a recent conversation with my little brother Ryan. Its funny how things Mom and Dad taught us weren't necessarily by lectures or even direct conversation. They taught us by doing. Mom and Dad are doers. Sometimes the doing was forced on us, but we were kids. It was Mom and Dad's responsibility to help us do the things that needed to be done until we reached an age that we could take on our own responsibility. I'm sure they were met with a lot of resistance, but they pushed on silently leading and teaching us.
If I remember correctly, Jason and I shared a room with bunk beds upstairs across the hall from Amy who had her own room. Mom and Dad were just across the hall from us next to Amy's room. Another vivid memory I have of that time was jumping off the bunk beds to numerous Michael Jackson's songs, "Beat It" is the one that comes to mind. We used to make a fort out of our bunk beds by tucking in blankets to the top bunk and draping in over the front so we had our own little private play place.
On to the neighborhood. The first thought that comes to mind is helping Dad put in the sprinkling system. Amy had a friend Dawn Gilbert that lived at the south end of the block. She had been playing at her house and was coming home as it was getting dark, so Dawn had walked Amy home with the big doberman pinscher dog that in my mind was trained to kill. I have always been afraid of big dogs, it may have been from this experience, but in my mind those dogs were bad news. Dad and I were in the front yard working on the pipes. I was probably just playing in the dirt by him. Amy and Dawn came around the corner and like any little brother that was excited to see his big sister would do, I hopped up and ran for her with open arms. As you can well imagine, the dog didn't like that too much and I probably started it a little bit. He came at me with full force. With fear in my eyes I'm sure, I turned to run and the dog bit me right on my bum. I'm not sure what really happened, but that's how I remember it. The next thing I remember in this story is sitting in the bath tub with Mom taking care of my wounds.
I had two friends that I remember in the neighborhood. Chris Greenwald and John Stimpson. John was a year older than Chris and I and lived at the south end of the block. Chris just lived across the circle from us, so I spent a lot of time there. Chris and his dad were way into cars. So, I remember learning quite a bit from him about that. They also had an old Macintosh computer. We spent a lot of time playing games on that computer as well. Chris, John and I all loved bikes. John and his dad were really good at fixing bikes. I spent a lot of time at his house fixing our bikes. His house was also really close to what we called the dirt hills. These were a few open lots that had been turned into a BMX mecca. We had little jumps, corners, table tops, and all kinds of trails through these dirt hills. We also had built all kinds of forts and places to hang out in these dirt hills. The dirt hills were also full of stickers, so we spent numerous hours patching holes in our tires.
In John's backyard there was a big sandbox that had all kinds of hidden secrets. We be digging back there and we'd find an old car of action figure that probably had been buried for years by one of his older brothers. His house also backed a few of our other friends. They weren't necessarily our best friends, but we played with Nicholas Kippen and Ty Mansfield quite a bit. Chris' backyard backed some huge corn fields and horse fields. They went about one-half mile up to the next street. If we went through those fields we'd get to Danny Thomas and JC Howe's houses. They were cousins. Danny was a super good basketball player. JC was as well. We went to church with them and played with them on occasion, but because they were further away it wasn't until later in life we really hung out with them other than at church things.
Growing up our neighborhood was surrounded with these fields. We loved it and sometimes overstepped our bounds in them. I'm sure Mom and Dad got a few phone calls from the owners of this land that we'd play in and ride our bikes through. We had all kinds of great adventures in those fields. They don't exist anymore. Those fields are now full of houses and businesses.
Ty Mansfield was one of my cub scout leaders. I remember being over at their house for our scout meeting one afternoon learning about how to chop wood. After Brother Mansfield showed us how to chop wood by cutting in at the angles, it was our turn to try it. The way I recall it, nobody stepped up. So, I volunteered. I felt pretty confident, but was a little nervous. I got going and the wood must have been moving a little, so I put my hand down on the wood to hold it still and chopped right into my pointer finger on my left hand. Mom came and got me and we went to the urgent care to get it stitched up (six stitches if I recall correctly) - at least that's how I told my war story to all of the guys the next day at school and in the following years. I still have the scar on that finger and remember that day often as I think about it. Crazy thing is that the same finger has been cut multiple times through my life. Rarely do I cut other fingers and even more rarely the other hand. Probably because the sharp object is always in my right hand. That finger has been cut in the lawn mower, by numerous different knives and even by the cheese grater on occasion.
That's mostly what I remember growing up. There were two blocks in Wheatridge. They were full of great people. I have stories about most of them and how they influenced my life. That is for another day though. Most of those people have moved on to different neighborhoods. When we go home now, it is a different world. Growing up, the neighborhood was well kept, smelled like fresh cut lawn, grass hay, salt or cow manure - depending on the day. Now, it doesn't really have a smell, unless the wind gets going right blowing in from the Great Salt Lake. Now, the neighborhood seems to have gone down hill a little bit and doesn't have the lively spirit I used to feel growing up. Maybe it was never there, but it sure felt like it as a child, and teenager living in Wheatridge.
If I recall correctly, we moved to Wheatridge when I was four years old. Wheatridge is the neighborhood just north and west of 5600 South and 3500 West in Roy. To this day my parents own the house at 3452 West 5300 South. While the area has changed significantly from when we first moved there, it is what I call home.
My parents built the house in Wheatridge and I'm pretty sure that Dad had something to do with the design of the house. Dad loves to draw, design houses and play with architectural-like stuff. I recall numerous times watching him draw on his pad of graph paper. He has often told me that growing up he really wanted to design cars. I think Grandpa Hill had some of his connections build the house. While I still don't know much about Grandpa Hill's life, he did a lot with construction and I think he had some connections to the lot we built on and he and Grandma Hill helped to finance the house.
The house was huge for us. The basement remained unfinished for quite a while and we spent a lot of time playing down there. We'd ride bikes, roller skate and shoot Jason's bb-gun down there (I'm pretty sure Mom and Dad knew that, if not... surprise!). Dad did a lot of work down there finishing the house. I think I remember helping him down there on occasion. I had a memory in my mind of doing something with the framing downstairs on the wall that would have been between Amy's room and the hallway. I don't know if anything significant happened there, but I have one of those memory flashes that pictures me there with Dad working. The house was built on what all the neighbors used as their pet cemetery. I know we added quite a few pets to that yard in the back corner while we lived there as well. I'm pretty sure we added at least a few of our cats, hamsters, bunnies and the like to the lot.
The house was built on one-half acre of land. The front two-thirds of the lot had the house and yard, the back one-third was garden for as long as I remember. It was only recently that the garden spot was cut back to the back 15 feet or so of the lot. We would spend hours every morning during the summer in that garden. There were numerous lessons that were taught in that garden, some of which I didn't learn until a recent conversation with my little brother Ryan. Its funny how things Mom and Dad taught us weren't necessarily by lectures or even direct conversation. They taught us by doing. Mom and Dad are doers. Sometimes the doing was forced on us, but we were kids. It was Mom and Dad's responsibility to help us do the things that needed to be done until we reached an age that we could take on our own responsibility. I'm sure they were met with a lot of resistance, but they pushed on silently leading and teaching us.
If I remember correctly, Jason and I shared a room with bunk beds upstairs across the hall from Amy who had her own room. Mom and Dad were just across the hall from us next to Amy's room. Another vivid memory I have of that time was jumping off the bunk beds to numerous Michael Jackson's songs, "Beat It" is the one that comes to mind. We used to make a fort out of our bunk beds by tucking in blankets to the top bunk and draping in over the front so we had our own little private play place.
On to the neighborhood. The first thought that comes to mind is helping Dad put in the sprinkling system. Amy had a friend Dawn Gilbert that lived at the south end of the block. She had been playing at her house and was coming home as it was getting dark, so Dawn had walked Amy home with the big doberman pinscher dog that in my mind was trained to kill. I have always been afraid of big dogs, it may have been from this experience, but in my mind those dogs were bad news. Dad and I were in the front yard working on the pipes. I was probably just playing in the dirt by him. Amy and Dawn came around the corner and like any little brother that was excited to see his big sister would do, I hopped up and ran for her with open arms. As you can well imagine, the dog didn't like that too much and I probably started it a little bit. He came at me with full force. With fear in my eyes I'm sure, I turned to run and the dog bit me right on my bum. I'm not sure what really happened, but that's how I remember it. The next thing I remember in this story is sitting in the bath tub with Mom taking care of my wounds.
I had two friends that I remember in the neighborhood. Chris Greenwald and John Stimpson. John was a year older than Chris and I and lived at the south end of the block. Chris just lived across the circle from us, so I spent a lot of time there. Chris and his dad were way into cars. So, I remember learning quite a bit from him about that. They also had an old Macintosh computer. We spent a lot of time playing games on that computer as well. Chris, John and I all loved bikes. John and his dad were really good at fixing bikes. I spent a lot of time at his house fixing our bikes. His house was also really close to what we called the dirt hills. These were a few open lots that had been turned into a BMX mecca. We had little jumps, corners, table tops, and all kinds of trails through these dirt hills. We also had built all kinds of forts and places to hang out in these dirt hills. The dirt hills were also full of stickers, so we spent numerous hours patching holes in our tires.
In John's backyard there was a big sandbox that had all kinds of hidden secrets. We be digging back there and we'd find an old car of action figure that probably had been buried for years by one of his older brothers. His house also backed a few of our other friends. They weren't necessarily our best friends, but we played with Nicholas Kippen and Ty Mansfield quite a bit. Chris' backyard backed some huge corn fields and horse fields. They went about one-half mile up to the next street. If we went through those fields we'd get to Danny Thomas and JC Howe's houses. They were cousins. Danny was a super good basketball player. JC was as well. We went to church with them and played with them on occasion, but because they were further away it wasn't until later in life we really hung out with them other than at church things.
Growing up our neighborhood was surrounded with these fields. We loved it and sometimes overstepped our bounds in them. I'm sure Mom and Dad got a few phone calls from the owners of this land that we'd play in and ride our bikes through. We had all kinds of great adventures in those fields. They don't exist anymore. Those fields are now full of houses and businesses.
Ty Mansfield was one of my cub scout leaders. I remember being over at their house for our scout meeting one afternoon learning about how to chop wood. After Brother Mansfield showed us how to chop wood by cutting in at the angles, it was our turn to try it. The way I recall it, nobody stepped up. So, I volunteered. I felt pretty confident, but was a little nervous. I got going and the wood must have been moving a little, so I put my hand down on the wood to hold it still and chopped right into my pointer finger on my left hand. Mom came and got me and we went to the urgent care to get it stitched up (six stitches if I recall correctly) - at least that's how I told my war story to all of the guys the next day at school and in the following years. I still have the scar on that finger and remember that day often as I think about it. Crazy thing is that the same finger has been cut multiple times through my life. Rarely do I cut other fingers and even more rarely the other hand. Probably because the sharp object is always in my right hand. That finger has been cut in the lawn mower, by numerous different knives and even by the cheese grater on occasion.
That's mostly what I remember growing up. There were two blocks in Wheatridge. They were full of great people. I have stories about most of them and how they influenced my life. That is for another day though. Most of those people have moved on to different neighborhoods. When we go home now, it is a different world. Growing up, the neighborhood was well kept, smelled like fresh cut lawn, grass hay, salt or cow manure - depending on the day. Now, it doesn't really have a smell, unless the wind gets going right blowing in from the Great Salt Lake. Now, the neighborhood seems to have gone down hill a little bit and doesn't have the lively spirit I used to feel growing up. Maybe it was never there, but it sure felt like it as a child, and teenager living in Wheatridge.
Quick ad-in response to Question #2
After our Sunday School lesson toady, I want to ad in another little blurb about Question #2.
This week we have been studying Lehi's vision of the tree of life. There was a comment today that brought more of this vision to life for me in how one of the concepts taught has happened in my life.
In this vision there is a path with a rod that leads to the tree of life which represents the love of God; this could be defined as Him sending his Son, Jesus Christ, to be our Savior and to open the gates for us to return to Him. There is also a mist of darkness that makes it difficult for people to find their way to the tree, a river of filthy water that pulls people away from the tree once they step in and a large building without a foundation full of people mocking and laughing at those holding on to the rod on the path that leads to the tree as well as those partaking of the fruit on the tree that is said to be most desirable and able to make one happy.
As I mentioned in my last post regarding my talents growing up. I had some unusual desire to go against the grain and prove that I didn't care what others thought of me. This led to wearing really unique clothes that were anything but brand name (usually from thrift stores), being unusually happy, saying what was on my mind vs worrying about what people might think if I said something a particular way or if I thought something that might not have been popular. While I enjoyed this "talent" that was given me and it led to a great group of friends from various clicks, or groups, growing up, I never thought of what it may have taught me in life.
A person in our Sunday School class today was speaking regarding Lehi's vision and how in the vision different groups of people reacted to the situation. One of the groups in particular that are mentioned in the vision make it to the tree, because they are so fatigued from their labor of fighting to get to the tree they drop to their knees and partake of the fruit. As they partake of the fruit, they hear the mocking and laughing coming from the people in the building with no foundation. In the vision, a group of people when they hear the laughing and mocking, they drop their heads and wander off back into the mist of darkness, or over to the building without a foundation where those that were laughing at them are.
This discussion made me think back to last week's post and question of talents growing up. I have no idea why I jumped on this wagon to kick against the pricks and styles of the day. It may have been because I knew our family couldn't afford any of those styles, even though I wanted them. Maybe it was because I was given a "talent" from our Heavenly Father. I have no idea why, but that "talent" that I was given I believe has helped me to stay at the tree partaking of the fruit and having all of the facets of the life of Jesus Christ influencing my life to enable me to get back to my Father at some point. Maybe I'm just hard-headed and set in my ways, but I'm happy to be where I'm at. There are times in our lives when we all have to stand up, dig in our heals, and stand our ground at the mocking of others and temptations that Satan puts on us. I pray that I'll be able to stand strong on the ground surround the tree.
On a fun note, this week Kelly, Ivin and I watched "Kung Fu Panda." It is a little animated movie where a panda bear, voice by Jack Black, steps up to protect his community. There is a point in the movie where he is fighting with the ultimate bad guy. As the bad guy is rushing at him with the look of death in his eyes, the panda bear stands up, plants his feet and tightens his butt cheeks together (forming a deep wedgie). I die laughing every time I see that quick clip of the show in my mind. Well, not to ruin the show, but the bad guy attacks and ends up bouncing off of the panda's belly flying back a few hundred feet and smashing into a wall. This is the type of guy I want to be when Satan comes at me with the look of death in his eyes. I hope that I plant my feet and pinch together my butt cheeks to stand the ground that my Heavenly Father would be proud of me for standing on.
This week we have been studying Lehi's vision of the tree of life. There was a comment today that brought more of this vision to life for me in how one of the concepts taught has happened in my life.
In this vision there is a path with a rod that leads to the tree of life which represents the love of God; this could be defined as Him sending his Son, Jesus Christ, to be our Savior and to open the gates for us to return to Him. There is also a mist of darkness that makes it difficult for people to find their way to the tree, a river of filthy water that pulls people away from the tree once they step in and a large building without a foundation full of people mocking and laughing at those holding on to the rod on the path that leads to the tree as well as those partaking of the fruit on the tree that is said to be most desirable and able to make one happy.
As I mentioned in my last post regarding my talents growing up. I had some unusual desire to go against the grain and prove that I didn't care what others thought of me. This led to wearing really unique clothes that were anything but brand name (usually from thrift stores), being unusually happy, saying what was on my mind vs worrying about what people might think if I said something a particular way or if I thought something that might not have been popular. While I enjoyed this "talent" that was given me and it led to a great group of friends from various clicks, or groups, growing up, I never thought of what it may have taught me in life.
A person in our Sunday School class today was speaking regarding Lehi's vision and how in the vision different groups of people reacted to the situation. One of the groups in particular that are mentioned in the vision make it to the tree, because they are so fatigued from their labor of fighting to get to the tree they drop to their knees and partake of the fruit. As they partake of the fruit, they hear the mocking and laughing coming from the people in the building with no foundation. In the vision, a group of people when they hear the laughing and mocking, they drop their heads and wander off back into the mist of darkness, or over to the building without a foundation where those that were laughing at them are.
This discussion made me think back to last week's post and question of talents growing up. I have no idea why I jumped on this wagon to kick against the pricks and styles of the day. It may have been because I knew our family couldn't afford any of those styles, even though I wanted them. Maybe it was because I was given a "talent" from our Heavenly Father. I have no idea why, but that "talent" that I was given I believe has helped me to stay at the tree partaking of the fruit and having all of the facets of the life of Jesus Christ influencing my life to enable me to get back to my Father at some point. Maybe I'm just hard-headed and set in my ways, but I'm happy to be where I'm at. There are times in our lives when we all have to stand up, dig in our heals, and stand our ground at the mocking of others and temptations that Satan puts on us. I pray that I'll be able to stand strong on the ground surround the tree.
On a fun note, this week Kelly, Ivin and I watched "Kung Fu Panda." It is a little animated movie where a panda bear, voice by Jack Black, steps up to protect his community. There is a point in the movie where he is fighting with the ultimate bad guy. As the bad guy is rushing at him with the look of death in his eyes, the panda bear stands up, plants his feet and tightens his butt cheeks together (forming a deep wedgie). I die laughing every time I see that quick clip of the show in my mind. Well, not to ruin the show, but the bad guy attacks and ends up bouncing off of the panda's belly flying back a few hundred feet and smashing into a wall. This is the type of guy I want to be when Satan comes at me with the look of death in his eyes. I hope that I plant my feet and pinch together my butt cheeks to stand the ground that my Heavenly Father would be proud of me for standing on.
Sunday, January 8, 2012
Week 2 - What were your talents growing up? What are they now?
Writing about my talents coming from a family with excellent skills in music is a little humbling. While I was tasked with learning piano, music theory, choir and other such musical things, I wouldn't consider it a talent. Yes, I believe that talents are things that we can develop and take from nothing to excel in. However, music is something I struggled to grasp. It has been a battle my whole life. While nearly every other member in my family is a scholar of music, that is not the case for me.
But, the task to write about this week isn't about my non-talents, it is about my talents both growing up and now.
I can't really think of anything that I would consider a talent much before junior high and high school. This is where an awkward teenager began to notice and develop a few of his talents. This first of mention is running. While this could be debated as a talent, running came natural to me and it was something I naturally wanted to develop. Along with enjoying it and wanting to do it, my body conformed as well. Yes, it took a lot of time and effort, but it was something that not only I enjoyed doing, my body reacted well to me doing it.
I have published this story in a Holt Family story book, but I'll write it in a little different way to stay on the topic of talents.
I remember one spring/early summer day near the end of the school year for me at Roy Junior High, my older brother and his crew from the Roy High School Cross-country team coming over to the school during our track practice to recruit new members. They were looking for students that were going to be sophomores. I was in the 7th grade. I had joined the track team at the junior high, mostly because I wanted to be like Jason, my older brother. He was a runner and would get up every morning in the summer to go and run at the high school. I had been to a few of his track meets and I wanted to be just like him.
The team wasn't really looking for a 7th grader and I don't think I was even eligible, but somehow through quite a bit of nagging I'm sure, I ended up being able to join the team. I'm sure there were some kind of stipulations involved, and I'm also sure I received some preferential treatment having an older brother on the team.
Every morning throughout the summer my brother and I would get up early and be at the school for 7 a.m. cross-country practice - which pretty well meant to go for a run. For some reason the coach and team took me under their wings and helped me to develop this talent I was given. I continued on with the team after Jason graduated and moved on with his life. I kept going until I graduated. My senior year I felt that I should move in a different direction. I was asked to serve in a leadership position with the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints seminary. With that and other interests, I decided to quite the team. That only lasted part of the summer. I ended up going back to the team and finishing out my senior year with the team. I sure it was for a few reasons, but I remember a few of my good friends and the coach specifically asking me to come back for our last season.
While a few of my teammates decided to continue on running in high school, I did not. However, to this day I am one of the few of my group of running friends that is still running. Yes, I have my good times and not-so-good times, other priorities like spending time with my family or church callings that keep me away from running, as well as being lazy. However, running is still one of the things I consider a talent. It is also one of the things that has the biggest impact on me being able to step back from life for a while and clear my mind.
Another talent that began to come out in high school was an ability to befriend people. I was usually able to step away from worrying about what others would think of me and just do what I thought was best for the situation. I have to admit that this may have led to quite a bit of pushing the envelope. I found myself pushing styles and doing certain things just to prove that it didn't matter what you wore or looked like, but it mattered who you were and what you did. The clothes I wore and things I did through high school were to make myself and others comfortable in their own skin. Whether it was from these actions or others, I had a large group of friends that crossed the existing groups of kids at Roy High School. I was able to penetrate the music, student government, cowboy, skater, jock and other lines that were very noticeable growing up.
I believe this talent as continued to grow and deepen. One thing with talents is that they are from the eyes of the person who feels they have the talent. I think that is half the battle. If you don't believe you have talent, it won't go anywhere. Once you believe you have the talent and do something about it is where you either feel guilty for not doing something with it, or you take that talent and make it shine and grow. So, I think this talent with people has grown to where I can easily befriend people of all types. I can go up and start conversations with them and not worry about what they might be thinking about me as a person. I also think I have the ability to read people and what they are feeling or thinking. I think this is a talent my Father in Heaven has given me to be able to reach out to my brothers and sisters.
I think there are various other talents I have. I know that I have been given certain talents for a particular reason, some unknown at this time. I also know that I have to continue working on talents for them to continue existing - or they will be taken from me. A talent isn't something that you just naturally have, it is something that you have to work at to see it work in your life.
But, the task to write about this week isn't about my non-talents, it is about my talents both growing up and now.
I can't really think of anything that I would consider a talent much before junior high and high school. This is where an awkward teenager began to notice and develop a few of his talents. This first of mention is running. While this could be debated as a talent, running came natural to me and it was something I naturally wanted to develop. Along with enjoying it and wanting to do it, my body conformed as well. Yes, it took a lot of time and effort, but it was something that not only I enjoyed doing, my body reacted well to me doing it.
I have published this story in a Holt Family story book, but I'll write it in a little different way to stay on the topic of talents.
I remember one spring/early summer day near the end of the school year for me at Roy Junior High, my older brother and his crew from the Roy High School Cross-country team coming over to the school during our track practice to recruit new members. They were looking for students that were going to be sophomores. I was in the 7th grade. I had joined the track team at the junior high, mostly because I wanted to be like Jason, my older brother. He was a runner and would get up every morning in the summer to go and run at the high school. I had been to a few of his track meets and I wanted to be just like him.
The team wasn't really looking for a 7th grader and I don't think I was even eligible, but somehow through quite a bit of nagging I'm sure, I ended up being able to join the team. I'm sure there were some kind of stipulations involved, and I'm also sure I received some preferential treatment having an older brother on the team.
Every morning throughout the summer my brother and I would get up early and be at the school for 7 a.m. cross-country practice - which pretty well meant to go for a run. For some reason the coach and team took me under their wings and helped me to develop this talent I was given. I continued on with the team after Jason graduated and moved on with his life. I kept going until I graduated. My senior year I felt that I should move in a different direction. I was asked to serve in a leadership position with the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints seminary. With that and other interests, I decided to quite the team. That only lasted part of the summer. I ended up going back to the team and finishing out my senior year with the team. I sure it was for a few reasons, but I remember a few of my good friends and the coach specifically asking me to come back for our last season.
While a few of my teammates decided to continue on running in high school, I did not. However, to this day I am one of the few of my group of running friends that is still running. Yes, I have my good times and not-so-good times, other priorities like spending time with my family or church callings that keep me away from running, as well as being lazy. However, running is still one of the things I consider a talent. It is also one of the things that has the biggest impact on me being able to step back from life for a while and clear my mind.
Another talent that began to come out in high school was an ability to befriend people. I was usually able to step away from worrying about what others would think of me and just do what I thought was best for the situation. I have to admit that this may have led to quite a bit of pushing the envelope. I found myself pushing styles and doing certain things just to prove that it didn't matter what you wore or looked like, but it mattered who you were and what you did. The clothes I wore and things I did through high school were to make myself and others comfortable in their own skin. Whether it was from these actions or others, I had a large group of friends that crossed the existing groups of kids at Roy High School. I was able to penetrate the music, student government, cowboy, skater, jock and other lines that were very noticeable growing up.
I believe this talent as continued to grow and deepen. One thing with talents is that they are from the eyes of the person who feels they have the talent. I think that is half the battle. If you don't believe you have talent, it won't go anywhere. Once you believe you have the talent and do something about it is where you either feel guilty for not doing something with it, or you take that talent and make it shine and grow. So, I think this talent with people has grown to where I can easily befriend people of all types. I can go up and start conversations with them and not worry about what they might be thinking about me as a person. I also think I have the ability to read people and what they are feeling or thinking. I think this is a talent my Father in Heaven has given me to be able to reach out to my brothers and sisters.
I think there are various other talents I have. I know that I have been given certain talents for a particular reason, some unknown at this time. I also know that I have to continue working on talents for them to continue existing - or they will be taken from me. A talent isn't something that you just naturally have, it is something that you have to work at to see it work in your life.
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Question 1 Supplement from Mom
Dear Jeremy:
I really enjoyed reading about your memories of Roy and where you were born. I always rely on calendars and other paper recording devices for a lot of facts, etc. which I don't have here to jog my memory.But I can tell you a few things about the day you were born.
Since you and Kelly have experienced having a baby, you will understand some of these facts. With your birth, my water broke about2 am the day you were born. That is a very interesting experience--I awoke because it felt like I had wet the bed. Of course, I knew that it meant that my water had probably broken, but I wasn't having any contractions yet, so we called the doctor to see what we should do. He said to go to the hospital and be checked out. We had previously arranged with Uncle Craig & Aunt Judy that if we needed to go to the hospital in the middle of the night they would come over and stay with Jason and Amy.
At the hospital they confirmed that my water had indeed broken, and admitted me. It was a rainy day and the nurses said that the change in barometric pressure usually brought a lot of births. It was a busy day at the hospital. They started me on the pit drip, to speed up the birth process since it is not good to go very long after the water has broken. The contractions would usually start on their own after the water breaks, but they hurried it along. I was very comfortable--I also had an epidural before your birth. I remember that Dad was very sleepy as he waited in the room with me.
You were born just before 9 a.m., if I remember right maybe 8:56 a.m..The exact time is written in your baby book. You were a cute little guy--but then you have seen the photos. You had the most hair of all of our babies. I think you weighed 8 lbs 2 ounces. The exact ounces is also written in your baby book. But it was only a little bit more than 8 lbs., if anything more.
I don't remember anything specific about what was happening in the town, country, or the world at that time. Being a mother of a 3 yr.old and 2 yr. old and having a baby, I was pretty much out of the loop of world affairs. I was plenty busy just taking care of things at home.
You were the best baby we had up to that point. You ate every 4hours, slept at night only getting up to eat and then went right back to sleep. You were happy and smiley and made me feel like I had finally figured out how to be a good mother. And it was all you--not me at all. I learned that later.
I hope any of that is useful for your history project. As I read all you had written earlier, I realized that I am not going to be able to do this project this year while serving as a missionary. I will require much more thought, as well as looking at records that I have at home, to be able to write down what I would want to write down. So maybe next year I will try it, but I will enjoy reading your blog, and I am happy to help if I can. Oh, and what you have written is correct as far as I can remember.
Good luck--Love, Mom
I really enjoyed reading about your memories of Roy and where you were born. I always rely on calendars and other paper recording devices for a lot of facts, etc. which I don't have here to jog my memory.But I can tell you a few things about the day you were born.
Since you and Kelly have experienced having a baby, you will understand some of these facts. With your birth, my water broke about2 am the day you were born. That is a very interesting experience--I awoke because it felt like I had wet the bed. Of course, I knew that it meant that my water had probably broken, but I wasn't having any contractions yet, so we called the doctor to see what we should do. He said to go to the hospital and be checked out. We had previously arranged with Uncle Craig & Aunt Judy that if we needed to go to the hospital in the middle of the night they would come over and stay with Jason and Amy.
At the hospital they confirmed that my water had indeed broken, and admitted me. It was a rainy day and the nurses said that the change in barometric pressure usually brought a lot of births. It was a busy day at the hospital. They started me on the pit drip, to speed up the birth process since it is not good to go very long after the water has broken. The contractions would usually start on their own after the water breaks, but they hurried it along. I was very comfortable--I also had an epidural before your birth. I remember that Dad was very sleepy as he waited in the room with me.
You were born just before 9 a.m., if I remember right maybe 8:56 a.m..The exact time is written in your baby book. You were a cute little guy--but then you have seen the photos. You had the most hair of all of our babies. I think you weighed 8 lbs 2 ounces. The exact ounces is also written in your baby book. But it was only a little bit more than 8 lbs., if anything more.
I don't remember anything specific about what was happening in the town, country, or the world at that time. Being a mother of a 3 yr.old and 2 yr. old and having a baby, I was pretty much out of the loop of world affairs. I was plenty busy just taking care of things at home.
You were the best baby we had up to that point. You ate every 4hours, slept at night only getting up to eat and then went right back to sleep. You were happy and smiley and made me feel like I had finally figured out how to be a good mother. And it was all you--not me at all. I learned that later.
I hope any of that is useful for your history project. As I read all you had written earlier, I realized that I am not going to be able to do this project this year while serving as a missionary. I will require much more thought, as well as looking at records that I have at home, to be able to write down what I would want to write down. So maybe next year I will try it, but I will enjoy reading your blog, and I am happy to help if I can. Oh, and what you have written is correct as far as I can remember.
Good luck--Love, Mom
Sunday, January 1, 2012
Week 1 - Where were you born?
Where were you born? Describe what it was like at that time.
Being as that I was unaware of my situation in life until I was at least four of five years old. I'm going to require much attention from Mom and Dad on this introductory journal entry. However, I'll put in a few details and add to the rest after quizzing them on the details of my birth.
I was born on March 28, 1979 in Ogden, Utah at the McKay-Dee Hospital on Harrison Boulevard across the street from Weber State University. That hospital is no longer there other than a surgical center that operates as a part of the current McKay-Dee Hospital that is about half a mile south of the old site.
We lived in a small house in Roy right next to what we called the second set of (railroad) tracks. It was at 5441 South 2775 West in Roy. The tracks have been dug up and are currently being turned into a walking/biking path that goes clear from North Salt Lake up to Ogden. It also connects into another trail system in Ogden and one that extends south from North Salt Lake to nearly Draper. The tracks were right in front of our house. There was the street in front of our house, a few small storage sheds, and eight foot tall cinder block fence and then the tracks. You could see the trains come jetting by our house and I may be making this up, but it seems like the house would even shade with the rumbling of the train as it went by.
I don't remember much about this house. One memory that I do tie to this is at one time being in trouble for some reason and having Dad carry Jason and I up the stairs by our feet. That's it. That may be one of the only times I remember Dad being outwardly mad. Dad was and is a pretty calm and collected individual.
From there we moved to Uncle Craig and Aunt Judy's house in the circle only a few houses away from where we lived (2795 West 5450 South in Roy) for a while as the current house further West at 3452 West 5300 South in Roy was built. We moved out West where there wasn't much. I think the development was called Wheatridge. There were a lot of fields around our house either for horses, corn or wheat. We used to play in those fields all the time.
I remember while we lived in Uncle Craig's house it was right on the Royal Green's Golf Course (now Eagle Lakes Golf Course). We used to get in all kinds of trouble on that golf course. Whether it was finding golf balls that were still being used by golfers, hunting for frogs, or just causing mischief like most little boys tend to do.
Ogden is a quaint little town. It used to be a major shipping town with the largest train hub between the West and East coasts. This led to all kinds of life in the city. Growing up though most of the train life in town was dead. But, Ogden was a big city for us to go to. There was the Ogden City Mall near 24th and Kiesel Avenue with ZCMI, Nordstroms, and a few other large stores, the Newgate Mall near 36th and Wall Avenue with Sears, Mervyn's and Nordstroms after the Ogden Mall closed. I remember walking around the Ogden Mall with Mom as a kid. We'd park int he covered parking lot, walk down the indoor corridor with real trees, walk across the skywalk to the ZCMI over Washington Boulevard (that was a little scary).
Ogden was the place to be, but then it seemed to fall apart for a while there while I was in junior high and high school. Now, Ogden is becoming an internationally known town for its outdoor lifestyles. It has great access to world-class skiing (thanks to the 2002 Olympics), hiking, biking, water sports and the like.
Roy has changed quite a bit since growing up there. I remember coming home from my mission to a totally different world in Roy. There were cookie-cutter neighborhoods all around us. Most of the families I knew growing up had moved out and being at home, wasn't the same anymore. I miss that part of going home. Every once in a while when we go and visit, if the wind is blowing right you can still smell the cows and fields from out West of Mom and Dad's house, but that and Mom and Dad's house are about all that remains from the country neighborhood that I remember. The houses are filled with new people. The fields are gone. The quite is filled will cars and trucks driving down busy streets.
I'll fill in more about my birth once I consult those that really remember that day.
Being as that I was unaware of my situation in life until I was at least four of five years old. I'm going to require much attention from Mom and Dad on this introductory journal entry. However, I'll put in a few details and add to the rest after quizzing them on the details of my birth.
I was born on March 28, 1979 in Ogden, Utah at the McKay-Dee Hospital on Harrison Boulevard across the street from Weber State University. That hospital is no longer there other than a surgical center that operates as a part of the current McKay-Dee Hospital that is about half a mile south of the old site.
We lived in a small house in Roy right next to what we called the second set of (railroad) tracks. It was at 5441 South 2775 West in Roy. The tracks have been dug up and are currently being turned into a walking/biking path that goes clear from North Salt Lake up to Ogden. It also connects into another trail system in Ogden and one that extends south from North Salt Lake to nearly Draper. The tracks were right in front of our house. There was the street in front of our house, a few small storage sheds, and eight foot tall cinder block fence and then the tracks. You could see the trains come jetting by our house and I may be making this up, but it seems like the house would even shade with the rumbling of the train as it went by.
I don't remember much about this house. One memory that I do tie to this is at one time being in trouble for some reason and having Dad carry Jason and I up the stairs by our feet. That's it. That may be one of the only times I remember Dad being outwardly mad. Dad was and is a pretty calm and collected individual.
From there we moved to Uncle Craig and Aunt Judy's house in the circle only a few houses away from where we lived (2795 West 5450 South in Roy) for a while as the current house further West at 3452 West 5300 South in Roy was built. We moved out West where there wasn't much. I think the development was called Wheatridge. There were a lot of fields around our house either for horses, corn or wheat. We used to play in those fields all the time.
I remember while we lived in Uncle Craig's house it was right on the Royal Green's Golf Course (now Eagle Lakes Golf Course). We used to get in all kinds of trouble on that golf course. Whether it was finding golf balls that were still being used by golfers, hunting for frogs, or just causing mischief like most little boys tend to do.
Ogden is a quaint little town. It used to be a major shipping town with the largest train hub between the West and East coasts. This led to all kinds of life in the city. Growing up though most of the train life in town was dead. But, Ogden was a big city for us to go to. There was the Ogden City Mall near 24th and Kiesel Avenue with ZCMI, Nordstroms, and a few other large stores, the Newgate Mall near 36th and Wall Avenue with Sears, Mervyn's and Nordstroms after the Ogden Mall closed. I remember walking around the Ogden Mall with Mom as a kid. We'd park int he covered parking lot, walk down the indoor corridor with real trees, walk across the skywalk to the ZCMI over Washington Boulevard (that was a little scary).
Ogden was the place to be, but then it seemed to fall apart for a while there while I was in junior high and high school. Now, Ogden is becoming an internationally known town for its outdoor lifestyles. It has great access to world-class skiing (thanks to the 2002 Olympics), hiking, biking, water sports and the like.
Roy has changed quite a bit since growing up there. I remember coming home from my mission to a totally different world in Roy. There were cookie-cutter neighborhoods all around us. Most of the families I knew growing up had moved out and being at home, wasn't the same anymore. I miss that part of going home. Every once in a while when we go and visit, if the wind is blowing right you can still smell the cows and fields from out West of Mom and Dad's house, but that and Mom and Dad's house are about all that remains from the country neighborhood that I remember. The houses are filled with new people. The fields are gone. The quite is filled will cars and trucks driving down busy streets.
I'll fill in more about my birth once I consult those that really remember that day.
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