MY SISTER HAS BEEN MARRIED 50 YEARS

My sister and her husband have been married for fifty years. Last night her kids and grandkids threw them a surprise party. They have flown in from Virginia to Hawaii and everywhere in between. It was very nice. I took a few photos and now it has been confirmed. My photography skills are ZERO. There isn't one photo that I am proud of. I'm sorry to post all these lousy ones but it's all I have.

Coming in the door at the church

cultural center. Surprise! Their oldest

son, Jordan, ushered them in,

telling them that the grandkids were

playing indoorsoccer in the cultural hall.

The daughter-in-law who didn't go to dinner

with everyone so she could co-ordinate all

the decorations and food. How the whole

group kept this party a secret is beyond

my understanding.They will kill me when they see this.

None of them look like this. They are

pleasant looking in real life.

I promise they are. Aubrey, a granddaughter.

I didn't have the red-eye flash on.

The newest granddaughter.

Obviously the next set of photo are of

nothing. Real photographers don't take

pictures of nothing. And not that any

of these people are nothing--

the pictures are just bad.

Gordon and Julie looking at the book the

kids/grandkids made. Photos of their life

together. It was wonderful.

Son, Chris with his daughter. She has been

eating all kinds of things dipped in chocolate.Lizzie, Julie and Gordon's great-grandchild

with her Grandma, Lezlie their daughter.This is Lezlie's daughter-in-law. There

are three generations here. You'd think

I'd have added Julie and Gordon and made

it four, wouldn't you? Not so. Why? Because

I only think of the right thing to do a day late.

Today I thought of it. A day late.

This is one of Julie's best friends, JoAnne.

They met when they were all going to college

and lived in the same married housing.

Again, obviously. I think I can take photos

in the dark. Sorry, JoAnne.This was my favorite part of the whole

evening. Lezlie and Brennan did a skit of

their parents, going out to eat. It was

hilarious! Really nailed those two, from Julie

bringing her own water to finding a bargain

meal to taking bunches ofvitamins and quoting

how wonderful they were.

I didn't even get a photo of all the grown

children. I feel bad about that but I know

other people were taking photos too,

surely they were better than I at this.

Mormon's all over the world will recognize

this photo of the basketball floor. It is a

multi purpose room used for playing basketball,

wedding reception, overflow for Sacrament Meeting,

activities for the Scouts, Young

Men's and Young Women's organizations,

Relief Society, Primary, luncheons

after funerals, etc.

They had a slide show of photos of the time

they met and were dating to marriage,

children,the three missions they

served for the church, trips, pictures

of all the grandkids, etc.

Happy Anniversary to my sis and her hubby. What a great life you have had together and what a fine posterity you have. You have both enriched our lives and the lives of our children by the way you live, the commitments you keep and your great faith in the Savior.

We love you.

SIX WORDS FOR THE MIRACLE OF THE SLEEP-OVER SISTER

Saved a life? What a surprise!

THE MIRACLE OF THE SLEEP-OVER SISTER

Let me tell you about a miracle that my sister, Julie, participated in. Actually she was the star, she was the rescuer, she prevented tragedy.

This happened years ago. Her daughter was in college here at BYU. My kids were young; Her Excellency of Mousehole wasn’t even born yet. I was an overwhelmed young mother. I wasn’t one of those women who run a perfectly organized home with gourmet meals. Oh, wait. I did pretty well in the meal department. You could set the clock when I called the family for dinner and they were delicious--the meals were delicious, not the family. But, then again, who can resist a baby or a toddler or even a child, and on occasion, a husband? So maybe the family was delicious, too.

I was overwhelmed one week and I had prayed for help. I remember actually saying the words, “Heavenly Father, please send me some help!” I had no idea where it was going to come from.

My sister showed up on my doorstep the next day. She lived forty miles away and this was a rare occurrence for her to just show up.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

It was the middle of the winter, driving from Salt Lake to Provo is sometimes a challenge in the winter and that particular day was overcast and snow was predicted.

“I don’t know. I just felt like it,” she said.

I think the Holy Ghost whispered to her and she listened.

“I want you and Lezlie to go to a movie,” she said. “I’ll go home late this afternoon.”

“I can’t do that," I said. "You and Lezlie go to a movie.”

“Nope,” she said. “I’m staying here. I’ll watch the kids and tidy up a little.” She was insistent and forceful. She’s an older sister and so “insistent and forceful” come naturally to her.

So, Lezlie was called and she and I went to the movie. I don’t remember what we saw. I do remember we laughed and laughed. I have always had a loving relationship with Lezlie. She’s funny, and whatever she does I think it great. (Go here and see her books.)

When we got back, Julie had cleaned my house and taken care of the kids and then said, “It looks like snow. I think I’ll just stay the night. I’ll just sleep right here on the couch.”

Julie still had kids at home. I don't know who took care of them while she was at my house or who was going to get them off to school the next morning. This is one of the details that make this miracle--well, miraculous, that things were being taken care of at home. Maybe Gordon was a willing participant in the miracle.

And no one in her right mind wants to sleep on a couch but she was insistent and forceful and I was the younger sister. I was used to her deciding things. We had a whole lifetime-history of her deciding things, so I agreed. We stayed up and talked for a while. It was so nice to have her to myself, that didn't happen often. We finally made a bed with sheets and blankets on the couch and she said, “I’ll be fine.”

The next morning, when I got up, Taylor was sleeping with her. “Why is Taylor sleeping here? The couch wasn’t uncomfortable enough, you had to add a child?”

“Well, it was a funny thing,” she said. “It was the middle of the night and I heard something. I looked up and Taylor was on his way to the front door. I think he was going to go outside.”

Taylor had been sick and sometimes he sleepwalked when he was sick.

“So, I said to him,” she said, “‘Where are you going, Taylor-bug?’ but he didn’t answer, he just continued toward the door so I grabbed him and snuggled him down and he went right to sleep.”

It had snowed earlier that evening and was bitter cold. The possibility that she saved Taylor’s life was a real possibility. I don’t think either one of us realized it at the time but as all the miracles in my life, the realization that the hand of the Lord was watching over my family, came later.

How grateful I am to my sister, Julie, for preventing a tragedy in our family’s life. She didn’t know why she came. She gave me a break and sent me to the movie with Lezlie. She helped with housework that was overwhelming. She saved Taylor's life.

Three miracles. I had prayed for some help and help came, and for something I didn’t even know I was going to need help with. But someone did and sent Julie.

MOM'S DETERMINATION, PART II

Yesterday I wrote the beginning of this story. My sister called earlier today and I asked her what she remembered about the story. It wasn't the finishing of the house that Mom got the loan for; it was making the house into two apartments. Mom and the girls would live in one side and rent the other side out and then Mom would sell the apartments and pay Mr. Porter back. Also, it wasn't Pocatello, Idaho but Milford, Utah. So much for the facts as I knew them.

I will go back in a few days and correct the first part of this story. I also realize I've changed tenses in the two stories. I may correct that; I may not. In the meantime, here's the rest of the story. Remember, this is my attempt to write it in my mother's words. That's what writer's do; put words in people's mouths. Much of this I remember word for word from my darling mother but so many of the details are coming right out of my imagination--this is one of those times when it really is "Lynne's somewhat invented life," but it's my Mom's life I've invented. I somehow feel it's okay. Maybe she's here tonight, reading over my shoulder.

Here we go, part II.

I had the loan from Mr. Porter. I nearly danced home and when I got closer I ran. My hair came undone, I know I looked like a wild woman but I didn't care. I yelled and the girls came running. I swept them up in my arms and we twirled and twirled. They laughed and squealed. I tipped my head to the sky and whispered, "Thank you, Father. Thank you."

I put the girls down, we held hands and ran the rest of the way home, my purse dug into my side with every other step but I didn't care. My neighbor smiled and waved and then gave me the thumbs-up sign. She didn't have to ask. She knew I got the loan.

The girls and I walked through the house. "Here is where the wall will go, right down the middle. That side will belong to the other apartment and this side will be ours." They didn't understand, but they knew one thing: they had a Mom who wasn't walking the floor, worrying and fretting and being too distracted to read bedtime stories or play dolls with them or make Mickey Mouse pancakes with big ears. They had their old Mom back.

I got on the phone the very next day. I called contractors and lumber yards and appliance stores. I found a contractor who would let me help with the work so it wouldn't cost me as much. I learned how to knock out walls and hammer and screw things together.

I learned why you couldn't tear down some walls because they were bearing walls. I learned how to insulate so you couldn't hear conversation from one apartment to another. I learned how to tell if a wire was "hot" and why you had to hire an electrician and not do the wiring yourself. I learned that it was cheaper to put kitchen sinks together, one on one side of the new wall, the other on the other side. The same with the bathroom sinks and bathtubs. I learned why you didn't put water pipes against outside walls in this cold winter country.

I found that I had to tie my hair up with a dishcloth or it would be glued together with plaster by the end of the day. Plaster wasn't so good for the complexion either but I didn't care. Who was I trying to look good for anyway?

The girls were curious and got in everyone's way. I hired the neighbor to watch them. She didn't want to take money but she watched them for so many hours everyday I insisted. I knew I wouldn't be around to be her friend after the apartments were done. I hadn't told her. I couldn't. She had been so good to us.

I worked without rest. If the contractor didn't show up I called his wife.

"I have other jobs I have to do too, Mrs. Paschal. If I leave them without showing up I'll loose the job and I've got to keep everyone happy."

'Then let me know you won't be here and tell me what to do while you're at another job. That's reasonable, isn't it?"

"I guess so. Gads, woman, you've got my wife on my tail. 'You get over to that woman's house and help her out, Earl. You can't leave her hanging.'"

We laughed as he talked in a high-pitched voice. From then on he told me every time he wasn't coming the next day. He showed me what to do and I did it. Occasionally he had to re-do something, but not often.

I did all the painting. I learned it didn't pay to buy cheap paint. I leaned that about a lot of things. Buy the best and don't waste. Measure twice and cut once. The contractor was full of advice, which I tucked away in case I would ever need it again.

DeLynn came to help put the finishing touches on things. I was so happy to see her. She spoiled the kids, they needed spoiling, they deserved spoiling. We sat up late at night. Me, listening to all the things she hadn't put into letters. We held hands as we sat on the bed. I cried when she told me hard things she and my other siblings had gone through. Both of us laughed over the funny things her little girl had said, the mischief she got into.

"What are you going to do?" she asked.

I didn't have an answer. I was going to go home--home to family and then I would decide. But first we had to finish the kitchen in the other apartment. The appliances were being delivered the next day and then we were done.

We turned out the lights and laid in the dark. We wondered out loud why our lives hadn't turned out like we thought they would.

"I love you, sis. Thanks for coming."

I love you too. I hope this is hardest thing you'll have to ever face."

It wasn't. I'm glad I didn't know it then. There is wisdom in not knowing the future because in some instances there would be no future. Half of us would walk off a bridge somewhere, thinking we couldn't handle a troubling future when in real life we can handle it, one little bit at a time.

We were up early the next morning, making French toast and flinging bits of eggshells and bread crusts at each other. The kids watched, wide eyed. They'd never seen their mother like this, irresponsible, wasting food, deliberately making a mess. But it was a day for celebrating. By noon the project would be done. I could put a for sale sign up and hope for the best. Mr. Porter would be paid, I'd have cash in the bank and could get on with my life.

The appliance truck came at 9:00 AM on the dot, just like he'd promised. It was a small town and the contractor had the word out: If you didn't do as promised, Mrs. Paschal would call the wives. Everyone showed up on time.

The stove in the new apartment was beautiful, clean, not like the used one on our side. I put, "scrub the stove," on my mental list of things to do. The sink and cabinets and counters were already in. The fridge was unboxed and on the porch, ready to go in when the man said some frightening words.

"I don't think it will fit through the door." He took out a measuring tape. He measured the fridge. He measured the door opening.

"Nope. Won't go through."

"We'll take the door off. That's easy to do," I said.

"Well, yes, easy, but the fridge is too big to go through the door at any rate. It won't fit. Do you want me to take it back and bring a smaller one?"

I didn't want a smaller fridge. This one was perfect. It had a dent on one side at the bottom, the side that would be covered up with a cabinet. It was a bargain and heavenly days; I loved a bargain. Besides that, a smaller fridge just wouldn't do. And a smaller fridge would actually cost me more.

"What do you think," I asked DeLynn.

"Well, I don't know," she said. "It looks like it will fit to me."

"Me too."

"Ladies, look at this." He pulled out his measuring tape. He measured the fridge. "See here?" We looked. Then he measured the door opening. "See here? One eighth inch. There's no way I can get that fridge in with one eighth inch leeway. I'll have to take it back."

I looked at DeLynn. "We can do it," she mouthed behind his back, nodding her head.

"No, leave it here. If I change my mind I'll call."

"There'll be an extra charge if I have to take it back later."

I nodded. He tossed the cardboard in the truck, shaking his head and muttering to himself. He loaded his dolly, got in his truck, slammed the door and left. We watched until he was out of sight. Then we looked at the fridge and then looked at each other. She grimaced and shrugged. I shrugged too.

"Okay, then. We'll just "walk" it in and be done with it. Right? It might take a little bit of time but we can do it."

We took the door off and leaned it against the wall in the kitchen and then DeLynn and I "walked" the fridge. We walked it until noon. She was trapped in the new apartment so I went to the other side and made sandwiches and pushed them over the top of the fridge.

"Good thing the bathroom is functional," she said. We laughed and joked and walked the fridge until dinnertime.

The kids had wandered around all afternoon, making me hold them up to the kitchen window so they could wave at their Aunt Dee. They played in the dirt and played with rocks, they rocked their baby dolls and were as good as gold while their insane mother and equally insane Aunt walked and walked and walked a fridge that didn't want to be walked.

"I've got to go feed the kids."

"I know it. I'll be right here." She snorted. I snorted too and then we laughed. "What have we got ourselves into?" she said from the other side of the fridge. I didn't have an answer.

I went home and got the kids some dinner and then took her a plate and pushed it across the top of the fridge. I went back and got the kids ready for bed. She sat on the kitchen floor and ate and then waited. When the kids were all settled I came back and we walked and walked and walked that doggone fridge. At 2:00 AM we were done.

"I knew it could be done," she said dancing around the kitchen, swinging her hips. "What does that appliance man know, anyway?"

We laughed and hung on each other with fatigue. We walked the fridge into place, it took about two minutes, we plugged it in and then we stood back and looked at it. We both sighed at the same time in the same way. We leaned the door against the opening and went next door to bed. We laid in the dark.

"I'm sorry I said I thought the fridge would fit through the door."

I started to laugh. I couldn't help it. I tried to be quiet so I wouldn't wake the kids but the more I tried the harder I laughed. DeLynn laughed too.

"What will happen when this fridge dies on day and the owners have to replace it?"

"They will have to tip it over on its side and turn it into a couch because there's no way it's going out that door."

"It will be a 'cool’ couch.”

"One with shelves for holding books and pop and boxes of Kleenex."

"It will have its own light, for reading by."

"Easy to clean, just wipe it down."

We could hardly talk for laughing. The light went on in the hall.

"Uh oh, Pat's up," I whispered.

She stood in the door, rubbing her eyes. "You woke me up."

"Come here, baby," I opened my arms and she climbed in bed and snuggled down. "This is what it's all about, isn't it?"

"Yes," DeLynn said. "This is what it's all about."

And now, all these years later--sixty-seven years later--it's still true. It's about family. It’s about determination that makes all things possible, even moving a fridge through a door that's too doggoned small.

MOM'S DETERMINATION, PART I

I don't know if Mom's trials made her determined or if she was determined from the start. Two days ago I gave you the story of Mom's first marriage. Today is the first part of the story of what happened after Fred died. I'll try to do it in her voice. I don't remember the name of the banker, even though Mom told me countless times. I'm going to call him Mr. Porter. Here we go:

The last bit of dirt was smacked down with the back of the shovel. That was it. Fred was buried. I stood, holding Pat and Julie's hands. Would they be like him? Would they remember him? Maybe Pat would, Julie was only two, probably not, for her.

I want to go home. Home to my family. Home to Dad and Aunt Lizzie, home to Bliss and Tom, Lillian and DeLynn. Home to cousins for my little girls. Home where I can have help. I'll have to make a living. I can't do it without help. I want to go home but I have the house, here in Pocatello. Half finished. I could sell it cheap but if I finish it, I'll have more money to start with. More money for whatever I have to do. Alone. No, not alone. Together with my girls.

The bank opens at 9:00 so I'm here at fifteen minutes till. I sit on the bench by the door. My feet close together, my skirt tucked tight around my legs, my purse clutched on my knees. I polished it and my shoes last night. My hair is tidy, lipstick on, nose powdered. I clutch my arms to my sides in hopes of keeping the perspiration contained. It's not hot but I feel hot. I should have had a drink of water before I left the house. I could spit cotton.

Here comes Mr. Porter. It's ten minutes to nine. He takes his keys out of his pocket, looks at his watch and opens the door. It closes and I hear the key turn again. In seven minutes I hear the key turn again and the blinds on the door are opened. I see his hand turn the sign to "Open." The clerks start arriving. I stand up, pull my skirt straight and open the door. It's cool inside. The overhead fan is turning with a slow whoosh, whoosh, whoosh.

"Can I help you?" a friendly looking man says.

"I'd like to speak to Mr. Porter." I say it as if I have every right to be here.

He motions to a chair and I sit on the edge. In a few minutes I'm shown into Mr. Porter's office. I wipe my free hand on my skirt and extend it to him. He shakes it and motions for me to sit down.

I introduce myself and tell him my story. He nods. I'm encouraged. "What do you have as collateral?" he asks.

"All I have is the house. When I finish it I can pay you back, but I've got to have money to buy materials."

He temples his fingers in front of his nose. Then he sighs.

"Well," Mrs. Paschal, "I'll give it to you straight. Without collateral I can't loan you ten cents. It's not my decision, I have partners and a board of directors and those are the hard and fast rules. Times are hard. I'm running a bank and it has to make a profit. I'm sorry."

He stands up. I'm dismissed. I shake his hand and walk out through his door, through the bank and out the front door. I'm half a block away when the tears start. I duck into a doorway and wipe my eyes, take a deep breath and walk home to get the girls from the neighbor.

"Did you get the loan?" she asks.

"No, but I will."

And then I take the girls home.

Every morning I am sitting on the bench at fifteen minutes to nine. Every morning Mr. Porter avoids my eyes and every morning I am ushered into his office. Every day he says he's sorry and every day I say I will be back until he gives me a loan.

One morning he doesn't avoid my eyes. "Good morning, Mrs. Paschal. Won't you come in?" He takes me in and locks the door behind himself, just like every morning but I'm on the inside this time.

We sit down in his office and he says, "Mrs Paschal, I can't give you a bank loan. You know that."

I start to say something and he holds up his hand. "You'll be here every morning, asking for a loan until you're too old and feeble to walk. and I'll be dead and buried by that time."

I smile.

"What I'm going to do, Mrs. Paschal, is give you a personal loan, out of my own pocket because someone as persistent as you will pay me back. You will, won't you?

I nod my head and start to say something.

He holds up his hand again. "So, Mrs. Paschal, this loan won't have paperwork. Bring your bills to me and I'll pay them and keep a running total. When you sell the house you can pay me back. With interest. The going rate. Will that be okay?"

I'm speechless and just nod my head again.

"I thought so. Shall we shake hands on the deal?"

We do. I walk out with him and I realize I have a bank loan in less time than it takes for him to unlock the door for the tellers.

I order the materials and Mr. Porter pays for them. I hammer and patch and paint. DeLynn comes to help. Mr. Porter is about to get paid back but first we have the kitchen appliances to order and get in and then I can sell the house. As soon as it sells I can pay off my loan and we can move home. DeLynn is going to stay with me until the very end.

To be finished tomorrow....