Photo Reflections

I ran across these pictures today, and I have had many thoughts running through my mind as I've looked at them over and over again. 

1. First of all, isn't this the cutest boy you've ever seen? It's my husband Ray, and I'm guessing he's about five years old in this picture, but I'm not exactly sure. He might be only four. 

2. I gaze at the picture, trying to catch a glimmer of one of my own children, or grandchildren in that face. I certainly see some of them in the physical features of his body. 

3. I wonder what experiment he is thinking of doing with that floatie. (I know how his mind works.)

4. I see his lifeguard future beginning here.  

5. This is Ray's sister Elna, and while I definitely see features of her children and grandchildren in this picture, what intrigues me is the background.
6. That is Ray and his mother - what is she saying to him? (By the way, a more beautiful woman you will not find. She still looks amazing.) Is he explaining to her what he wants to do?
7. I need to ask Ray where this pool is. He'll probably remember.

8. Now look at Ray and his mother in the background on the left. Has she asked him to put away the floatie? Is he still explaining what he wants to do? I wish I could listen back on the conversation and have a look into their relationship at that stage of his life.

9. Here he is, happy in the water. How many of you remember those play ponies on a stick?
10. I have seen that look on his face many times over the last nearly 40 years that I have known Ray.
11. Here's the big thought: I stare at these pictures and wonder at all the miracles that threw our lives together. I see the man I fell in love with in this little boy. What a blessing for me.

Big Girl Books

My mother was a librarian. What a blessing for a child who could never get enough of books. Although I'm sure she was a strong influence in my love of reading, there was no guarantee I would catch the vision just because she was a librarian.

We went to the library regularly and always came home with an armful of books. I distinctly remember the day she said to me, "I think you're ready for the next level of books." She led me to the juvenile fiction area and helped me select a few books. I felt like I'd made the big time!

Then I remember the day she walked over to the shelf with Amelia Elizabeth Walden's books and pulled down To Catch A Spy. She said, "I think you're ready for this now. It's one of my favorites." Could I feel more proud? I don't think so. It became one of my favorites, and now my daughter Audrey loves it too. I just reread it for about the fiftieth time. I finished it with a sigh. So many wonderful memories tied up in that book. 

Here are a few landmark books for me:

Little Women by Louisa May Alcott

What's not to love? When my Beth was in high school, her English teacher mentioned this book. Beth said, "My mom's read that book a hundred times." He replied, "I think that must be an exaggeration." Hmmm, I don't think so. I had the first few lines memorized for a long time. I still know the first sentence by heart:

"Christmas won't be Christmas without any presents", grumbled Jo, lying on the rug.

The first time I read the book I didn't catch on that Beth died. My mom said perhaps I wasn't as ready for that book as she thought. I still remember the panicked feeling of failure when she said that. What if she didn't keep telling me great new books to read? Needless to say, the panic was unfounded.

I currently own eight editions of this book. Like I said, what's not to love?

Gone With the Wind by Margaret Mitchell

Sigh. This book was long, meaty, and engrossing. I loved it from the first page. (Scarlett off to the barbecue at Twelve Oaks.) My initial knowledge of the Civil War came from this book. I read my grandmother's copy. I have that copy now. It's a first edition, one she gave to my grandfather for Christmas. I know that from the inscription. I will tell you that my mother was not happy when my grandmother gave the book to me and not to my mother. You can read about my experience reading Gone With the Wind while the first Americans were walking on the moon here. 

Jubilee Trail by Gwen Bristow
Another book that I remember my mom pulling off the shelf and telling me she thought I'd like it. I was a little put off by the title. (Good thing the copy I read didn't have this cover--it would have put me off too. This is a true case of don't judge a book by its cover.) An epic book. Great story, great characters, fascinating story. Oh, I love it so! It was out of print for a long time. This Christmas I found it back in print and bought myself a copy. I never met a book by Gwen Bristow I didn't love, and I devoured every one I could lay my hands on.

It's True. I Couldn't Help Myself.

I'm not much of a Halloween fan. That's putting it mildly. I'm happy for everyone who loves it, but it's not for me. Where to begin on why? Any holiday that puts that much enjoyment into spiders was never meant for me. I'll spare you the other hundred reasons why. The one redeeming factor of the day is that it is my father-in-law's birthday. Instead of Happy Halloween, I think Happy Birthday, Dad!

So today as I was on the road quite a bit, I popped my new CD into the player in my car and enjoyed some Christmas music. Like I said, I couldn't help myself.

The King's Singers have been one of our favorites for over 30 years. If you aren't familiar with them, give them a try. The have classical stuff, pop, folk songs,-- and I think recorded just for me-- Christmas music.

Another New Memory

The other day my mother and mother-in-law were having a conversation. During the course of the conversation my mother related a story about her past that was completely erroneous. My dad looked at me and said, "Another new memory!"

My mom is in what I would say is the good news/bad news stage of Alzheimer's.

The good news is that most people who meet my mom and have a brief conversation with her would never know that she has Alzheimer's.

The bad news is that that actually makes my life harder right now.

True, Alzheimer's is no party for my mom, but this blog is mine, and this post is all about me. Right now her Alzheimer's is no party for me either.

So back to the bad news. The reality of life is that I take care of my parents' finances, and set their calendar. I'm their chauffeur, and process all paperwork. Don't get me wrong. I don't mind that part at all - in fact it's an  honor to help them. Where it gets hard is that I am constantly having to prove that I need to be the one who is contacted and communicated with if something is going to happen. My Dad does okay most of the time, but there are a lot of things he doesn't remember either.

Because my mom appears competent, people look at me like I am trying to take over and control her life. If they were to spend 20 minutes with her and just let her do the talking, they would discover the problem themselves. However, that does not usually happen. Other people drive the conversation and she responds appropriately most of the time. The fact is that she won't necessarily remember any of that conversation.

She has also become obsessed with dogs, babies, and stuffed animals. These obsessions are a new development that arrived with the Alzheimer's. She detours for any of them. I had to move her away from very, very large stuffed animals in Costco, while she protested loudly that she really wanted one. She went backwards through Security at the airport to see a baby that was a few places behind her. (That caused all kinds of problems.) These are just a couple highlights of our new adventures together.

I have it easy. My dad is with her 24 hours a day, and is the ultimate in patience. Fifty-six years of devotion has never been put to the test like now, and there is no end in sight until she dies. I'm ready to petition the pope. My dad is a saint.

Optimist or Ostrich?

I think I was the last person on the planet to admit that perhaps Richard Nixon was guilty. Even after he resigned I wanted to believe he only resigned for the sake of the country. 

I don't always like change. I want things to stay how I like them. I don't want to be one of those "the world's going to hell in a hand basket" pessimists. I like to think things will all work out for the best in the long run.

I read the newspaper pretty regularly, if not daily. But I realized yesterday that I was skimming over all the parts I didn't like. All the parts that might cause worry or problems.

Does that make me an ostrich? Perhaps. But sometimes it's mental-survival-mode too.

In my fifty-plus years of living I have learned that most things do work out in the long run. Maybe not perfectly, but the world settles back down and gets on with life.

That's what I'm banking on this time around. (Forgive the pun.)

The Untold Secret of The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett

I loved this book the first time I read it, and every time I read it thereafter. It's a classic, and deserves to be. If you haven't read it, you should.

However, during this morning's reflections while in my own garden, I realized that this book can be misleading.

We have a "water feature" in our backyard. A pond with a shallow waterfall/creek that runs to the pond. It is beautiful, and I love the sound of running water. Rather, it is beautiful when it has not become overgrown into a state of possibly being mistaken for a rain forest in Brazil.

I tackled that area of the yard this morning and managed to clear a path about one foot wide and six feet long. It was then I realized how I had been hoodwinked by The Secret Garden.

While in my tender, impressionable years I was led to believe that with a very little effort, and excitement at the very possibility of working to clear out a garden, I would be able to do so in no time flat. Ha!

1. Look at the book cover shown above. Now to me that looks like the finished product, not what was completely overgrown.
2. Obviously Mary had never lifted a finger to weed before in her life. Otherwise she would have realized the impossibility of doing the task.
3. Dicken. Now I'm wondering what onerous task he was avoiding at home to find clearing out the secret garden to be more enjoyable than that task.
4. It's hard for me to believe that they were able to do all that themselves with so little help. It must have been a very low maintenance garden to begin with.

These are the kinds of things that run through my mind as I work in the yard.

Time to get some books on tape. Or at least something to listen to so my mind doesn't wander too far away and never come back.

Unwelcome Surprise

I vowed I would not just rant and rant about weeding this year. I must not be a woman of my word. It lasted less than 24 hours.

Yes, it's that time of year. And no, it does not involve tinsel, pine trees, or gifts. It involves yard work (my euphemism for weeding).

This year I'm going with a zone defense. I've divided the yard into 5 zones, and will work on one a day. Even if I don't finish that zone I will wait to work on it the next week. I decided this after I took a look at the immense jungle around our pond and waterfall (bear in mind that we inherited this yard). I've got to hit all areas or the weeds may well take over the planet.

Ray and I began working on zone 1 yesterday. Son Ray, not husband Ray. He does the big stuff with the hoe, and I do the small details in and around bushes, flagstones, or whatever is needed. We moved on to zone 2 today. I stifled a few mini-screams as creatures that have not been disturbed for seven months came to the surface. I was very proud of myself. No neighbor had to come running to see if a murder was in progress.

Then I came inside. I decided to check my email before hopping in the shower. I felt a tickle on my leg, and looked down to see a centipede about one and a half inches long starting to crawl up my pant leg (actually at the knee).

Okay, not so stifled this time. And no shoe at hand to beat it to death with. Instead I had to improvise and use the handle of my rotary cutter. Thank heavens I hadn't put it away the last time I used it.

The centipede is no longer. And I am not looking forward to that aspect of the next four months of working in the yard.

Among other things.

Bogged

I haven't blogged much lately, because I've been bogged down. Nothing drastic, just time getting away from me faster than I believed possible. Family and church responsibilities have me hitting the ground running in the morning, and falling into bed at night.

Hopefully I'll get caught up with posting some projects and some thoughts soon. At least I've been getting books on. Although I haven't had as much time to read lately either.

This is what can happen when you wonder (foolishly) to yourself: "What do I really do all day long??" Then stuff starts flying at you faster than  you can believe. So take my word for it, and be satisfied with some leisurely time when you happen to get it.

Happy New Year

The plan:
1. Review last years goals, set new realistic goals for this year.
2. Briefly post those goals.

The reality:
1. A stomach virus.
2. Next week I'll take time to review, etc.

I hope this is not a sign of how the year will go. I am determined to up and around, full force, by Monday. All my fingers and toes are crossed.

Some Favorite Restaurant Items

I went to lunch with friends today. We all lived in Kirkland, WA together at some point, and over the years we've all ended up here in Utah. Most of us live in the Salt Lake valley, but there are a couple down in Utah valley. We get together every month and have lunch. Today the food was pretty good, and the company was great. On the drive home I thought of some restaurants I really like.

Cafe Rio is one of those. I'm sure their mild green salsa has some ingredient that my body cannot live without. I have a compulsion to order food items that have that sauce on it. 

Cafe Veloce in Kirkland, Washington has a Pasta Muffaletta that I positively adore. I don't get to Cafe Veloce every time I'm in town, but I sure try to. I fell in love with Pasta Muffaletta at first taste. I have never ordered anything else there. When Ray traveled a lot I would treat myself to take-out Pasta Muffaletta, and save it to eat in solitude after the kids were in bed. The kids call it Stinky Pasta. I call it irresistible.

Pizza Bank Restaurant is only a few blocks from where I lived in Kirkland. It's about a mile from my mom and dad's house. I eat there every time I'm in Kirkland. It used to be a bank, then it was converted into a restaurant. My friend Betty Olcott first introduced me to Pizza Bank, and I've been eating there as often as possible ever since. 

I only order one thing: the beef gyro. I just know there are drugs in that meat. There is something about it that sends me over the moon. My mouth is watering right now, just thinking about it. It's nothing fancy, just some seasoned meat on a pita with a little tomato, onion and tzatziki sauce. But it's to die for. 

Summer of '85

Note: these photos were scanned in from our photo albums. Please bear in mind that baby books/photo albums/scrapbooks have evolved a few times over the years. These are old, and pictures were sometimes cut into interesting shapes. That's just the way it was. Styles have changed, just like the fashions we wear. So, you may chuckle to yourself, or roll your eyes, but no overtly making fun is allowed. At least not in front of me, or Elna.

August 1985. Our little family lived in Santa Monica. Okay, it was really West L.A., but Santa Monica sounds nicer, and it was only a few streets away. 

The Clarks lived in Carpinteria. 

We tried to get together as often as possible. Our stars aligned in August of 1985: Ray's parents and siblings who were still at home or not married went on an extensive road trip through much of the United States. They were gone the entire month. Elna's family (the Clarks) and our family stayed in Camarillo at Mom and Dad's and house-sat. 

Elna is Ray's sister. Four of her six children match up perfectly with my four children. At that time, however, there were only four Clark children, and two Linford children. Elna was pregnant with Samuel, and I was pregnant with Ray O. (they were born two weeks apart in December).

That month was a party. We ate French Dip sandwiches on a regular basis, swam in the pool and played in the yard every day. I have nothing but the fondest memories of that time. 

Audrey and Debra

Top to bottom and oldest to youngest: Joseph, Matthias, Lucy, Audrey, David, and Debra

David and Debra (both are about 27 months old)

Lucy and Audrey (both just a little over 4 years old)

Early on, Elna and I made an executive decision to avoid all but the most necessary housework and yard work until Mom and Dad came home. We figured that at the end we'd work hard for a few days, but in the meantime, like I said, it was a party.  One day Ray's grandmother stopped by and was horrified at the condition of the yard. She told us "Joanne [Ray's mother] would never have her yard like this. You need to get it in shape." We assured her that it would be taken care of.

Ray's parents' home at the time was on a half acre lot. The landscaping was beautiful, and usually immaculate. They had only been in that home for about a year at that time. Finally the time came to clean up. The grass must have been six inches tall. The flower beds looked more like "weed beds".

Ray cleaned the interior of the house - all the bathrooms, and mopped all those tile floors throughout the house. Elna mowed the lawn. I weeded the flower beds. (Perhaps that's when I began to detest that job.) The grass was so long that Elna had to empty the grass catcher on the mower each row. Then she would take the garden hose and hose herself off. Then another row. I weeded so long and hard that I couldn't stand up at the end of the day. Remember - we were both over 5 months pregnant. We worked like dogs for three days.

Side note: One of those days was my 10 year class reunion. I was so exhausted I did not want to go, but we had paid in advance, so we went anyway. Ray and I walked in, got our food from the buffet, I said Hi to about 10 people, and we left. I think we stayed about 30 minutes.

We did it. Mom and Dad arrived home, and everything was ship-shape. Would I do it again? Yes, I'd play for a month. We had so much fun! But I would keep up on the yard better, a little bit each day. Do I regret how we did it? Not at all. I still laugh about it. I can't say enough what a great time we had that month.

This morning Ray and I worked in the yard. It has gotten out of hand these last few weeks. It made me think of working in the yard that August of '85. Our yard is not that bad. Yet. This time I'm not going to let it get that bad.

I have learned a thing or two in the last 25 years.

Sunset

The sun is going down over the mountains across the valley. I can glimpse the sky through the silhouettes of the trees in my neighbor's yard. I feel peaceful just watching the gradual darkening.

Things have been crazy around here the last couple of weeks. Calm is just around the corner, I can feel it coming.

Meanwhile it feels good to have a little interim peace.

Perilous Work

I've got another six weeks or so of yard work before the weather really changes and I can hang up my gloves and bucket for the year. I'm trying hard to get the yard in order before that time.

Yesterday I corralled Ray (son) to help me work on the rock wall. I don't like to do the wall because there are a gazillion snails (I stopped counting at 25 the other day), and of course, the spiders. They just love those rock crevices.

I asked Ray to do the top part of the wall. I told him it is a lot easier for him to climb up and down than it is for me, which is very true. I did not mention to him the other reason: the spiders up there are bigger and more aggressive. I think they've worked their way to the top, so to speak. He rolled his eyes, but climbed right up and got to work.

About 45 minutes later I heard gasp. I looked up and Ray said, "Two very large spiders just rushed me." (I must admit to being relieved it was him and not me - for me it would not have been a mere gasp). Then he looked to his right, and scrambled down the wall. "Another one right by my face!" (Now I was really glad it was him and not me - I'm still here to tell about it.)

About five minutes later he announced he was done for the day (who can blame him?). As he left he said, "If only we could start a war between the spiders and the snails, maybe they would decimate each other."

A mighty fine plan.

Funerals and Friends

Mae Blanch: 1928-2010

A good friend of my mother-in-law died last week. My mother-in-law is on a mission in Hong Kong right now, and was unable to attend the funeral. I went with two sisters-in-law as our family representatives.

It was a delightful funeral. I learned lots of lovely things about Mae, and what a wonderful life she led. She never married, but had a large family of nieces, nephews, and dear friends. She was an English professor at BYU (I had a class from her 32 or 33 years ago, and still remember her from that).

But here is what I really enjoyed: the main speakers were five of her women friends. This was a perspective that I loved! Girlfriends see into each other's hearts in a way that is different from everyone else. We are not just mothers or children or siblings or wives to our girlfriends. I'm not minimizing being a mother, child, sibling, or wife - those are very important parts of my being, that enhance and edify my life. But there is a part of me that is just me, and I love how that comes out with my friends.

I think there should be a girlfriend luncheon before every funeral. A time to pay tribute, laugh, and cry amongst ourselves about the special parts of each other that we share because of our friendship.

But even more importantly, we need to have that girlfriend luncheon on a regular basis while we are all alive and able to revel in that friendship together.

Tunnel Vision

I feel as though mentally I have been running around like a chicken with my head cut off for the last few months.

I took myself in hand, grabbed a legal pad (my favorite), and made a few lists.

I. A list of general things I would like to work on, with some small get-the-job-done tasks set to meet the big goals. This took up a few pages. I might not look at this every day.

II. A list of things I would like to accomplish daily:

A. exercise

B. prayer/scripture reading

C. weeding (a spring/summer/early fall task - I never thought I'd love winter so much!)

D. 30 minutes each of:

1. labeling digital pictures on my computer

2. working on family history

3. scan my "baby book" photos - ones from my childhood.

E. Quilting! I have some projects I really need to get wrapped up.

III. A list of specific things that I need to accomplish right now, in the next few days, or next few weeks:

A. Some things for church that I need to get done by Sunday.

B. Plans for Yosemite (family vacation there in August)

1. Get maps

2. Organize food

a. type up meal plans for each meal

b. prepare as much ahead as possible

c. gather and buy food a little at a time over the next few weeks to avoid having to buy enough food for 15 people for an entire week all at once.

I have the lists from II. and III. right next to me at my desk, and a timer for the 30 minute tasks. I started a few days ago. Most days I get parts of my list done. That's okay. I'm much better focused than I have been, and that feels good. Yesterday I was completely successful.

Today's not over yet. I have at least exercised...

Oops. No housework listed. Hmmm, I wonder what that means? I guess I'll just have to squeeze it in here and there. We'll see.

Don't you just love a good outline format?

HIPAA Headaches

True story (in a nutshell): My friend in Washington has a daughter who lives here in Utah. The daughter's husband is serving in Iraq. A few months ago the daughter was found unconscious in her home and taken to the hospital. My friend immediately flew to Utah to help. She arrived at the hospital and no one would give her the time of day because she was not listed on any HIPAA disclosure forms (the daughter was unconscious when admitted). After several hours my friend prevailed on the doctor to at least listen to her (the mom) so she could give him some very necessary health information about her daughter, whether or not he would share any info with the mom. It was a nightmare. When the daughter regained consciousness, it was all worked out. But there was a very long time before that happened.

I'm not here to debate the good and bad sides of our HIPAA laws. I just want to make the point that it is absolutely necessary to make sure that you have everyone listed on your HIPAA disclosure forms that might need your information.

Because of my friend's experience I decided we need to make sure my parents' info is all up to date. I made a list of each of my parents' doctors and wrote a letter to each of them requesting their spouse and children (listed by name) be on their individual HIPAA disclosure forms, and that that information be placed in their individual charts immediately. (I had asked a couple of doctor's offices what information was necessary and we made sure to include it all.)

The last time I was at my parents', I had them sign all the letters and we mailed them off. Despite frequent reminders, my parents never remembered to do this when they were in the doctor's office, so the letters were a good answer. I repeatedly explained why we were doing this, and my parents agreed that it was a good idea.

Then I was driving with my mom and she said, "I don't really think you need to worry about all this. You used to go to our doctor. I'm sure he will just tell you anything you want to know because he knows you." I explained once again the HIPAA laws and the fact that they can't even tell my dad anything without her permission. She was shocked and said the laws are ridiculous.

But the laws are what they are, and we are taking the necessary steps to make sure we can all be informed in case of an emergency - or other need.

The A-Word

That's what my parents call it. Alzheimer's.

Last September my mom was diagnosed with Alzheimer's. She wouldn't talk about it. My dad told my sister, who told me and my siblings. She found out a month before she turned 80.

At first I was in shock. Then I was angry--it seems so unfair. A brilliant, wonderful woman afflicted with this disease. I cried. A lot.

When I thought about it, which was often, I found myself holding my breath and I had to tell myself to breathe. I felt helpless, and more than a little guilty that I had moved here (I lived only a mile away from my parents in Washington) and left my sister alone there to be the go-to person in this mess.

I've run the gamut of emotions over the last nine months. At first I was a little angry at my mom for not telling me she had Alzheimer's. I went there in November to be at her appointment with her neurologist. She still hadn't said a word to me about it then. I sometimes wondered when she would have told me. Last weekend she told my youngest sister "I thought you might want to know that I have Alzheimer's" (my sister already knew, and my mom had spoken to her about it in November).

As I reflect back over the last couple of years, I see signs that we didn't notice then. Some things are just things that happen with aging. These were different things. Each time I go back I see more progression of the disease. One positive note: she is now talking about it without being defensive herself. It makes life a lot easier for all of us to openly talk with her. It's been hard for me. I can't imagine how excruciating it has been for her and my dad.

I've been reading about Alzheimer's, trying to gather as much information as possible. I like to be well armed. Now comes the learning about and dealing with the real life battles of every day and everyday living with this disease.

The purpose of my visits back to Washington now usually include something that has to do with this new aspect of our lives. Doctor appointments, meeting with an attorney to set up living wills and powers of attorney, making sure HIPAA disclosures are current, etc. My siblings and I have been thrust into the process sooner than we expected, and are trying to figure out how to navigate these waters ourselves.

Add to this the fact that my dad has now been diagnosed with dementia (different than Alzheimer's), and our lives are shifting once again.

I'm sure I'll be writing more as we go through this process.

I Scream

I am a screamer. I can really belt it out—support and sustain a very long scream. The best is in an enclosed area with echo possibilities. So fun. I’ve been able to do it as long as I can remember.

Hollywood should hire me for voice work, I’m that good.

In dreams I am never able to scream or yell in scary situations. I even remember dreams as a very young girl where that was the case. I try and try, and my voice won’t work. It’s terrifying.

In everyday life when I unexpectedly encounter a spider, reality fades and my dreams come true.

Why not?

1. Why can't we choose the landscaping "settings" we have in life? Then we can click on the plants we want to have grow, and click off the weeds we don't want to have.

2. Why won't garden pests (i.e. deer and snails) eat the stuff I don't want instead of the stuff I do want? (I know you've heard this before).

3. Why do my neighbors' dandelions take to heart "be fruitful and multiply" in my yard and garden?

4. Why is there a jungle of weeds growing in my otherwise desert yard?

Yes, it's that time of year again. I must take machete in hand and get to work. It puts a damper on my spring (in more ways than one) and summer.

But it does feel good to be outside. Especially before it gets hot.

Back in the Day

It's a thankless job.

I know, because I had that job, and I had the rewarding version of it.

Educator. Teacher. Example. Influence. These are all words that we in the education system hope that we can embody in the most positive manner possible. I was an elementary school teacher (4th grade, Riverton Elementary) for a few years. I had it easy. Kids are pretty friendly at that stage. They are young, with almost no responsibilities, and no worries about whether or not they can get into college. At least back in late seventies and early eighties that was pretty true.

Teaching high school: now that's a different story. That is life in the trenches. Even back in the early seventies when I was in high school.

Hueneme High was a closed campus. That means students had to have permission to leave and come back on campus. More than that, we had men walking around campus with walkie-talkies and checking hall passes for security. We usually had police on the grounds as well. (This was before DARE, or any PR programs with local police.) It was not uncommon for knives, and sometimes guns to be drawn during the lunch hour. At such times a bomb drill was sounded, and the school emptied in less than one minute. No going to lockers or back to classrooms. A bomb drill meant any activities scheduled for the rest of the day were cancelled. A few of the other local high schools had riots (in one, the principal suffered a heart attack). We never had a full blown riot, probably thanks to the bomb drills.

It is a miracle any teaching happened at all, yet my memories are full of great educational moments.

Today I wrote a thank you note (via email) to my freshman English teacher. She happens to be friends with my in-laws, and I found her email through them. For three months I've been meaning to drop her a note. I finally did it. That spawned a desire to look at the faculty of Hueneme High in my yearbook. Here are a few teachers that have influenced my life for good (pictures scanned from the Hueneme High Voyager 1975):

Ruby Christensen. Ninth grade English. She made the study of Romeo and Juliet a delight and wonder. Shakespeare became a friend instead of a road block because of her. She never lost her cool with very rude and obnoxious students. She would just sigh and send them out of the room, or do whatever else needed to be done. (I have to say it is a little intimidating to write a letter to your former English teacher. Especially these days when form is so relaxed.)

Bennie Anderson. Social Studies. I had him for a few classes. He introduced current events into my life, and made me realize it is important to pay attention to what is going on in the world around me. It was in his class that I had to sadly admit that perhaps Nixon really had committed a wrong. I sooooo wanted Nixon to be innocent.

Robert Arbon. Physical Education. I never had him as a teacher, but he took an interest in my life and my college education. He was always an example of the highest morals. It turns out that he was an extremely great influence in Ray's life while Ray was in high school also. Bob Arbon was one of the first common threads in both our lives. Bob remained a wonderful part of our lives for the remainder of his life.

Nancy Carey. French. The reason I loved the French language so much was because I loved her as a teacher so much. Four years of French in high school, on to major in French at BYU. I didn't stay in that major, because the competition with returned missionaries who were fluent in French was too much for me, but I did get a minor in French.

Camille DeJong. Physical Education. I was never really an athlete. I learned to swim late, and joined the swim team after that. I was never very good, but it was good for me. Miss DeJong was the girls swim team coach, and a mentor for me. She treated me as an adult. She also was a wonderful example of being a single woman, and living life to the fullest.

James Laut. Biology teacher. His class is where I learned to listen to what a teacher says, do what he says, and be successful in his class because of it. He made science fun to a girl who doesn't like science much. I still don't care for the physical sciences (too much math), but I do love the biological sciences. (Side note: his son was in most of my elementary school classes, and I usually had a crush on him--the son, that is.)

Reg Welker. English, baseball coach. Living proof that cool and interesting do not depend on current eye wear styles. He made English fun. He taught great principles while teaching English. His wife died while I was in high school, and he just kept plugging along. Once he gave tickets to me and couple of friends to see Nanette Fabray in Irene at the Dorothy Chandler Pavilion when he wasn't able to attend.

Lastly, and most importantly, Dennis Meyring. Physical Education. I never had a single class from Dennis, but he probably influenced my life more during that part of my life than anyone besides my parents. He was my swim coach outside of school, and was the high school boys swim team, and water polo team coach. He set high moral standards for everyone, and kept to those rules, no matter how it might hurt the team to suspend a player. We all respected and looked up to him.

In conclusion, I say thank you to all these teachers, and others I have not singled out. Thank you for rising above a thankless job, performing it to the best of your abilities, and never losing faith in the coming generation. It certainly made a difference in my life.