Lessons from my Mother

Why do we all read?  My mother!  Why do we all read with inflection?  My mother!  Why do we read fantasy?  My mother!  Oh how she would have loved to read Harry Potter.  From the earliest of memories I remember story time every night before bed.  I loved it when she read poems, particularly "There are Fairies at the Bottom of Our Garden."  I knew there were fairies at the bottom of my own garden, right there by the rock garden.

My mother's grandmother came from Sweden (the Johnson grandma).  My mother told me how the only book she had was her Swedish Bible.  She had been very particular and had insisted that all her (I believe there were 8) children had to learn to read and write.  They learned in the village church.  The Book of Mormon was not translated into Swedish when the missionaries came to her village, but some how she gained a testimony and she and her husband and all of her children joined the church.  When they reached America she encouraged her children to learn and read English (even those who were grown and already married).  Strange that some cultures don't have this same attitude. 

She cherished her Swedish Bible for it was all she had to read for the rest of her life. 

Grandma Johnson (Merle Snelson, my grandma) loved to read also.  The odd thing is that the son of the Swedish grandma (my grandfather) thought reading was a waste of time.  For him it was just like watching TV for us today.  There was no practical benefit in frittering away your time reading a book when there was so much work to be done.  So my grandmother and my mother worked out a plan.  When the boys and Grandpa would come in from the field they had to pass along a hedge that ran by the side of the house.  The hedge was just low enough for grandpa's hat to be seen above it.  After the boys and grandpa left to work in the fields, grandma or my mom would start the house work and the other one would start reading out loud.  The one working was responsible for keeping an eye on the hedge and a lookout for Grandpa's hat.  If the hat was spotted, the one reading would be warned, the book would be tucked away and a dust rag or broom would be grabbed and when grandpa walked in, both mother and daughter would be busy working. 

My mother loved Dickens, Shakespeare, and other classics.  She also loved poems.  She loved the rhythm.  She liked how the sound of many words gave you the feeling of what they mean.  She loved to read with expression.  She was an actress at heart (hey, now you know where I get it).  She loved to develop a characters voice and mannerisms when she read.  I loved it as a kid.  When she would read to me as a little kid, she made my siblings go to bed.  This was supposed to be just me and mom time.  She said they had all been read to and now it my time.  Well, I am sure she probably knew this, but all three of them used to sit on the stairway very quiet and very still so they could listen to her read to me.  I didn't know this until I was married and Kathleen confessed. 

The tyrannical nature of grandfather's reading policy was of benefit to me and my siblings.  We were given chores to do but as soon as those chores were done, we could spend as much time as we liked reading.  It was wonderful.  One summer vacation I spent with Ishmael searching for the great white whale.  I sat on the back porch everyday and read and read.  I could smell the sea salt on the breeze.  I swear I could hear the waves lapping against the boat.  It was one of the greatest adventures of my life.  After cleaning my room and helping my mom clean up the house, I was left to go on my adventure everyday for as long as I wanted.  I read through lunch and had to be called to dinner.  As soon as dinner was over, I was back outside and one of the crew of Captain Ahab.  Thank you, Mom for letting me discover the wonderful world of my imagination through books. 

Grandma inspired my imagination.  She would ask me what I saw in a leaf, what lived in that leave, what kind of world was under the leave.  I could spend what seemed like hours lying on the ground under the lilac tree and imagining a world filled with little tiny space cars flying from leave to leave.  It was probably only 10 minutes and then I was back in bugging my mom.  But she would suggest another imaginative activity and I would be outside again and imagining all kinds of things. Who needed toys.  One fall, a girlfriend and I created a mansion in the field behind the house with a kitchen, bedrooms and ballroom.  We flattened the wild wheat into squares for the rooms and had hall ways between rooms.  It was great fun and we were allowed to spend hours at it. 



Mom wanted her children to be cultured and have good manners.  We all were required to play the piano.  Mom had had just enough lessons to teach her the notes and how to count.  She could fiqure most melodies out and play them with her right hand.  But it was very hard for her.  She could not help us with our music but she sat in the front room for years with each of us, listening.  It must have been hard for her, because she always felt there was housework to do.  But she took the time to sit in that living room and listen to us practice in order to stop us if we just ignored a mistake and to encourage us to practice for the entire 30 minutes and not play around.  After we improved enough on the piano she would work in the kitchen while we practiced.  We were still reminded when something did not sound just right and she was usually right, a mistake had been made. 

Michael, loved to practice.  I think it was how he got out of work.  He would play and play and play, until we would all want to scream at him to stop.  One day he had played the same song over and over again for about 3 hours.  Mom finally had had enough, "If you play that song one more time, I am going to break your fingers! Stop it."  As I think back on it now, I think Mom thought Michael was doing it on purpose just to annoy her (maybe she was right).  For some strange psychological reason, I desired to be yelled at to stop practicing too.  I began to play the "Spinning Song" over and over.  I must have practiced that same obnoxious song for at least 4 hours straight.  I could not stand it any more and Mom did not seem to be the least bit upset about my practicing.  Finally, I said, "Aren't you listening to me.  I have been playing the same piece now for the last 4 hours and you have not yelled at me like you did at Michael.  I don't think you even listen to my playing." 

Rather taken aback (why would any child want to be yelled at), my mother assured me that she had been listening to me and she was so grateful that I had been practicing it had not bothered her in the slightest that I had been playing the same thing over and over again.  I never tried that one again. 

When Mom called you, you learned very early in life to come immediately.  I have a hard time with this because my children do not come immediately.  My father even came immediately when Mom called.  It did not matter if he was sawing a long piece of wood.  If he heard mom call for dinner, he stopped and came for dinner.  Whatever we were doing stopped the moment that Mom called us for dinner.  It really drives me nuts that my children continue doing whatever and so does my husband.  I have to give them warnings and even then it is not a guarantee that they will come.  We were taught it was an act of respect for my mother.  She spent the time preparing the food to perfection, we owed her the respect to eat that food when it tasted the best and looked the best.  If she was ready to eat, we were ready to eat. 

Well, I am apparently running out of room and time.  So look for further blogs about both Grandpa and Grandma Cates.

Happiness

Rachel sent me a quote by text that I need to place on the tip of my nose and leave there right in front of my eyes for the rest of my life.  She did not tell me who said it, but it sounds like a Dr. Laura.

"It is not the man's job to make the woman happy.  It is her job to make herself happy.  His job is to make her happier."

Think of what the world would be like if we all gave up letting others control our emotions.  Actually, no one has control over our emotions but us.  It is a choice we make to have our feelings hurt or to laugh or to cry, to be offended, to be insulted, to be flattered, or to be honored.  We make the choices every minute of everyday.  If we have a bad day, sure it is nice to complain and blame it on others, but we have no one to blame but ourselves. 

I spent the whole day looking for a stupid tax return, which by the way, was right where it was supposed to be and I looked there at least 60 times.  You could say, that it was becoming a rather frustrating day, but when I looked in that same place for the 61st time, pulled out the envelope again for the 61st time and then realized what it was, I had to just laugh.  Sure I could have been upset, blamed it on Kreed or some ghost.  But there was no reason why I had not comprehended what it was other than my own blind stupidity.  I just sat on the bed and laughed.  I could have sat on the bed and cried, but laughing is so much more fun. 

I had a student today who was driving me nuts.  She is so literal!  It is like working with an eight-year-old Dr. Brennen.  She will not do anything without being told precisely what to do and if you don't give all the instructions she wants, she will not fill in any missing areas with the obvious.  Any distraction is definitely a distraction and you have to start all over with explanations and directions.  Aaah.  I was about to get really frustrated, but I thought, "Why?  It won't help her and it certainly won't help me."  So I just smiled and repeated everything I had said 3 times before and low and behold, she got it on the 4th try.  She was happy and so was I. 

There are times that Kreed teases and I choose to be offended.  What good does that do?  I feel awful, he feels awful, the rest of the family feels awful.  He is going to tease me again...soo...why fight it.  Why not tease back or just change the subject.  Laugh and he will laugh and then my family will laugh and we will be happier and I am sure that my husband will try even harder to make me happier if I am happy more times than not. I know I don't want to try to cheer him up much if he is in a bad mood or ornery mood.  Why should I be surprised that he doesn't want to cheer me up when I am moody?  Who wants to be around anyone who is moody, depressed or ornery? 

So I am going to try to get that quote (Oh, Rachel texted and said it was from a BYU talk she was listening to) tattooed on my eyeballs (metaphorically speaking) and I hope I can be a happier person more of the time!  Hope you all try to do the same.  It would be nice if the rest of the world our do so too.  But we can't let them affect our happiness now can we. 

Lessons from my Dad

My Dad. 

I thought it was so appropriate that the Honor Guard had to redo the flag and do it with such dignity.  Dad always told us that if the job was worth doing, it was worth doing well.  We were taught to do it over again, sometimes all the way from the beginning if it did not meet his expectations.  In today’s society average is so acceptable. 

I remember a time when I had raked the yard and had left some grass spread about.  I must have said something sarcastic and rude (me? Never!).  For the next thing I remember was that dad had emptied all of the lawn I had gathered all over the lawn and informed me that I needed to do it again and I better do it right this time. 

I know I did not appreciate the learning of this lesson very often, but it is something I have been most grateful to have learned as a child then to have had to learn it in college or as an independent adult.  My life has been much easier and better because of the mastering of this lesson. 

This next lesson may seem almost like the same lesson as above, but there is a difference.  If at first you don’t succeed, try and try again.  Keep trying, not blindly, but evaluate what is going right and what is not.  Continue with the successful and adjust the unsuccessful.  He taught us to never give up in anything that we felt was important.  School, grades, music, water skiing, anything we attempted.   I remember attempting to do a full spin on the parallel bars in Jr. High.  We were to spin on the lower bar and reach up and grab the high bar.  I did it over and over and over and over, falling every time.  But when most of my friends finally gave up, I continued and eventually I could do it.  I remember that feeling of accomplishment. 

 Another lesson…hard work can be very relaxing.  Sounds contradictory…but you know doing some mundane physically had work can give your mind the time to meditate on a lot of things.  In the book “Holes” the inmates are asked to dig holes in order to build character.  This was supposed to be a bad thing.  But I have dug holes for my Dad and it was amazing work.  Straight walls, right angles in the corners, and nice flat bottom, dug within mm of exact measurements.  I learned to pay attention to detail and to take pride in what I was doing.  I don’t even remember what the hole was for and I it was filled in shortly after I dug it.  But it was a fantastic hole! 

Take pride in your work.  Another lesson, taught in conjunction with the above lessons, but important.  A well mowed and raked lawn brings a lot of satisfaction and I don’t even need a sticker on a board.  A clean house, a neatly made bed, a straightened closet, the dishes washed and in the cupboards, children fed, washed and in their beds.  Any job I do, I like to evaluate and take a moment to enjoy the satisfaction of a well done job.  It is better than any Dr. Pepper high and is almost on the same level as a really good piece of chocolate.

I suppose the most important lesson Dad taught me, he probably doesn’t know he did so.  The atonement can change you.  When my mother married my father, he was a really rough guy.  She refined him and made him quite cultured.  He could attend a ballet, or an opera but he really enjoyed musicals.  He read all kinds of books from Louie Lamoure to history, gospel, science, everything.  I never heard my mother criticize or laugh at my father’s unrefined ways or language.  But her quite example and her love inspired him to improve himself.  As far as his religion and his spiritual life was concerned, I watched that change first hand also.  He was an abused young man and he knew no other way to discipline his kids.  I remember him picking fights with some of his workers.  I don’t remember actually fist to cuffs occurring, but I remember him posturing that he would be willing to knock some jack *** on his bottom if he didn’t get busy or if he wanted to smart off to the boss like that one more time.  I remember Dad yelling at other drivers and people he thought had slighted him in some way.  But after his baptism, all these things began to change.  It started in our home.  It was not over night, but slowly his discipline changed from physical to reasoning and exhorting.  At work, his demeanor also changed.  As he came to understand the atonement, its power began to work within him.  I am sorry that my siblings have not been able to see that change in their father’s life for what it was.  If Christ can forgive my father, so can I. 

Dad loved the gospel and he loved to discuss it and debate it during dinner.  My siblings did not have the benefit of the family I had.  By the time I was in Jr. High and the others were out of the house, we were having family scripture study every morning.  I was not real enthusiastic, but I went.  Family Home Evening was held in a rather relaxed manner, but we had it.  Family morning prayer came with the scripture study, but our nightly family prayer was not done. 

Temple attendance is important and Dad was going once a week when I left on my mission and came home.  We went every week on Wednesday after I got home and we had gone 3 times before the guy at the recommend desk noticed that Dad’s recommend had expired over 3 months before.  He had been coming every week for 3 months with an expired recommend but he had to wait for me that morning outside the temple.  He thought that was dumb. 

Family is important.  Dad took us waterskiing every Thursday.  There was no question of if we wanted to go.  We just knew it was the time for water skiing and we got everything ready and went.  We loved it.  Until the older kids were high school, there was always a summer vacation.  I don’t remember many.  I went almost every year, even during high school to Lake Powel.  There were trips to Disneyland until I was about 6 and the older ones were in high school.  Time spent as a family was very important to Dad. 

I love you Dad.  Thanks for the lessons.