Reminiscing
We have, in our family three boys who while they weren’t bad boys, did have a flair for antics. I’m going to call them The Three Musketeers of Mischief. As those of you who have been active in the Family Stories page I set up on Facebook might already know, these three boys were full of mischief. In case you don’t know who I am referring to, that would be Greg, Forest, and Elmer. They are all fairly close in age, although sadly, we lost Forest July 3, 2005, and because they were all close in age, they liked doing the same things, which mostly included being places where they probably shouldn’t have been, but because they were the kind of boys they were, they survived their own mischief…mostly due to sheer luck, but probably a goodly amount of skill too.
One time, these boys had gone swimming in the river, where it runs through Mills. That was the thing to do in the summer. They got to the train trestle and decided to cross it to the Amoco Refinery to get some wax to make wax hands with. Forest and Greg had gone across the train trestle many times, and so were pretty good at running across them, 
when necessary, but Elmer was more of a novice at running the tracks…until that day. As they were going across a cart that hauls workers and such, came up behind them. Greg and Forrest ran on across, but Elmer was still going along pretty slow. The other boys yelled out to Elmer to run!! He went a little faster, but not nearly fast enough. As it came closer, and they yelled louder, Elmer decided it was time to get outta Dodge, and he learned in a really big hurry how to run on the trestle. Greg says he was probably better at it than he and Forest were. Not that Elmer thought that information was any kind of good news.
The wax hand incident didn’t have such a good ending though. One time, Greg and Forest were making wax hands, by building a fire in the back yard, but it was raining, and the fire wouldn’t stay lit. They decided to go into Greg’s house and use his mother’s new stove, since his parents weren’t home. The stove worked very well, but when they were finished playing, they began the clean up work…a little late, unfortunately. Greg’s 
parents got home, found the mess, and they were…well less than pleased. Forest was sent home immediately, and Greg had a meeting in the shed with his dad…yikes!!
Yes, these boys were definitely the Three Musketeers of Mischief…in their younger years. They all outgrew these childish pranks, and turned into great guys. And really, I don’t think their childish pranks were any worse than any of the rest of us. Just boys being boys, and kids being kids. They did make life interesting whenever I was around them though, so I can’t say their pranks bothered my much at all.
My Uncle Bill is a man of many talents. He hates to see something be thrown away or junked out if it could have some value. Now, I’m not saying that he is a hoarder, because that just wouldn’t be accurate. He just sees value in things that others don’t…such as an old bus. Uncle Bill came into possession of an old bus, and spent some time fixing it up to be used as a camper for his family. And it worked quite well.
They did a lot of traveling in it, coming out many times to visit us here in Casper. We took trips around Wyoming in that bus, and it was also a favorite hang out when they were here. Uncle Bill and I used to go out there and play Cribbage, while some of the other kids played in the bus. My little sisters liked to play house, because it was a separate “house” from my family’s home. And Of course, there was the various kids who wanted to play “driving” in the bus. I remember one time when my cousin Billy was “driving” and he found out that if you take the bus out of gear on a slope, the bus will roll. Thankfully, Uncle Bill and I were playing Cribbage at the time. I never saw my uncle move so fast. He ran to the front of the bus, and put it back in gear. Then, when he stopped shaking, he calmly backed the bus back to it parking place with a boys will be boys attitude. Thankfully there were no other cars in front of us. Looking back now, it’s easy to laugh, but it wasn’t very funny then.
The trips we took in the bus were so much fun. No one had to be tied down, you could sit and the table and talk or play games, and just enjoy the freedom to move around. It was 
much like traveling in a train…and we all loved it. I remember Uncle Bill teasing us kids about having to lick up our ice cream if we spilled, and then when his son Jimmy did spill, and started to get down to lick it up, Uncle Bill laughed heartily and said, “Don’t lick it up!! I was just kidding!!” The relief on Jimmy’s face was just hilarious!!
The memories I have of that old bus are varied and many, too many to put here. It was a great old bus, and my Uncle Bill did an amazing job on creating a great travel bus, but more importantly he created memories. I know I will never forget them, nor will my sisters. Those were such good times.
When the Texaco Refinery in Casper closed, my Uncle Larry decided to take the transfer to New Orleans rather than early retirement, which was just a little too far away at the time. I remember thinking that it was very strange to think that my aunt and uncle would be living so far away…because on my mom’s side, they all pretty much lived in Casper, or at least Wyoming. Nevertheless, they took the transfer, and off they went to New Orleans. It all seemed so exotic to me at the time. And I wasn’t sure I liked thinking of them living so far away either.
For Grandma, it did have its good side however. With her son and daughter-in-law living so far away, a trip to see them soon became part of the plan. Having since taken a trip to Louisiana, I can relate to the excitement Grandma must have felt to be taking a trip there. Yes, visiting her son and daughter-in-law was the main reason, but to get to see that area of the country…well, it was definitely a plus. Plans were made to show her the Gulf of Mexico, the Plantations, and, of course, Bourbon Street. Having been on Bourbon Street, I almost cringe at the sights my grandmother saw…I mean, I was shocked, so what did she think. 
The plantations were amazing, so I’m sure she loved them, and the Gulf…well, it is too amazing for words.
As I was looking at these pictures and remembering my own trip, it almost felt like walking in her shoes for a little while. I could picture what my grandmother was thinking and how she was feeling. It is such a different area of the country, and one that everyone should try to see if they can. It is like stepping back in time. It almost seems like many things don’t change there. I’m glad Grandma got the opportunity to goto the deep South, because sometimes trips like that can be a one of a kind event.
Once in a while, you get the chance to rescue a wild animal, and in an even more rare situation, you might get the chance to raise that animal, usually a baby who has lost its mother, and really has no way to survive on its own. That situation came about for my father-in-law back in about 1946, when a baby deer found its way not only into his care…not only into his heart, but into the family.
My father-in-law has always had a soft heart, and when he found this baby, whose mom was dead, and who was in a lot of trouble out there all by himself…well, he took him in and raised him. The deer settled right in and became part of the family. He revelled in the attention he got from everyone. I suppose the deer thought that my father-in-law was his parent, I mean, what else did he know, except that this person fed him and took care of him…just like a parent would do.
The deer was a part of the family for 2 years, during which time he was included in pictures with the family, and was even photographed by himself, sitting on the hood of a tractor. No he didn’t get there my himself. My father-in-law lifted him up there for the picture, but 
the deer didn’t see anything wrong with such a thing. He had become so much a part of the family, that he figured that was right where he should be.
The deer shared in their lives for 2 years before they decided that he was ready to be released back into the wild, and once they let him go, they never saw him again. My father-in-law figures that he was probably shot by a hunter, but while I am not against hunting, I have to hope that this little darling somehow got lucky and didn’t end up on someone’s table somewhere. He is just too cute and too sweet to think that he was hunted, killed and eaten. Just my opinion.
Children love to help. They see the things their parents or grandparents are doing, and they want to do those things too. All too often, the parents or grandparents think the child is too little to help, so they tell them to go play. In my opinion, that is a big mistake. Children can learn to be helpers at very young ages, if given the opportunity, they can become very good at it…maybe even experts.
When my girls were little, they loved helping me with the household chores, and they got very good at making beds, vacuuming floors, washing dishes, washing clothes, and many other household chores. I know everyone teaches their kids to do chores, but when I have told people how young they were, they always seem surprised…like a child that young can’t possibly be trusted with some of the machines my girls used. No, they weren’t 3 years old or anything, when were washing clothes, but they were 7 and 8 years old. And they did it very well.
My nephew, Barry always wanted to help his grandpa. My father-in-law was Barry’s best friend, and if Grandpa was doing something, then that was what Barry wanted to be doing. When a child shows such an interest in something, it is easy to teach them to actually do it. By the time Barry was 5 or 6 years old, he was running a wood splitter with my father-in-law just like an expert. Barry was there to help split wood, when Bob and my brother-in-law, Ron couldn’t be there, either because of work or school, and he proved himself to be invaluable.
When my own grandchildren were 10, 10, 9, and 7 years old, they helped us with the daily care of my dad when he was very ill. They didn’t care what we asked. They were willing to learn, and more importantly, they were willing to do. Today they have gone on to do other things, since they are 16, 16, 15, and 13 years old, but they still know how to be caregivers, and they are still willing to help in whatever way we ask of them.
Children are never too young to learn to be helpers. Sure we have to try to make the jobs we give them be something they can do at their age, but sometimes they will surprise you by being able to do things that are way beyond their years, as was the case with Barry and the splitter when he was 5 or 6 years old, or my granddaughter, Shai when she single handedly took care of my parents all day when they and we could not, and she was only 10 years old, or my grandson Josh, who so completely understands the needs of my in-laws, and who quickly catches on to the new treatments we need his help with, and is so meticulous in the performance of the duties we give him. Children truly are never too young to learn, if we give them a chance.
On Saturday, at a baby shower for her sister, I watched my niece, Chantel struggle with the fact that her daughter is going to be going to college in Montana, and it is a 10 hour drive, which will make weekend visits impossible. As the tears flowed, triggered by advise she was reading to her sister on raising kids, my heart just ached for her. The game was meant to be fun, but for Chantel, well, it just made her wish she could turn back the clock. She and her daughter have always been close and the thought of her moving so far away leaves an emptiness that can’t be filled. Yes, they will Skype and there may be a trip or two before the weather gets to where that is dangerous, and they will fly Siara home for Christmas, but that still leaves a lot of days without her daughter…her baby being in her everyday life.
That is a tough place to be, but unfortunately it is also one of the seasons of life. My thoughts went back to some of the seasons of life that have torn at my heart. Probably one of the first ones that I remember, and was when my sister, Cheryl who is Chantel’s mother was moving to New York. We were also faced with the fact that we would be able to see her, maybe once a year, and the days leading up to that move were filled with quite a few teary moments too. Then there came my sister Caryl’s move to San Diego, and while that move was easier in terms of the fact that we had been down this road before, it was still very hard. We are simply a family of people who stay close to home. We are all in Wyoming at this point, except one nephew, Allen, soon to be stationed in Japan for 2 years and one niece, Lindsay in college in South Dakota, and now Siara in Montana. We just like to be close to each other.
I remembered my own seasons, which while not as hard were nevertheless, hard at the time. Corrie getting married. That first child leaving home moment is a hard one, even when they don’t move away, and then there is a semi-funny moment, when Amy went to 
pre-school, and was so excited that she left me at the door. I was the whiny one who had to go in the room and kiss her goodbye, hahaha.
My thoughts wandered back to Chantel, and her breaking heart, and while I knew that this moment felt to her like she would never feel better, I knew also, that she would. The sting of those feelings eases with time, and while a dull, lonely ache hurts in its own way, it is easier than the intense pain of the moment. My guess is that Siara, like most of our family, will return to Casper after college, and the season for leaving will be for Chantel, a distant memory.
What was the first thing your spouse gave you? Most of us will look back to things like the first birthday gift or Christmas gift or a pin or ring indicating that you were going steady. Whether you know it or not, you would be wrong. My grandmother knew what the first thing her husband, my grandfather gave her, and when you know what it was you will find yourself as surprised as I was when I heard this story for the first time on Wednesday night when my mom, my sister, and I went out to visit my Aunt Bonnie.
I had never really thought of my grandmother as a hopeless romantic, but now I think she just might have been. I think too that she might have somehow known something that most girls of 17 years don’t know. She somehow knew that this man was the one…before she even went on one date with him. She must have, because that is the only way that she could have known that she wanted to keep the first thing he ever gave her. So what did she keep? You will be shocked. I know I was. The very first thing my grandfather gave my grandmother was…a stick of gum, and the thing she kept as a memento was the wrapper!! You had no idea, did you? Your best guess wasn’t even remotely close…was it?
It couldn’t have been, because that first thing your spouse gave you…the real first thing, is almost never remembered. I can’t tell you the first thing Bob ever gave me, even though there have been many cherished gifts he has given me. Still, looking at the amazing insight 
that my grandmother, as a young girl, somehow had, that she would keep a gum wrapper, because it came from the man that would be her husband someday, before she could have possibly known that…well that is amazing!!
Grandma kept the gum wrapper from the day she received it to the day she passed away, and then the cherished gum wrapper was passed, by luck of the draw to her youngest child, my Aunt Sandy, where it will continue to be a cherished keepsake. A keepsake more valuable than dimonds, rubies, or gold…because it is priceless!!
My Great Aunt Gladys, passed away on July 19, 1989. She was a passenger on United Airlines Flight 232, which crashed at Sioux Gateway Airport in Sioux City, Iowa. It was a crash I’m sure many of you will remember. According to the pilot on that flight, Captain Al Haynes a veteran pilot with 30,000 hours of flying time, “When the #2 hydraulics on the DC-10 blew, or when the #2 engine blew, it took out the #2 accessory drive section, which took out the hydraulics for the #2 system. And some 70 pieces of shrapnel penetrated the horizontal stabilizer and severed the #1 line and the #3 line, and as a result we ended up with no hydraulics.”
It was a situation that had a 1 in 1 billion chance of happening, but on July 19, 1989, on United Airlines Fight 232 which had taken off from Stapleton International Airport in Denver, Colorado, bound for Chicago, Illinois with 296 souls on board, one of which was my Great Aunt Gladys, it did happen. Of the 285 passengers and 11 crew members, 184 people would survive the subsequent crash of United Airlines Flight 232…sadly, my Great Aunt Gladys was not one of them. The airline was having a special that day, in which children flying with a parent flew for half price. That special put an unusually large number of children on the flight…52 to be exact. A number of those kids were traveling alone. Four children were “lap” children…children without a seat of their own. Eleven children, including 1 “lap” child died in the disaster.
The passengers on board the flight knew they were in trouble for 45 minutes before the crash. I have often thought about what my Aunt Gladys was thinking about during those 45 minutes. Her family, of course…hoping she would be able to return home to see them again. Worry and fear must have entered in, and it makes me so sad to think that her last minutes were spent in such a manner. My mom said something to me after we found out that she had not survived, that makes me think that she was thinking of one other thing…the children. Mom said that Aunt Gladys would have wanted the children to survive, because they had not had a chance at life yet. I think that is true, because Aunt Gladys was always so sweet to the children. She never said one harsh word to me or my sisters…even when we wanted to play with her Avon products or touch her silk nylons, because they were so soft.
During the crash, the plane cartwheeled, and possessions where thrown all over the 
place. So came about the misinformation that made us believe that Aunt Gladys had survived. Her purse went to the hospital with another woman. Upon further investigation, they would find that it was not my aunt, but not before the news media had listed her as a survivor. It was not their fault, but nevertheless heartbreaking to our family. Today marks the 23rd anniversary of the crash of United Flight 232 in Sioux City, Iowa, and the subsequent loss of my dear Great Aunt Gladys. Sometimes, when I see a woman who resembles her, my heart still jumps, because it’s almost like she is still here. I suppose that happens because we could not view her body, and maybe that isn’t the worst thing. At least we can still imagine her among the living. We love and still miss you Aunt Gladys.
It takes you by surprise sometimes. You meet someone, and your heart skips a beat. You think to yourself, “Whew, he is so handsome!!” Then you just have to wait, and hope he asks you out. After what seems like forever, he finally asks you out, you find yourself floating on cloud nine. That’s how my mom described her first meeting with my dad. She was immediately smitten, and she never looked back. That’s how it is when love comes along.
That’s the way my dad felt too, and he never looked back. He had found his dream girl, and he knew that they would have a wonderful life together. Dad was always such a giving man, and kindness was no stranger to his personality either. When he loved someone, he loved them wholeheartedly. I suppose that is exactly what attracted my mom to him in the first place. She knew this was forever. Love had come along.
Through the years, much changed, such as the addition of 5 daughters, and a move from Casper, Wyoming to Superior, Wisconsin, and back again. Mom was a stay at home mom for most of my childhood, and sometimes that meant Dad would work 2 jobs, but he never complained. It was his duty, and he was a man who took his responsibilities very seriously. We never lacked for anything we needed, but the most important thing that we had an overflowing abundance of in our home was love. Mom and Dad saw to that, and taught us to love one another unconditionally. It didn’t matter if we made mistakes, they were forgiven and forgotten. No matter how bad. We always knew that love forgave anything we could do.
Yes, there were many changes through the years, and looking back now, 
I wish that I could have stopped time somehow…especially in the later years, but you can’t do that, so the aging process took place. Still the love never faded, and there were certain traditions that never ended, such as the New Years Eve party every year to celebrate the new year of course, but more importantly to celebrate my mom’s birthday on New Years Day. That party always included Mom and Dad’s dance. We all stood around watching, because it was such a beautiful event. One that was just naturally occurring when love comes along…and then stays for a lifetime. Happy Anniversary Mom and Dad!! We love you both, and Mom and your daughters and families are looking forward seeing you again Dad…maybe for that first dance in Heaven.
My Uncle Jack went home to be with the Lord yesterday evening. He was a quiet man, with a heart of gold, who made a big impact on those who knew him. There was always such a tenderness about him. He didn’t have it in him to be unkind.
Through the years, I think many of the kids in the family can attest to what a fun guy he was. He loved the kids, especially his grandchildren and his great grandchildren. It seemed like every year when the fair would roll around, we would run into them at the fair with their grandchildren. It was fun time they spent with their grandkids. The kids also spent much time at their grandparent’s house through the years. Even their friends spent time at their house. It was the place to be.
Uncle Jack like to putter around his shop and the land he and Aunt Bonnie owned East of Casper, often taking walks up and down the lane to stay fit, and to spend time in the fresh air, just enjoying the beauty of nature. Uncle Jack was never a man who felt very comfortable all dressed up. That just wasn’t his style, and that’s ok with me. He was perfect just the way he was. He didn’t have to dress up to be special, that came from the inside…from his heart.
Uncle Jack married Aunt Bonnie on Valentine’s Day, February 14, 1959, and never a day went by that he didn’t consider himself the luckiest man in the world to have the love of his life by his side. They were forever happy. He supported her in whatever she chose to do. When Aunt Bonnie took up cake decorating, later making the cakes for 
my parent’s 50th wedding anniversary, my 25th wedding anniversary, as well as both my girls’ wedding cakes, Uncle Jack became her main assistant. He was an expert at transporting and setting up those cakes, without one loss that I know of. He did it all in love. Love for the brothers-in-law, sisters-in-law, nieces, nephews, grand nieces, and grand nephews, and countless other people, especially relatives who benefited from his labors.
I hate watching as the generation my Uncle Jack was a part of slipping away from us. With the passing of each one, we lose a little bit more. I makes me so sad. I love you Uncle Jack. I will miss you so much.
