Mountain Home

"Our mountain home so dear, Where crystal waters clear   Flow ever free...  While thru the valleys wide  The flow'rs on ev'ry side, Blooming in stately pride, Are fair to see.  We'll roam the verdant hills, And by the sparkling rills Pluck the wild flow'rs...  The fragrance on the air, The landscape bright and fair, And sunshine ev'ry-where  Make pleasant hours.  In sylvan depth and shade, In forest and in glade, Where'er we pass...The hand of God we see, In leaf and bud and tree, Or bird or humming bee, Or blade of grass.  ...Thru nature's smiling face, In art divine."  LDS Hymns, Emmeline B. Wells 

Salt Lake City was, in 1962, a wonderful place for a sweet, young thing from a small town, a little Mormon farm girl, to test her butterfly wings.  This was also the beautiful valley where I fell in love, married in the Salt Lake Temple, gave birth to my first child, and made a home close to the majestic mountains of the Wasatch Range to the east of the valley.  How wondrous were those foothills leading into canyons of granite, dense with Quaking Aspens.

My daughter, Jennifer, my granddaughter, Jessica, and I arrived in Salt Lake late at night, the beginning of my grand adventure to find 'Home'.  Oh my, this was not the airport I remembered from years ago, when I made frequent trips there to pick up or drop off.  Tired, losing an hour by crossing into another time zone, and a bit rummy from the excitement of "Oomah's first vacation in forever", too many peanuts, and a bit of a rough ride, the struggle with our luggage continued.  Collecting it was fairly easy but once again, how does one, two, or even three people manage?  We had a large piece with a wheel missing making rolling it by use of its pop-out handle difficult at best, two bags that should have stayed connected easily but didn't, one of them detaching from the other and flipping over, around and all over the place, and the pull handle that would not stay in any position that would have made pulling the bag possible.  Also, there was my Strollater and cane, carry-on bags and purses, a wheelchair-seated Oomah to push and a rental car to pick up!  An airport aide came to our rescue to push the Oomah this time.  I thought we'd almost covered a distance equal to returning to Nevada by the time we found that rental car.  And then, getting everything to fit into it?  This has me laughing out loud whenever the boarding and deplaning and switching cars and locations for the entire trip replays in my mind.  I see again our attempts to pile whatever was possible onto the wheelchair riding Oomah, the girls wrangling and wrestling with the rest and the challenge of fitting us into terminal elevators.  Oops!  "Don't forget to include my feet!"

We drove from Salt Lake directly to Dayton, Idaho that first morning.  I'll guide the reader through that in another post.  The visits in Salt Lake described here took place on my final full day of the trip.

Our house on BonView Drive was almost unrecognizable to me, after so many years, its front landscape changed and overgrown.  My daughter celebrated her first birthday here.  In my mind, I see her sitting there on the front porch, a Raggedy Ann cake almost as big as she was, sitting beside her.  Homes in this neighborhood were terraced.  It was on this slight slope in front of the house where my son had his first crash on a two-wheeler.  Oh, I remember hearing that awful head-meeting-pavement sound that no mother wants to hear!  The four of us stood together, years ago, there on the front lawn, for a picture celebrating my husband's completion of a Master's Degree.  On the eve of our first day in this house that we'd scrimped and saved a down payment for by living in a tiny three-room apartment on Vidas Ave., the Wilkins, our new neighbors from across the street, came to introduce themselves.  They became good friends and more than helpful neighbors.  The oldest daughter became our babysitter, the youngest--a playmate for my son.  It was Pat who taught me about the need to make time to celebrate even small events.  She included my kids in her arrangements for swimming lessons in the summer.  Both she and her husband, Gene, were a huge help to me when our basement flooded during heavy summer rains.  Pat made the best lasagna for our New Year's eve celebrations together.  My husband traveled constantly.  Pat and Gene seemed to know when I needed a lift from the burden of that.  Sometimes my doorbell would ring in the early evening.  Edie would slip in to put my kids to bed and Pat and Gene would whisk me off to Baskin Robbins! My visit with my dear friend, Pat, was much too short.  Mr. Peabody's picture hung on the wall.  Many family photos of her kids and grandkids attested to the passing of many years since we last saw each other.  A delicious slice of strawberry cake, seemingly just a few minutes of memories expressed, a short briefing about her family at present and it was time for me and my family to say our goodbyes.

Ah-h-h, Commonwealth Avenue, my old stomping ground!  Years ago, when finished with school and newly employed, my roommates--two friends from high school--and I rented the apartment at my Aunt Louise's house.  It was great to return there to visit with my cousin, Leone.  The big porch that wraps around the entire front of the house is still surrounded by flowering beds, just as I remembered.  Lovely tile now graces the porch and she no longer rents out space so I got to tour my old digs--the front entry hallway where I got engaged, the small living room Leone now uses as her office, a tiny kitchen remodeled since I lived there.  Leone wondered aloud how we three young girls ever squeezed ourselves and all our belongings into such a small apartment, sharing one bedroom and a very small bathroom.  Actually, I don't remember that the three of us spent a lot of time together there.  We led busy lives.  I spent most week-ends alone when the girls drove home to Clifton.  The South family had a lot of history on this street, too, the family matriarch, cousins, aunts, uncles and Frank's parents all making this street in South Salt Lake their home at one time or another.  Leone and Aunt Louise had for years hosted a summer block party, inviting everyone who had lived on Commonwealth Avenue to return for good food, good company, and to share memories of good times.  My kids visited their South grandparent's often, in their home at the end of the block.  And during their stay there, Todd and Jenn would wander down to the other end of the street to see Aunt Louise.  If she was making jam, she'd get them involved stiring it but what they loved most was the tasting part!  Though the time was short, I'm glad I got to visit with Leone and have her meet my family.  Neither of us are red-heads anymore!

My plan for having dinner with my cousin, Lois and her husband, Ken, in Bountiful was canceled and our visit shortened.  I was exhausted on that, my 11th day of travel.  This ole' girl just ain't what she use to be.  Jenn and Tom and their boys, Max and Gage, Jessica and I enjoyed a short visit, however, at their lovely home.  There was such a sweet spirit there.  Tom loved the expansive garage and what was in it.  The kids had fun playing pool with Ken.  But the huge candy container that followed us all the way to the car with more invitations to, "Have some more", is likely to be a part of what my family remembers about visiting the Cutlers!

Where is Home?

Where is 'Home'? A good friend of mine said, "Home is anywhere Amy (his wife) is".  'Home'.  Is it where you slept last night, where you raised your kids, your first living space on your own, or where you grew up?  Some have described feeling 'at home' with their grandparents, in a place of worship, or camping under the stars.  Some make their place of work or their work-out routine 'Home'.  It has been said one can never go back home.  After more than twenty years away from the place I called 'Home' as a child, I returned for a visit recently, with stops along the way to re-visit other spots on the map that I've called 'Home'.

"Vacation", they call it, but it's a lot of work!  Certain tasks must be completed to leave 'Home' behind and the one departing has work to do to prepare to be away from 'Home'.  However, for this 12-day adventure, I had little more to do than show up at the airport with a change of clothes and my toothbrush.  My daughter, an expert manager, had done all the leg work in advance.  I've prepared myself and family for what some call vacation many times in past years but now my recommendation would be to wait until you have an adult child, willing, able, talented even, in completing the arduous planning and follow through phase of such, for you!  Jenn placed the calls, reviewed information on line, made reservations, sent deposits, all the while taking into consideration special needs my physical constraints might warrant.  No travel agent could have done it better or in such a personal way.  Thank you, Jenn.

It had been some time since I'd been flying--in an airplane, that is.  There were those indescribable flights of fancy I took a couple of years ago following knee replacement surgery.  My family likes to refer to that time as, "Oomah's Days of Demerol".  I'll tell you about those sometime.  One thing I noticed about Reno International Airport right away was its growth since I was last there.  Truly, I tried to pack light, while obeying the rules my family of frequent fliers had told me about.  But the what ifs got to me.  And Jessie's need, after filling her own suitcase, to add stuff to mine!

We had to drive the old Caddy to the airport.  No other mode of transportation available in the family could accommodate the luggage for we three--me, Jenn and Kabeski--plus the goodbye wavers--Tom, Gage and Max.  Do you remember what teens use to find fun to do, where you stop the car amid traffic, the driver gets out and everyone changes places in the car?  A similar scenario played out in my driveway at home, trying to fit luggage and people pieces of the space puzzle together for the drive to the airport.  The comedy continued there, trying to get through the winding lane markers from entry to baggage check-in with me in a wheel chair, my Strollater and our luggage to be checked, the biggest bag with a wheel missing, another with a pull handle that would not stay in place,  two hooked together that kept turning over plus carry-on bags and my cane!

Of course, I set off the security bells and whistles!  This was not some grand send off celebration in honor of my first visit 'Home' in more than 20 years.  No, just my bionic knee and pinned-together shoulder setting off the sensors.  Once I was screened and wanded and we picked up all our parts and pieces, we three finally made it to the boarding area and were first to get on the plane!  And would you believe that from the air between Reno and Las Vegas, it is just one big sand dune?  After lots of peanuts, Pepsi, pockets of turbulence, a plane change in Vegas, I arrived once again, in a place I called 'Home' for many years, Salt Lake City, Utah.  I made it my home at 17, just out of high school.   Hair Today-Gone Tomorrow

There's more to tell of my grand adventure in my search to find 'Home', and of relatives and friends and places, still so much a part of who I am.

To be continued ...