Swooshing Down Utah Slopes and Other Tales

Since I was always looking for something Frank and I could do together, when he saw an ad in the paper for beginning skiing lessons, I agreed to try it. I longed for his companionship. He loved to ski and was good at it. Athletics hadn't interested me much as an adult. I felt I had performed poorly in most athletic attempts while growing up. I remembered often being the last one picked for a team of any kind. I was older than most learning to ride a bike. You've heard about my one ride on roller skates. And, I hadn't learned to swim. Any venture into water always seemed to end badly. Caught in swift current and sure I would drown in the canal down by Greene's had been just plain old scary. Downata Hot Springs in Downey, Idaho, where a brother grabbed my ankles underwater to pull me into deeper water, as if that was going to make me learn to swim, hadn't. My brother-in-law's attempt to teach me in Lake Sammamish in Washington where there was no bottom to touch further dampened my motivation for trying. 

In the early morning, once a week, I would bundle both kids, nurse my baby while driving to drop them off at Judy's (my sister-in-law), then make a mad dash for the slopes. Every minute counted. I had to be back in time for the next feeding.  Park City, Utah, an old, all but abandoned mining town had come alive again as a ski resort. Not exactly dressed in Resort Wear, I must have been quite a sight on the hill, in my worn out Levi's, a make-shift coat--uhg-g-gly, baby blue car coat sort of thing with a funky, plastic feel--and a beggar's assortment of unmatched, layered sweaters, scarves, and mittens. Until I put my stockinged feet into those unforgiving, stiff ski boots, I was trying to navigate on icy pavement and snow covered everything with plastic bags tied around my only pair of shoes. I got away with looking like this because the crowds that had come to show off their fancy outfits and equipment when Park City first opened had abandoned her for the more elite and newly built, Snow Bird.

I'd heard that skiing was one activity where one could completely escape the pressures of everyday life, moving silently along the slopes, wind nipping your cheeks, the rhythmic sound of edges cutting into snow. It was certainly an escape for me, from any thoughts of problems at home. The only thing I could think about while skiing was making it to the bottom of the hill, alive! I felt just shy of humiliation standing on flat ground, two boards strapped to my feet, falling flat on my face while little kids zoomed past me, having just come down the steepest slopes or having just navigated the most challenging moguls. Even worse was learning to use the tow rope or T-bar, and then the lifts and tram. My talents for falling didn't go unnoticed. Tow rope, T-bar, or lift, when I fell, I stopped traffic and the line piled up behind me while I tried to figure out how to slide or roll or pull myself and those things still attached to my feet out of the way without stabbing anyone with the poles or poppin' off a ski. Heaven forbid I should pop one off. Getting it back on was a bit of a problem, unfamiliar as I was with all the belts, buckles, and whistles, frozen hands, not to mention that it would require balancing on the other leg, also attached to a board ready to slide away no matter what I had been instructed to do.

That first pair of wooden rentals would have been killers for any one's use. Heavy, long in length, poorly waxed, and antique, they belonged in a museum. But they had been cheap to rent! And I didn't know any better! I came home after that first morning lesson and cried all the rest of the day, first about skiing--falling and fatigued, trying to get or stay upright--then about the cut on my brow from a falling ski knocked over by my baby. Before my next lesson, I exchanged those lengthy planks for a shorter, newer pair (not wood, for sure), finished the lessons and really enjoyed being on the mountain, pleasantly surprised to learn that I wasn't quite the klutz I had grown up believing I was. We had a different instructor for each lesson. That made things interesting! One of them had us ski down a very narrow and steep side slope without poles so we would learn to place our shoulders and shift our weight without crutches. Another, took us to the very top of the hill on the lift. None of the class could get off that thing without falling. Finally, our instructor said, "When I say stand up, you Stand Up! Sure enough, as each of us came up that time and heard her yell, "Stand Up", we did! And once we had experienced how that felt, the stance that occurred quite naturally when the timing was right, we could do it again and again. Even me! One of our last lessons was learning the art of traversing. The slope our instructor chose was quite a narrow area. Light snowfall became more like blizzard conditions quite quickly. That created flat visibility. No one could see the edge where the slope dropped off. One misplaced ski could have had been tragic. So he carefully led our group, snowplowing for control, all the way to the bottom. 

Finally, at last, I was invited to join Frank and his friends, one ski instructor among them. We took the tram all the way up. The door kept popping open. That made me nervous. At the top, I stepped out onto a winding trail that cut through the trees, too narrow to snow plow, even. I didn't know that this would open up into the wide, open bowl that Park City was known for somewhere down the trail. Thinking I'd have to swoosh straight down the mountain, I wanted to get right back on the tram and ride to the bottom. The group, including my husband, went on down the hill. The former ski instructor stayed with me, getting me back up on the packed trail when I got off into deep powder, and coaxing me along, me traversing a little, snow plowing a whole lot more, on down and across that beautiful, wondrous bowl I'd heard everyone talk about. What a magnificent view! Still standing, I skied right up to the deck of the lodge! A couple more ski trips, one to Alta or Brighton, whichever one had just about nothing but slopes of moguls--try snow plowing on that kind of terrain--where I got high-centered a lot coming down. My husband continued skiing with his friends after work. I was encouraged to find my own group to go with but I hadn't taken on skiing just to go on Ladies Day! Lift ticket prices began to soar. More suitable clothing and/or equipment for me wasn't in our budget. My adventures on the ski slopes of Utah had come to an end.

My husband finished his Master's degree. Todd began kindergarten in the fall. Babysitting-aged girls in our new neighborhood would have paid me to let them tend Jenn, she had charmed them so. Todd would tell anyone who would listen about the fascinating stuff he was learning. Already reading a bit before he entered school, he took over story time before bed, not only reading to Jenn but acting out all the characters, providing sound effects, putting on a real one-man show! He was attempting to read everything--dictionary, encyclopedia, telephone books, cereal boxes, often succeeding early on. He almost made his sister a non-speaking child, understanding her every whimper, finger point and grunt. Why did she need to learn to talk, with her brother anticipating and fulfilling her every need? And so, she didn't...talk, as early as he had.

Frank was employed by an organization--the Resource Center--that served a four-state region developing and implementing educational programs to adhere to new federal laws guaranteeing education for all special education kids, no easy task if a kid lived beyond a city population in Alaska or out in the middle of sagebrush on a cattle ranch in Nevada and other such locals. He had faculty status at the University of Utah, but no teaching responsibilities. Some faculty wives started a reading group and asked me to join. Reading for pleasure wasn't something I'd done much of. Reading had never been problematic for me and of course, I did what was necessary for school. I read patterns and recipes and all the things one does every day. My parents read church literature. Dad had a subscription to a farm magazine, Mother had the Reader's Digest. But I don't remember seeing them sit to read a book just for the pleasure of reading. At the first light of day, farm work began. When it got dark, everybody went to bed. While Mother never sat without a crochet hook in her hand or mending in her lap, I thought reading a book that wasn't school work would have seemed to her and my dad like idle hands and wasting time. 

Joining this group, professional women among them, thinking of myself as just a housewife, my feelings of inadequacy, intimidation, and inexperience were greatly heightened when I was asked right away to review a book for the group. My friend, Susan, suggested the book, The Chosen, a work of fiction, based on fact. It was the story of a Jewish boy growing up in an Orthodox home. Grandma South had talked some about her Jewish friends from childhood, many of whom perished during the war. The book fascinated me. I looked up other writings on Jewish culture at the library. One day as I sat on the floor propped up against the living room wall, intently reading in preparation for my review debut, Todd asked, "What are you doing, Mom?" He had never seen me read for myself although I had read a lot to him. That was a light bulb moment. 

I used background music and filled the pool table downstairs with food associated with Jewish culture. A colleague of Frank's who had recently stayed in our home even sent me real, New York bagels, borscht, and other authentic foods to serve after my presentation. Not only did my props set the mood but the music, the food, even my review and the discussion that followed provided something for me to hide behind as I explored an entirely new avenue in my life.

Our home became the gathering place for family. Fresh lemonade and homemade ice cream were summertime staples. It also became a home away from home for college-aged nieces and nephews. It certainly wasn't the Hilton but everyone was welcome to come at any time. Wait! I'm remembering a time I arrived home to find college kids already inside. "How did you get in?" "Climbed through a window!" Some neighborhood watch we had going on there on our street. Not one person reported having seen a break-in going on at my house. That must have been when I issued keys to one and all.

The big kids taught my little kids to say things that made everyone laugh. Scott liked his pie ice cold. Sue loved pumpkin pie and would eat it until she was sick, knowing I only made it in November. She taught my kids the finer points of eating raw dough's, bread, pie crust, cookie. The Fife kids loved my cherry-cheese pie. Jon would eat anything as long as it was peanut butter. Kathy shared her mom's good recipes for spaghetti sauce and oatmeal cookies. I've heard more recently that Anna Kare loved my taco salad!

The phone rang late one night. It was Sue. Would I come and get her? "Where are you?" "At the police station." Her blind date had not gone well. Having car problems miles from Provo was the final straw. With both of them at my house, Sue called a roommate to come and rescue her while her date was stuck sleeping on the floor, waiting until some car repair place opened the next morning. My little kids thought this was all kinds of exciting.

Sue returned the favor many times over, showing up at the house at times when I desperately needed help. Had my husband been coming home every night after work, I might have included "clean up" on my to-do list more often but since he was a frequent flier and I had tons of projects and activities going on all the time, I became very good at making a mess and adding to it. Laundry had to be at the top of my list. When Frank did arrive home with a suitcase of dirty clothes, he often needed those same items washed, dried, and ironed, sometimes overnight, in order to get back out on the road. With clothes lines my only drying resource, a quick laundry turn around was often tricky and everything else had to wait. Relief Society work day projects or sewing deadlines, getting Tole pieces ready to sell, making salt dough pieces for mounting, crafting on the cheap by collecting dried weeds and flowers. I always had a mess of some kind going on. And because I cooked and baked a lot and often used every dish I owned to do it, I always had dirty dishes in the sink! Sue usually started dishes the minute she came but besides the dishes, my kids wanted her attention. They adored her. Jenn called her "Wonder Woman" because her hair style resembled the TV show character. I don't think Sue ever got to relax when she came for a weekend.

On my way to the airport, with little time to spare, I came upon an accident at a busy downtown intersection. As my lane of traffic was routed past the fender bender that was tying up traffic, I did a double take. "Kathy?" Sure enough. My niece was one of the drivers involved! What could I do but put the airport trip on hold, momentarily, and whip around the block to rescue another of "my" kids!

Anna Kare lived in our downstairs bedroom for a couple of months. I had already forgotten about the on-again, off-again, soap opera cycles of dating and I acted too much like a parent, taking my brother's request to heart when he asked me to look out for his daughter. That made her uncomfortable. Remembering this now, how could I have so quickly forgotten my own strong, youthful feelings and desire for independence. So sorry, AK, for imposing my smothering attempts to mother, on you.

Jon wowed my kids by giving them rides in the yellow Mustang he shared with his brothers. "Jennifer" was a popular tune at that time. He'd sing that when my Jennifer was along for a ride. She felt as though she was in the presence of a rock star!

I was asked to come back to work in a beauty salon. Childcare was an issue. While I felt that my husband would have considered me more an asset if I had continued to work--I sensed a bit of resentment in him about having to accept the obligation and responsibility alone--and would have welcomed help to support our family, he also had strong feelings about leaving the kids with sitters, even for short periods. Despite the isolation I sometimes felt and the insecurities about my parenting abilities, I, too, did not want to have someone else raise my kids while I worked away from home. Looking back, I did not appreciate nearly enough the gift and blessing that was, to stay at home with my children and the challenge it was for my husband. I had no idea, of course, that this issue would come up for me to struggle with again. 

Distinctive linings became my trademark in sewing Frank's sport coats. I made his dress slacks and his ties. I had earned enough from my sewing for others to buy a new machine, a Viking. I sewed a little for the South parents, and kept their hair trimmed. On occasion, Grandpa South took me shopping with him. He always ran into people he knew as we walked city streets, often a general authority. He knew a lot of people through his work and his church callings as well as those he had worked with when he and Jane had been called to travel into Czechoslovakia to check on church members there. He always introduced me. And I was a bit  in awe. He liked me to help him pick out shirts and ties. He always chose well, but Jane had a habit of bursting his bubble a bit when we returned home, telling him he must remember to act his age and not dress like a younger man. He would laugh and laugh and say, "Now, Mommie." During one of our shopping excursions, an off-white sport coat caught his eye and he tried it on. It was love at first sight! It fit him as though it had been tailor made just for him. He took it off and put if back on several times but left the store without it, saying Jane would really be uncomfortable if he wore it. She was use to seeing him in dark navy, black or brown, colors that seemed fitting to her, for a man of his age and dignified stature. He died before another year went by, without having enjoyed that little bit of indulgence for himself. That was one time I wished he had not listened to her.

Grandpa South always took my side when Grandma interfered with the kids. She interfered often. There were two grandchildren older than Todd. When he was a baby, Grandma would call at night to see if I had put him to bed at a reasonable hour. I thought the calls might be fewer by the time Jennifer was born and more grandchildren joined the family. But still, there were calls to ask if I had put coats on the kids because the wind was blowing. Grandpa would often remind her that I was the mother  and she must let me do what I thought was best. One day, Todd, who had been cruisin' for a bruisin' all day, sassed me once too often and I paddled him right there and then. Jane immediately scooped him up and validated his naughtiness. This had happened so often that I could no longer control my tongue and blurted out that she must stop interfering in  front of my child. Grandma was crushed. I felt terrible. A few days passed. Grandpa had, in the mean time, pointed out to her what she was doing and how it created problems between mother and child. We made up, both with apologies, hugs, and a few tears. After that, she took me aside if she thought I was wrong rather than stepping in while I felt it necessary to discipline.

Grandpa didn't often show affection to people he clearly loved. I remember answering my doorbell one day while we lived in Ogden, and there stood Bill South, my father-in-law, holding a most beautiful long-stemmed red rose out to me, just because. He had driven from South Salt Lake to Ogden, to deliver it.

Grandma South loved her hybrid iris garden. The blooms were spectacular, large and fragrant. She loved classical music. Not only was her father a concert violinist but she had spent years living in Vienna, frequenting the great Opera House there. Once, while Mother was visiting us in Salt Lake, Jane invited Mother and I to go to an opera matinee that combined ballet sequences with arias. Mother had never attended anything like it before, I'm quite sure. We found our seats in the middle of the theater. Folks already seated and those still coming in were "dressed" for the occasion even though it was an afternoon performance, and were probably regular patrons of the opera. The lights would go down soon, and no one would notice that Mother and I stuck out like sore thumbs or so I felt. The music was beautiful, different to Mother's ear but she seemed to be enjoying the whole experience. Jane was comfortable and caught up in the story and the music, all very familiar to her. When the male dancer came on stage, in his flesh-colored tights and waist-length jacket, Mother gasped, certainly loud enough to my ear for everyone in that theater to hear her, and then blurted out, "Oh my, he's naked!" I was sure everyone heard that! I wanted to crawl under my seat and crawl all the way back to the theater exit. My mother didn't know enough about the whole thing to even be embarrassed. And she certainly wondered what kind of musical we had taken her to see.  

I sewed a lot for my immediate family and for my extended family, and kept every one's hair trimmed and stylish. And while my kids were young, I went home to Weston every couple of months to help Mother clean. Todd was still a toddler when on one of these trips home, I experienced the terror of a house fire.

The family had moved Mother from the big, old Olsen house into a mobile home, parked across from the church on Uncle Wells' property. Most of Mother's things had been discarded, the downsizing intended to help her keep a smaller space tidy and be more comfortable. She never adjusted to this move and took no interest in her new living space. Uncle Wells came every day to have lunch with Mother. They argued and complained to and about each other, just as they might have done as kids growing up. Uncle Wells' wife had died so this mealtime was a blessing for him and Mother must have enjoyed some company, too, but they found something to argue about at every meal they shared. Sitting there, eating home-canned peaches with Wells and Mother, having already heard how his wife use to do them and Mother's rebuttal, I noticed a puff of smoke pass by the kitchen window. When I went to investigate, the whole back end of the trailer was smoldering.  Hay bales taking the place of skirting hadn't yet been removed when winter became spring and then summer. During lawn and garden watering, those bales had sucked up water and spontaneous combustion was taking place. Uncle Wells grabbed his hose. I grabbed at the straw and as I did so, the wooden frame ignited. The phone connection had not yet burned through. Marion had just come in from the fields, for lunch, too. I called him and although he was a mile or more away, he seemed to be on the doorstep as I put the phone down. Uncle Wells could get no water pressure. Marion, a former fireman, ripped off the metal sheeting, forcing what water he had to work with everywhere he could get it, hoping to halt the fire's advance. I scooped up my toddler, placed him in my mother's arms and led her out of the trailer and across the street, away from the smoke, telling her to stay there with my baby. I rushed back to see what help I could be in the attempt to save the trailer. Per my brother's instruction, I was to go back inside and pull everything out of the closet that stretched across the back wall that was burning, outside. Running back to Mother's bedroom, I found her standing there, disoriented and in shock, her hands filled with red-hot, empty glass, canning bottles she had stored on her closet floor. She couldn't tell me where my baby was! I pulled her back out of the trailer and went in search of my child. Very uncharacteristic of him, Todd had stayed right where she put him, in the street in front of the church.

Marion worked hard to save that trailer and except for smoke and water damage, the loss was confined to the back end. Mother and I and Todd spent that night there, in the fire damaged trailer. Mother fought for every breath, all night, her asthma raging from the day's excitement and the smoke she was still smelling. I spent the entire night sniffing and checking for fresh smoke, terribly afraid that one spark might have been missed. I kept Todd with me and went over and over my plan in my mind, for getting Mother and my baby out, should fire erupt again. How was I going to save my sewing machine, too? Another brother, Sylvan, recovering from back surgery, drove from Pocatello or Chubbuck to clean up the damage and reconnect telephone and electricity, rebuilding that burned-out back end.

Hopefully, each of my kids will write their own personal story one day. In the mean time, I've mentioned things I remember, and will no doubt mention more, like seeing my kids climb into my mother's lap, anxious for a story or a song. They would beg her to ruffle up her curly hair, take off her glasses and take out her false teeth, if the story called for it. She was happy to oblige them. The stories might be a memory from her own childhood or something she made up as she went along, featuring Todd and Jennifer as the central characters. Her cookie jar was never empty. She no longer baked but I think she spent whatever money she might have had to be sure she always had store-bought cookie favorites for her grand-kids. Jenn loved the coconut, caramel, chocolate ones. Mother had quite a sweet tooth herself and ate many a cookie with her grand-kids. Sometimes she'd give them a nickle to go to Jerry's--what use to be Archie Lott's store--for candy. She loved it when Todd and Jennifer--or anyone else who came to visit--would play checker marbles with her or do jigsaw puzzles. She'd let them comb her hair and pull out the whiskers from her chin. Our visits always included a drive in the countryside, a stop at A&W for a fish sandwich, a Root Bear and ice cream.

Big Raggedy Ann and Andy cookies replaced paper Valentines, for my kids to take to school and pass out to the neighborhood kids. Each cookie figure held a heart, the perfect spot for me to write a recipients' name in frosting. Store-bought Halloween costumes were not in our budget so I had to get creative. The kids and I did all sorts of crafts like the Jack-o-Lantern candles, Easter sugar eggs. I room mothered for each of them, played catch, rode bikes, and built that first snowman each winter season. They learned to use a needle and thread, making doll clothes or sewing on buttons while I sewed. When I took up Tole painting, they painted with water colors, crayons and markers and never touched my wet oil paint. It was Grandpa South who ran his finger across newly painted strawberries, asking, "Is this still wet?" Both of them learned to help in the kitchen quite young. Jennifer didn't like that she was most often asked to toss the salad. "Your brother is older." That didn't make it fair in her young mind that he got to cut with a knife or stir a hot pot and she didn't.

Pat enrolled my kids for swimming lessons right along with her kids at a private swim club she had access to and provided transportation. My kids took to the water right away. We'd arrived home after a lesson, one day and I got busy preparing lunch or something. Jennifer didn't come when called. Once I'd called her name several times, I went looking for her. She was nowhere to be found. It wasn't a normal day if I hadn't lost Todd at least once as a little boy but Jennifer wasn't quite as adventuresome as her brother had been and usually stayed close by. I checked the bathrooms, the bedrooms and all through the house. It also wasn't like her to cross the street or go to the neighbors without permission or my knowledge but I checked front and back yards. Still no Jennifer. I retraced my steps, checking everywhere, again. I walked our street, calling her name. Pat and her kids joined in. It seemed like a long time had passed without finding any trace of her. I went back through the house again, this time picking up every article of clothing, moving anything that could be moved and though I'd checked her bed and covers before, this time I totally removed everything. In doing that, I spied a little bare bottom and found her laying in the crack between her bed and the wall. It seemed too small a place for her, even tiny as she was, but she must have crawled up on her bed and tired from all the swimming, fell immediately asleep, perhaps rolling over just enough to reach the crack, the weight of her little body moving the mattress away from the wall, letting her slip down in-between until the box spring stopped her momentum. Relieved? An understatement!

Family trips were almost always connected in some way with Frank's business travel. These trips gave the kids a chance to see lots of the US, the deserts of New Mexico, Arizona, Utah, and Nevada, wide expanses of blooming cactus in the springtime and spectacular, blazing summer sunsets. We were introduced to Mexican Sopapilla. We'd arrive at our destination often at night, We couldn't afford the price of extra hours in a hotel so we were out long before check-out time. Frank would drop the kids and I off at local zoos and parks on his way to his business meeting. I remember one museum located in a park where the kids were allowed to touch everything. A kid's dream, right? They rode old, antique, life-sized wooden rocking horses, enjoyed a precursor to View Master, decided that the horse-hair cushioned chairs were not all that comfortable. And of course they were excited about the real, live, constantly purring, huge cat! Their dad's love for history surfaced when we toured sites such as the Indian Cave Dwellings and visited some of the spectacular canyons of the "Four Corners" region. We made the loop to see family in Idaho, Washington State, Oregon, and California, taking in such sights as Crater Lake and playing on the beaches of the Pacific along the way. Frank and I spend a day in Canada. At home in Utah, we hiked backpacking trails through Millcreek Canyon and searched for topaz in the desert. Jennifer learned to drink fresh, clear water from a stream using a licorice straw.

I joined Frank in New York City and Boston--a few years after our original plan to do so when returning from our summer in Europe--near the end of a business trip. Broadway shows, Ballet, The New York Philharmonic Orchestra, Lincoln Center, hot smokey pretzels with mustard purchased from street vendors, Central Park by carriage at night, and historic Boston were all a part of my New York Experience. The kids were to stay with Wilkins but unaccustomed to being left in someone's care, Todd tearfully said goodbye asking me, "Who will kiss us goodnight?" Years later, alone with two kids to raise, great financial instability, debilitating health problems, and more fear than I knew how to overcome, I lay on the couch, feeling totally beaten and ready to give up. I heard Todd say, "You can't give up, Mom." Looking up at this tall, almost-a-teenager, I could hear from memory his childhood voice saying, "Who would kiss us goodnight?"