62 AND COUNTING

Today,
14 October 2010, my parents will have been married
for 62 years.

They expect to remain together forever,
through life and after death - through all eternity.

I have one outstanding, wonderful memory of my parents from 1980. It is from the day their house burned to the ground. I remember my father putting his arms gently around my sobbing mother and beginning to sing softly in her ear:

"Hey, hey, good lookin'
Wa-what-cha got cookin' ..."

And then they laughed, so did all the firefighters, neighbors and family helplessly standing by.

I don't even know if that memory is real.  Was I there? or did I only hear someone describe it? I was somewhere: I just honestly don't know where at that exact moment - doesn't matter, really.  It is as alive and real in my memory as if I were there. I can still smell the smoke and see the glowing red of our burning house as piece by piece it fell into the basement pit that would glow for days.

1980 - sigh - too many memories there, but this one memory of my parents I sift from the others and cherish.

May 19, 1980 dawned beautifully sunny in Southern Alberta.  As we ate breakfast, sent the children out to play, and began a typical 'small-farm-Monday-in-the-spring' busy day we did not know of an event that had occurred in Washington State that would impact our own lives. At 8:32 a.m. PDT on Sunday, 18 May 2010 Mount St. Helens catastrophically erupted.

Television signals did not really reach under the hill to the small rural property, in the quiet valley we called home, and news on the radio usually consisted of hearing the latest prices for wheat, rye or alfalfa hay, and cattle or hogs. That day, and the next, were not different - the radio had no unusual news.

New home on same site

About 10 a.m. MDT that Monday morning a strange murky white haze appeared in the SW over the mountains. As I stood looking out the west kitchen window, watching some of my children and several of their cousins playing outside, the haze quickly became a cloud and suddenly the day became oddly overcast - not dark, not cloudy. It did not feel or smell like rain.

Soon an extremely fine, powdery, grayish white dust began to be visible on dark woodwork. We puzzled and thought and discussed what it might be. We gathered into the house and closed off doors and windows but in that old farmhouse it made little difference.  The dust continued to filter in.

Was there a disaster?
A bomb?
Was the world as we knew it ending? changing?
WHAT? Especially the dust!
Was it dangerous?

My mother continued to work outside planting and then watering some poplars near my brother's across the valley. She said it wasn't making her cough or affecting her in any noticeable way so until she was told otherwise she had work to do.  She did agree the children should be sheltered and suggested calling the local radio or TV station.

Noon became as dark as most evenings at dusk.

Local media knew nothing. Signals originated from approximately one hour north in a larger city and the day there was still clear and sunny. Even later in the afternoon they still had no news except what people in our area were calling to tell them.  Although we stayed indoors for the remainder of that day no answers could be found. There was no Internet, no Google, no Ask.

Eventually we learned about the volcano.
Was the dust safe to touch? inhale? No one knew.
The skies cleared, the sun returned.
We dusted and life went on as always.

Until June.

Several rural families in the immediate area (at least 4) lost their homes to fire without apparent cause that spring.  One insurance agent speculated that volcanic dust had settled into everything and may have shorted out ancient electrical wiring.  My parents home of 30+ years was one.

THAT was a strange day.  The baby was already down for a nap when my mother called up the stairs and asked me to accompany her to town.  I was reading my 4 year old our usual pre-nap story. I told mom, "no, too much trouble etc. etc." She went to the truck, and then returned to the house and called to me again.  She just 'felt' like she needed me to come. I finally loaded up the baby, and a very 'happy-to-skip-a-nap' preschooler, to go to town - a 15 minute drive.

Later on, while we did business and errands, a man walking down the street said to my mother in passing, "Jean, was that your house that burned in Kimball today?"

In my heart I knew it was.  I think she did too. We went immediately home. We could see the column of smoke away and over the foothills as soon as we left town. My mother drove. My father was many hours away at work. He often worked out of town and returned on weekends or even only once a month.

There was little water from their shallow wells. Everyone did all possible - it was as nothing in quelling the roaring orange and yellow swirling flames.

Late afternoon had not quite given way to early evening when my father arrived.  Most of my 10 siblings had come quickly. The one that lived across the valley was there from the onset. His wife helped care for the children. I remember I stayed there with her mostly, but otherwise we stood around at a distance not really knowing what to do or say.  The neighbors stayed too, and came and went - so many people! So much coming and going - and already they were bringing whatever they thought we might need.  (Meals were provided around the clock for several days, at first to all the family  and firemen, and then to all helping hands.)

We knew dad was on his way.  Kind friends had tracked him down and called.  His boss owned a small plane and flew to the nearest airport.  I suppose we just waited.

My father and mother often sang; as they worked, as they drove to and from here or there, and especially as they relaxed.  An evening bonfire gathering was always an occasion for song, we knew many, our family often sang. My father used quotes and songs on all occasions. He loved to tease and sang many teasing love songs to mother.

His heavy cowboy boots drug into the gravel before the truck halted completely.  He went directly to mother and wrapped his arms around her from behind before she even knew he was there.  He was just shy of 6 feet, she was barely 5'2" - the top of her head did not even clear his shoulder.

As he began to softly sing, at first we could hardly hear. Then, as she turned to him, we heard his voice as she laughed - "Hey, hey good lookin', wha-whatcha gotta-cookin" - we all laughed. We still laugh.  That song has become an 'inside' joke ... a 'time-of-trouble' comfort to fall back on - it is an easy and answerable question - "Hey good lookin' - whatya got cookin'?

I have been born of choice 'goodly' parents.

Their powerful examples of faith and fortitude have continued.  With good cheer and determination they have overcome many, many difficulties. October 14, 2010 they will have been married 62 years. In trouble they seemed to turn to each other and to Heavenly Father instead of away.

What a bonfire that was.

 Hey Good Lookin’  Hank Williams 1951

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XSozIEo-Fuk
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bjCoKslQOEs

Say hey, good lookin’. Wha-wacha got cookin? 

Hows about cooking somethin’ up with me?
Hey hey, sweet baby, do-o-on’t you think maybe, 

We can find us a brand new recipe?

I got a hot rod Ford, and a two dollar bill; 

And I know a spot right over the hill.
There’s soda pop and the dancing’s free, 

So if you wanna have fun, come along with me.

Hey hey, good lookin’, wha-wacha ya got cookin? 

Hows about cooking somethin’ up with me?

I’m free and I’m ready, so we can go steady,

   Hows about saving all your time for me?
No more lookin’, I know I been cookin”,

 Hows about keepin’ steady company?

I’m gonna throw my date book over the fence, 

And buy me one for five or ten cents
I’ll keep it till it’s covered with age, 

cause I’m writin’ your name down on every page.

So hey, good lookin’, wha-aat ya got cookin’? 

Hows about cooking somethin’ up with me?

SONGS IN MY HEART

I learned the words to many songs during my childhood and youth – many of them were hymns – some mere nonsense and others music popular to the time.  The words and sound of most of those songs seem as much a part of me as my fingers or toes, my hair or my nose.

Ephesians 5:19–20 says, “… [Speak] to yourselves in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, singing and making melody in your heart to the Lord; giving thanks always for all things unto God and the Father in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ."

At my request, my husband played the piano today – I said, “just pick something soothing-ish.” (He knows, btw, that I detest dirges). He sat and began to play a song that is one of my favorites: 

“Whenever I hear the song of a bird

Or look at the blue, blue sky,

 Whenever I feel the rain on my face

Or the wind as it rushes by,
Whenever I touch a velvet rose

Or walk by a lilac tree,

I’m glad that I live in this beautiful world

… Yes, I know Heavenly Father loves for me.”

I learned this song, 'My Heavenly Father Loves Me', intimately when I taught it to young children in sign language. (I was working as an ASL Interpreter for kindergarten students at that time and taught a deaf child that age in the Primary class at church that I was assigned to. The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, also known by the nickname Mormon's, provides many valuable resources free of charge.)  Seeking just the right turn of phrase or culturally accepted idiom to transliterate is always fun: keeping it simple enough for a young child is doubly so.

My husband then began to play Hymn 142, "Sweet Hour of Prayer".  He says he chose it randomly. I found myself praising God for the magnanimous blessings I feel in my life every day. In 1946 George Albert Smith said, "I wonder sometimes if we realize the importance of music. I wonder if we know that the Lord himself is concerned about it. He has given us the information that the song of praise is a prayer unto him. . . . It [is] our privilege, yea, our blessing, to sing and . . . our songs should be sung in righteousness."

1. Sweet hour of prayer! Sweet hour of prayer!
That calls me from a world of care
And bids me at my Father’s throne
Make all my wants and wishes known.
In seasons of distress and grief,
My soul has often found relief
And oft escaped the tempter’s snare
By thy return, sweet hour of prayer!
And oft escaped the tempter’s snare
By thy return, sweet hour of prayer!

2. Sweet hour of prayer! Sweet hour of prayer!
Thy wings shall my petition bear
To him whose truth and faithfulness
Engage the waiting soul to bless.
And since he bids me seek his face,
Believe his word, and trust his grace,
I’ll cast on him my ev’ry care
And wait for thee, sweet hour of prayer!
I’ll cast on him my ev’ry care
And wait for thee, sweet hour of prayer!

Text: Attr. to William W. Walford, 1772–1850, alt.
Music: William B. Bradbury, 1816–1868, alt.
Psalm 55:16–17, 22
Philippians 4:6–7


And then my husband began a song I did not know well. I could only call to mind a snatch here and a phrase there, Hymn 157. I had to ask him the name and get to book to refresh it in my mind.  I remember "Thy Spirit Lord, Has Stirred Our Souls" but it is not a song I know well - yet it felt as if I did. Neal A. Maxwell taught, "When we rejoice in beautiful scenery, great art, and great music, it is but the flexing of instincts acquired in another place and another time." May Ensign 1984 pg 21 

1. Thy Spirit, Lord, has stirred our souls,
And by its inward shining glow
We see anew our sacred goals
And feel thy nearness here below.
No burning bush near Sinai
Could show thy presence, Lord, more nigh.

2. “Did not our hearts within us burn?”
We know the Spirit’s fire is here.
It makes our souls for service yearn;
It makes the path of duty clear.
Lord, may it prompt us, day by day,
In all we do, in all we say.


Text: Frank I. Kooyman, 1880–1963. © 1948 IRI
Music: Alexander Schreiner, 1901–1987. © 1948 IRI
Mosiah 5:2
Luke 24:32 (13–35)

In Colossians 3:16 we read, "Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly in all wisdom; teaching and admonishing one another in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, singing with grace in your hearts to the Lord."


Boyd K. Packer a prophet in this, our time, has taught many times about music. He tells us,  "The Spirit does not ratify speech nor confirm music which lacks spiritual substance ... the hymns of the Restoration are, in fact, a course in doctrine!" President Boyd K. Packer, Ensign, Nov. 1991, 22  


Other prophets have also instructed us extensively about the media we place in our minds. (See Russel M. Nelson, 'The Power and Protection of Worthy Music' or David A. Bednar, 'Things As They Really Are')


I am not a musician; you might cringe to hear my vocal chords attempt to sing; but gratitude brings tears to my eyes and silences my mouth when I hear such music. Spencer W. Kimball explained that, "We are in a position, as musicians, to touch the souls of those who listen." Teachings of Spencer W. Kimball (1982), 520 


The best I can do is to pass along great music I find and to listen to the media I encounter selectively.


The First Presidency teaches further, "The hymns can bring families to a spirit of beauty and peace and can inspire love and unity among family members. Teach your children to love the hymns. Sing them on the Sabbath, in home evening, during scripture study, at prayer time. Sing as you work, as you play, and as you travel together. Sing hymns as lullabies to build faith and testimony in your young ones" (First Presidency preface to Hymns, page x).


I think I will sing more. 
I think I will take the prophets at their word. 
I think my mother did. She learned it from her mother.


I am grateful.