Our wonderful little dog, Troubles We really missed our dad when he was away working construction. Sunday Mother and Dad didn’t always go with us to Sunday School.  It seemed Mother never had anything to wear, and Daddy’s hearing was so bad that he would tend to drift off to sleep during the meeting and be embarrassed.  When Daddy was home, he always shined our shoes to a high shine.  He also checked our clothes to make sure we didn’t have pins holding blouses together instead of buttons.  While at church, I remember trying to put my shoes as far under the bench as I could because I was embarrassed by the shoe polish smell. Jean and I would get home from Sunday School, and after eating a good “Sunday Dinner” (pot roast, mashed potatoes, a vegetable and salad, bottled fruit for dessert), Daddy would sit in the living room with one of us on his lap, while the other would sit on a chair right beside him.  He would then read the “funny papers” to us.  What a wonderful memory that is!  He was so patient and seemed to love having us close to him.  He always made the statement to friends and family, “I’m so proud of my girls!”  Jean said that one of her friends told her, “I wish my Daddy would read the funnies to me.” I do remember a birthday party where we all gathered on the floor in a circle, a candle in the middle.  All around us it was dark.  We would tell scary stories.  Sometimes we would scream at the ending of a story. Mother always baked pumpkin pie and made hot chocolate for my parties.  I found a poem my Aunt Maude, my mother’s sister, had written about Halloween.  I would like to share it.  If you notice, some of these items can’t be given out on Halloween anymore. HALLOWEEN When the goblins are a coming And the witch is riding high, When the wind is moaning softly To the moon up in the sky. There will be some little people All the way along the street; And you’ll hear them all a knocking And a saying “trick or treat.” Get your candy dishes loaded, Fill your apple basket high, Put some nuts around right handy. Pile up popcorn to the sky, Gather everything that’s tacky, ‘Specially if it’s nice and sweet For those funny little people Coming for their treat. Grandpa’s Room Grandpa’s room went through the most changes in our home. A door led into his room from our dining room.  When Grandpa was alive I remember him spending much of his time in his bed, occasionally going out onto the porch on the west side of our house. (A door from his room as well as a door from the kitchen led onto the porch.) Jean, being four years older than me, remembers Grandpa sitting in his bedroom or walking with his cane out into the back yard and, while standing, would move his cane back and forth, watching a cat chase it. Jean also remembers Grandpa taught her how to count in Swedish up to ten. Our mother was very strict about our going into Grandpa’s room without her knowledge.  He was 82 years old when we moved in with him from King’s Ranch.  I was two years old.  His feet were very bad, having amputated his toes as a young man (see Grandpa Anderson’s journal).  He never stopped walking, and I’m sure by this age he was feeling a great deal of pain. I want to mention here that my grandpa helped build the wall at the Manti Temple.  We have a picture of                         this event.  Grandpa Anderson is the tallest man in the back middle with a hat on.  He is my hero. I remember seeing him sitting out on the kitchen porch in a rocking chair with another man. (I’m supposing he was the child Grandpa brought back from Sweden after his second mission to live with them until the child’s parents could get to Utah.) The two of them would sit there singing songs in Swedish. On the walls in Grandpa’s room were the pictures of “The Gleaners” and the picture Grandpa took of a ship in Sweden that was caught in the ice.  These pictures were later moved into other areas of our home.  Grandpa’s bed was on the east side of his room facing west.  It seemed to me to be a very high bed.  Next to his bed and the door into his room was his rocking chair.  (Jean has that chair now.  I have his desk and captains chair.) Just inside of the door to the foyer on the south side of his room was a closet.  Also, his desk and captain’s chair was located on the south side with a long, high window.  Another long window was located on the west side of his room. I have a memory of a bookcase just inside the door leading to the porch.  I’m not sure where he kept his sugar cubes.  They were kept in a glass jar of some kind.  Both Jean and I remember the sugar cubes.  Jean remembers he also had hardtack candy.  When we were allowed in his room, he would tell us we could have one or two sugar cubes.  They were a real treat.  I don’t remember going in often.  Mother, being a nurse, took good care of Grandpa.  He said to my Aunt Josephine about Mother, “The Lord sent her here, for she is so good to me.” Renters Jean had to remind me we had renters sometime after Grandpa died.  Money was always scarce and this was a source of income.  Grandpa’s room and the two upstairs rooms belonged to the renters.  I have a vague memory of a trailer sitting in our back yard for a short while.  The first renters, according to Jean, had a baby that cried all the time.  Poor Mother, never one to interfere, suffered, listening to it cry.  I’m not sure if she ever was able to be of some assistance but the baby died. Jean said she and I were the pallbearers.  I have blocked that from my memory but have had terrible nightmares over the years of trying to help babies that were abandoned, cleaning them up, feeding them, changing them, or not being able to quite get to them.  I am now wondering if those nightmares might have come from this experience. We had one other renter after that.  Taken from my dad’s journal, written to Aunt Josephine: Aug.23, 1939 Our renters left a week ago Saturday so it gave us more room.  We were glad to get rid of them.  They were all right for a while but they sure put it over the last while.  They at least paid their rent. They must have been pretty bad for my dad to say anything bad at all about them. He was always so kind. The Foyer On the east side of our house we had a wooden, covered front porch. Two doors lead into our house from the porch. When entering the livingroom/bedroom, you went through the door on the north.  Entering into the foyer, you walked through the west door.  Once inside the foyer, you could turn again to the north and walk into the livingroom/bedroom or straight on into Grandpa’s room/Dad and Mother’s room.  Sounds confusing but it worked.  Did I mention that while in the foyer, you could also go up the stairs, entering into our bedrooms.  There was a little door under the stairs (still in the foyer).  I don’t think anything was stored in it. Every night, Jean and I passed through the foyer to go up the stairs to bed.  Nightmares are not unknown to me, but the biggest “nightmare” I had when I was young was when I had to go through that foyer to get to my room upstairs, knowing Jean was in there hiding, waiting for me to walk through the door into that dark foyer (at that time there was no light in the foyer).  I would just KNOW she was there.  I could feel it!  I would call out, “I know you’re in there, Jean, come out!  Let me see you!” but I would get no response. Tension. Terror, that’s how I felt.  Finally I would say, “I’m coming in.  I’m not afraid!”  I would slowly enter through the open door.  Jean, lunging at me, with her arms up in a bent and threatening way, would growl, “Gotcha!”  I would SCREAM!  Where was my mother?  I never remember her coming to my aid.  I’m sure she would have called from some location in the house to tell us to settle down and get to bed.  I remember that it happened several times.  I still remember jumping when Scott would come up behind me and quietly say, “Gotcha.”  The terror is still there! The Stairs The stairs were narrow, wooden and steep.  Jean and I would “slide” down the stairs on our bottoms.  Sometimes we would get a rug and go much faster.  Mother did not approve of our sliding.  She would tell us, “Don’t wear out those steps!”  I don’t think we did much damage.  When we visited the old home sixty-some years later, the stairs looked a little worn, but I don’t think we did it! The stairs led into my bedroom.  Passing through my bedroom you could go into Jean’s room or the attic!  Jean’s door had a lock on it; mine, you just entered straight into it from the stairs, and from my bedroom was the door into the attic.  The Attic The attic was always a scary room at night.  I remember we loved to explore the attic when I was little and it was light in the room.  A little window looked out from the east of the room.  The shingles over the attic needed repair and often soot would drop into it.  When we would come out from our explorations, we would have soot on our hands and clothes. Wonderful things were found in that room. Grandpa’s beautiful collection of rocks was there.  I have recognized the rocks in his collection in formal collections in museums I have visited.  Grandpa used to walk up into the quarry near the farm, always looking for unusual rocks.  He must have also collected them from other sources.  I loved to handle them, rubbing the smooth ones against my face and rolling them in my hands.  There were many colors—silver, gold, orange, a beautiful bluish color.  I loved them all. We never knew what happened to his collection.  Our house was rented for a year when we moved to Provo.  Perhaps the renters took them during that time, or perhaps our Aunt Alvilda claimed them. Jean and I never knew—so sad. Another memory we had in that room was of a lovely lounging chair.  It was long, covered in maroon velvet, with no arms.  We always looked at the chair as though a movie star would lounge on as she was getting her picture taken, looking sultry and beautiful.  I’m afraid it was a little soot covered, but to us it said “glamour”.  We would carefully lounge on it ourselves, dreaming our dreams and getting soot all over us. Grandpa had a contraption (I don’t know the name of it) that you could put pictures in and the pictures became 3D.  I have since seen pictures similar to it, but to us, at that time, it was magic.  The pictures had hard backs so they could be put in between the holders and stand straight.  They were old, mostly pictures of Sweden.  I know we sometimes had the pictures, with their interesting holders, downstairs where we could sit and see places from far away—away from our little attic, away from our little house, away from our little town.  Dreams!  I was always a dreamer. During the night, the dark night, the attic had a different personality—it became a horror movie, a place where dark things lived and wanted to get us! Somehow I managed to make peace with it.  I had to.  The door did lead from my room straight into it.  But Jean, behind her closed and locked door, would sometimes come running into and across my room, jumping on my bed to turn on the bare light bulb hanging above my head, then climbing into my bed next to the wall, waking me up from my pleasant dreams, with the light shining in my face.  I would plead, “Turn out the light.”  She was four years older than me and stronger, so I would put the pillow over my face and try to find my way back into sleep.  Jean would cover her face with the bed covers, feeling safety from the light and my little hostile body beside her. My Bedroom I will tell you the physical layout of my room. On the south side, near my only window, I had an old double bed.  The mattress and springs (not the box springs of today, just springs) were old, and underneath, were three wooden slats holding them up.  I had a headboard with round, brass posts. I know this sounds terrible, but sometimes at night, Jean and I would press our chewing gum onto a post.  We did not get gum often and we felt it necessary to keep it as long as we could.  Of course, the flavor had gone from it, and the gum was a little hard in the morning, but after chewing it for a while, it softened up. After all, this was the 1930’s. When our household duties took us upstairs to clean or make beds, Jean and I would dare each other to jump on the bed.  We would be getting along so well until one of the slats would break, making a terrible noise.  We would stare at each other, waiting for Mother to yell, “What is going on up there!” Children never learn the first time, or the second time.  Perhaps we learned the third time.  I used to think to myself: We were happy and doing something together for a little while.  How sad we messed up! The wardrobe was in my room.  This could have been right out of C. S. Lewis’ The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. Only there were not any fur coats hanging in it; I can’t really recall what was in it.  I can just remember that it stood next to Jean’s bedroom door, on the north side in my room.  It was big and dark.  At night it was also a little intimidating.  As Jean and I contemplated the fact that we didn’t have closets in our house, we wondered: Where did we keep our clothes?  We don’t know! My room had a long window looking south, facing out towards the apple orchard. Many a spring night, I would kneel with my arms resting on the windowsill, breathing in the fragrance of the big, white peony bush in the middle of the lawn below and the apple blossoms that filled the apple trees. As I mentioned before, I was a dreamer.  When I became a teenager (14, 15, 16), my fantasies were always encouraged by the fragrances of those spring nights. There was nothing fancy in our house.  Our bedrooms were for sleeping and some privacy (Jean’s, not mine).  The floors were wooden.  Still, I have some wonderful memories of sitting on the floor playing with paper dolls.  I loved playing paper dolls! I remember paper dolls of the Quintuplets, movie stars with glamorous dresses, etc.  If I didn’t have any new ones to play with, I would get out the Sears and Roebuck catalog.  Cutting out women with fancy coats, long dresses, etc., was almost as good as having a new book of paper dolls. One year, Uncle Mark (my mother’s brother) made me a little desk.  How I loved playing school and office!  I would sit at my desk, placed in front of my window, and be a most efficient office person.  One Christmas I was a given a little register.  It looked so official sitting on my desk.  Somehow I can never pass up the office supply isle in any store; those special memories have been etched deep into my psyche.  I mostly played alone so I could be the teacher, the office manager, whatever I wanted.  I would play for hours and hours in that special room of mine.  This desk was sometimes placed in front of the little east window in the attic after Daddy had replaced the shingles on the roof. “Coloring books” was another special pastime for me as a child.  One Christmas, Jean and I both were given a big coloring book of amazing women in period clothing.  My imagination soared as I colored them.  Then, all too soon, mine was all colored in. I have never loved a coloring book like I loved that one.  Now you will see how imperfect I was.  I wanted to color more.  Jean had hers in her room.  Maybe she won’t mind if I color a few pages of hers.  I found her usually-locked room to be unlocked.  Hurrah! Now where would she keep it?  Oh yes, in her cupboard (I didn’t own one).  I tried the cupboard door—It was locked!  Didn’t she trust me?  Why did she always have to lock things up?  I’m sure you can guess why.  Being a little sister can be so hard.  (Never mind being a big sister.) Jean’s Bedroom Jean’s room had a north window.  Jean and I must have slept together in her room during the winter.  Our mother always cracked the window so we would get fresh air.  We would be so cold and would reach out our freezing feet to warm them on each other—no way! We were lucky enough to have a dog that liked to sleep with us.  He would wiggle down to the bottom of the bed and would only nip at us if we got too pushy while getting him into the right position for our cold feet.  I do remember wrapping up a brick (when we didn’t have a dog) that had been heated in the oven, wrapped in a cloth, and put down into the bottom of our bed.  We didn’t have any heat upstairs for years. Finally, Dad put a register in the floor over the Heatarola in the dining room below, so the heat from the fire would rise and warm Jean’s room.   I also loved the sound of the wind blowing in the big poplar trees in our front yard.  I would snuggle down, blanket wrapped close around me, and feel safe. That sound was so comforting. Before Jean and I would run upstairs, we always kissed our parents goodnight. They would then tell us to say our prayers.  I don’t remember kneeling down at the side of the bed until later in my life.  I believe it might have had something to do with how cold it was in our bedrooms in the winters.  I do remember being snuggled down, neither of us saying anything, until we were sure the other one had finished with their prayers. After having children of my own, I remember being in a family’s home, and when they sent their children to bed, they didn’t kiss them goodnight nor mention saying prayers!  I was shocked.  I felt so bad for those children. I have now come to the end of memories of my house.  It has been wonderful to relive so many memories.  I am nearing my eightieth birthday, and all this has felt like it was yesterday.  I am so thankful for wonderful parents that have loved my sister and me.  They were great models for us both.  As I said, our dad always said, “I’m so proud of my girls.”  Those words have rung in my ears all my life.  Our mother was a worrier, but she had a great sense of humor!  Because of her example, laughter has saved me many an embarrassing moment.  My sister is so dear to me.  We had a rocky childhood together, but the memories of Christmases, Fourth of Julys, Valentines Days, Easters, playing in the barn and granary together, listening to our mother reading to us, has solidified our love for each other, and after all, we finally grew up!