She Made Me Who I Am

Marty and Gabi, 1970

Exactly forty-three years ago, on a July morning at 7:00 am,
Gabi made me a mom.

I wasn't quite twenty-one when she was born, and I didn't have a clue about what it meant to be a mom. I just knew it was what I was meant to be. (My big fear as a teenager was that I would die before I had kids. I wasn't afraid of how I would die, or being dead, but that my dream of being a mother wouldn't come true. I must have wished on a lucky star!)

She was born breach (and totally natural, I might add) folded in half, and she inhaled before she hit oxygen, leaving her breathless. The nurses worked on her for a few minutes and then whisked her away somewhere, without telling us anything about how she was. After over nine months of togetherness, it was terrifying to be apart. Several hours later they brought her to me. I was overwhelmed—now I was breathless!

For a couple of days I kept trying to say a magnificent prayer of thanks to Heavenly Father for letting me have her, but I couldn't find the words. I felt ungrateful just saying "Thank you, thank you" over and over again, but I think He may have understood.

Early days.

Gabi came into my life only 18 months after Dee did. She's known us almost as long as we've known us! In fact, she helped us become US. She lived in our first tiny trailer home, our second less (but still) tiny trailer home; she rode in the VW and the Vega, and saw Dee as a soldier. She was part of our college life, and part of our pre-TV, pre-income days. We started leaving shoes out for St. Nickolas Day, and cookies for Santa because of her. She made us a family.

I read out loud to Gabi from the day she was born. Mostly I read Dr. Spock as I nursed her, trying to figure out when she'd do something interesting. Dee laid on the floor with her for hours demonstrating how to roll over. It actually took hours of watching her for him to figure out the steps of rolling over. He practiced with her for about six months until she caught on. We figured we'd taught her, not realizing that she'd come already programmed to do every important thing. We didn't have to teach her much. In fact, she taught us.

'Noopy

I read an article about how to make your child a genius. It said to tie helium balloons to your baby's wrists and ankles, and their eyes would catch the movement. Eventually they'd realize they were pulling the strings! I tried it, and it must have worked. She became a genius, and knew how to pull all our string.

She could sing dozens of songs, say the Pledge of Allegiance, recite poems and ask questions by 18 months. By the time she was two, I was asking her questions.

Gabi 1972

Looking back, I see that she brought color into my life. She became my best friend. I'd even consult her about what I should wear! (She knew exactly what they were wearing at the laundromat, and milk depot, which were my usual destinations.) Her siblings started arriving about that time, and it was a joint project for us. I saw her as my confidant and support.

She was an awesome babysitter, first for me, and then for many others. She became a nanny, and tended kids for weeks at a time while their parents traveled. She worked at a nursery school and daycare center during high school, and then majored in Elementary Education. She taught 6th graders who were taller than she was. She also taught Kindergarten and Pre-school. She was born to teach.

She met her perfect match, they got married and worked their way through college for a few years before they graduated. Being the perfect parental candidates didn't translate to being parents. While they waited, they built careers and houses and moved across the country. They traveled and had fun together until the other shoe dropped. They did become parents . . . twice in three years, and then again with twin boys . . . and they did it with a flourish!

It's stunning to look at this woman whom I admire and respect so much, and realize she's my daughter! She sets an example of kindness, hospitality, charity, spirituality and energy that I can't come close to emulating. She changed me forever and I'll be forever grateful to be her mom.

Happy Birthday, Gabi!

Dad: A Good Choice

Heroes, 1983

Forty years ago I chose the father of my children.

Of course I didn't know then what I know now. I chose him because he was cute and funny and he thought I was cute and funny, too. He listened to my rambles and understood what I meant. We dreamed the same dreams and saw the world through the same lens. As far as parenting skills, I assumed he'd contribute curly hair and brown eyes . . . hey, enough for me!

I know a lot of moms who undervalue dads. We women have a superiority complex that lets us think that we do it all, all alone, all the time—and we're pretty good at moaning about it. While there are some awesome single parents (moms and dads) who have that challenge, I'm very blessed to be only half of a team. Here are some elements my other half supplied, one for each year he's been a dad. (I could have listed zillions more.)

Their dad did this with our kids:

1. Made bird feeders during Morning Friends (5-7 a.m. activity time for human early-birds.)
   
2. Constructed a cardboard model of a cathedral.
3. Taught coin collecting, stamp collecting, anything collecting.
   
4. Made real oatmeal for breakfast every day, whether they liked it or not.
   
5. Found out what they wanted to do, and encouraged them to do it.
   
6. Surrounded them with books; always went to parent teacher conferences.
   
7. Made grilled cheese for lunch every Sunday.
8. Held Wunsch Conzerts (classical music turned up full blast Sunday mornings.)
9. Became a builder so they could have a house.
10. Tossed jelly bean prizes for Scripture Chases on Family Night.
11. Featured them in hundreds of photos.
12. Sold his photo equipment to buy them stuff.
13. Taught them it was fun to clean the garage, water the lawn, and shovel the snow.
    
14. Took them to a potato chip factory,
15. A cheese factory,
    
16. The train yards,
    
17. A train museum, gun museum, army museum, every museum.
18. Picked them up from school when they were sick.
19. Paid for broken arms, collar bones, surgeries and fillings.
    
20. Attended their dance recitals, choir concerts, plays, games and meets.
21. Sold his collections to pay for dance, piano, gymnastics, violin and clarinet lessons.
22. Didn't burden them with adult worries.
    
23. Gave them each a year abroad.
    
24. Read all the historical markers on the side of the road.
    
25. Emptied the dishwasher, ironed his shirts, did the laundry and let them see.
26. Drove a no-frills car so they could have one.
    
27. Dried their shoes, polished their shoes, trimmed their toenails, treated their athlete's foot.
28. Took them to the fish hatchery so they'd be sure to catch something.
    
29. With asthmatic lungs, ran the field as a soccer coach,
30. And little league coach; took them tobogganing, golfing, and shooting.
31. Lived when he could have died a few times.
    
32. Was the school's first room-father,
33. The troop's first den-father,
34. Went to scout camps, winter camps,
    
35. Girls camps.
    
36. Let them rebuild a pioneer cabin.
    
37. Made them the center of his life.
38. Loved their mother.
    

I am in awe of good fathers. It's interesting: I wanted to find a good quote to use in this post yet most of the ones I found were condescending or sarcastic. Isn't that sad? Many women who have been disappointed by their own fathers or husbands assign the blame to men in general and seem to spread the word via men-bashing. This sets a low standard for boys, who then don't have much to live up to. Decent dads, who take responsibility, work to support a family physically, spiritually and emotionally, and who set an example of dependability, contribute goodness to the world.

I chose wisely.

Dee and Marta at the zoo
1985

Follow Your Bliss

Chloë and Jess, 2008

If you ask most people what they've always wanted to do, they haven't done it.
Have you?

When I was twelve a teacher had us write a letter to ourselves, listing all the plans and dreams we had for our future. She said she'd send it to us when we were grown up, so we could see if we'd done what we had hoped to do. I never got the letter back and I've often wondered what I wrote.

I'm sure I said I wanted to be a writer, since I was already writing private limericks , embarrassing family stories, back-yard plays, and daily letters to pen-pals and cousins. I had voluminous diaries which were in circulation amongst my little brother's friends. It was easy to grow my readership by letting it slip that I wrote about them.

I tricked my brother into watching me secretly hide the locked diary under my pillow and hang the all-important key on the lamp switch. The intrigue was too much for the neighborhood's Hardy Boy sleuths, and within hours I was a well-known author, being sued for slander and defamation. Hey, it's all good publicity, right?

I had other plans, too. Whenever I was brought back to class from a daydream, I realized again how badly I wanted to go somewhere else: travel. My grandparents gave me a world globe for my 10th birthday, and a favorite activity when I was alone in my room was to close my eyes and give the globe a spin to determine where I'd go someday. Wherever my finger landed was written on a list at the back of my diary for future reference. I actually still have the list. (It's right under my boyfriend list: Kent Spencer, Kenny Clark, Jimmy Day, Steven Jones.) Sadly, my fantasies for my future didn't match up with my parents'. They didn't see my potential in the glorious ways I envisioned it.

They did have high expectations for me: "Marty, you could be a really good pianist if you'd just practice!" "You need to work hard on math, if you want to be a nurse." (I had a kit and a nurse's outfit. It was an OK assumption.) "You've got to type and know shorthand if you want a good job in an office." (These were skills that had served them both well.) "You are smart enough to get a full-ride scholarship, if you just applied yourself" (and went to class regularly). The problem was, these paths didn't excite me and it was easy to set aside what did, with lack of support.

I grew up more aware of what everybody thought I should do than what I could do. It's funny that nobody in my entire world, including me, took seriously my desire to become a writer and/or go traveling.

When I got straight A's in advanced high school creative writing classes, and even an A+ on my freshman English research paper, I was encouraged to clep (skip w/credit) future English classes and get right to work on my major—German—where I was getting C's. In a round-about way, even English teachers were saying "Don't stop here. There's no future here." I got the message that anybody can write. I needed business skills to get a real job, and if I was going to stay home with kids, I didn't need any skills at all.

So much for personal interests. I could write for a hobby, (whenever all my nay-sayers needed something written—like a lesson for Sunday School, or a poem for an invitation, or a skit for their party.)

European travel was another frivolous goal viewed by my parents as too expensive, dangerous, and unnecessary to even discuss. After a few years of nagging him, my dad asked, "Why do you want to go to a place like Germany? They were Nazi's. Our enemies! And the whole country stinks, because they don't take baths." (They had some left-over war-time prejudices!)

They finally agreed to pay half, if I paid half, for a semester abroad in Salzburg, Austria, which changed and defined my life. I had been right about what I wanted. But by then I had new desires to factor in, and "I [happily] took the road less traveled by, and that has made all the difference."

Gretchen at The Happiness Project quoted Walter Murch, an Academy Award-winning film editor and sound designer:

“As I’ve gone through life, I’ve found that your chances for happiness are increased if you wind up doing something that is a reflection of what you loved most when you were somewhere between nine and eleven years old…At that age, you know enough of the world to have opinions about things, but you’re not old enough yet to be overly influenced by the crowd or by what other people are doing or what you think you ‘should’ be doing. If what you do later on ties into that reservoir in some way, then you are nurturing some essential part of yourself. It’s certainly been true in my case. I’m doing now, at fifty-eight, almost exactly what most excited me when I was eleven."

So am I. It's fun to end up where I started. I don't regret a thing. The path I've taken has brought me to the exact place I wanted to get to, and I haven't missed anything important by going the long way around. And I've got joy, experience and wisdom I would have missed if I'd skipped the round-about journey.


What did you want to do when you were ten? Are you doing it now? Why, or why not?

Post Card: The Big Apple

Tender Buttons is a store selling nothing but ribbons and buttons.

It's on 62nd Street very close to Bloomingdales.

The Mysterious Bookshop is a store selling nothing but mysteries.

Located in TriBeCa, with a staff that knows every book. I asked for mysteries that take place in NYC, and I immediately had fifty to choose from.

Books of Wonder is a bookstore that sells nothing but children's books.

It is in Greenwich Village, and was the inspiration for Meg Ryan's bookstore in You've Got Mail. I've spent many afternoons there browsing, while listening to the storyteller entertain the kids. It's a great place to hang out, and you can even buy treats at the cafe.

The Cupcake Cafe sells nothing but cupcakes!

Is this a great city, or what?

Creative Blogger

Some of my sources in hiding, 2007

"The secret to creativity is knowing how to hide your sources."
---Albert Einstein

Creative is a term I associate with crafts. I've always reserved it for people who actually produce a work of art you could hang on a wall, or tell your kids not to touch. My craft is with words. I write because I can't help it. It's like talking but it doesn't bother anybody. All those great ideas I've collected in my head all these years, from zillions of sources, can tumble off my fingers, be rearranged and organized onto a page, becoming a collage of my thoughts.

Lately I've realized writing is my art form. I've read that creativity is allowing yourself to make mistakes, and art is knowing which ones to keep. The Blogosphere is a friendly place to make a mistake, toss it, practice, and finally polish a work of art. It's where I come for my daily creative writing class.

I was delighted when Sher at Sher-ing Time honored me with the Kreative Blogger Award. Sher has been reading my writing since we wrote hysterical notes to each other in Junior High. (She's one of those creative types whose designs actually do hang on walls. I marvel at her stitches, and she laughs at my puns.)

Now I have something to hang on my blog wall!

Receiving this award is like taking the $5,000 bucks from Clinton and Stacy: you have to accept a bunch of rules. Sadly, in this case you don't get a credit card--but you still look hip in the end. New fans, a certain cachet, a sporty swagger in your punctuation . . . it's all in the future of the Kreativ Blogger. I accept the challenge!

Here are my seven nominees:

1. Scenes From the Wild. Michelle has fabulous photography.
2. Purple Diva's Diary. Very, very cool. My daughter-in-law Stie claims she is Carolyn's triplet sister.
3. Grandma's Stitches. Olive's granddaughter is my old/new friend. She writes with authority about recording your past.
   
4. Bye Bye, Pie. Visiting June's blog is like seeing the sunshine after a week of haze.
5. My Life on the East Coast. Rae is chic, bubbly and genuine.
6. A Little Sussy. Nicole is a creative journalist and brilliant photographer.
   
7. This Life is Worth Living. Creative ideas for teaching kids that kindle my imagination.
   

So for all you lucky nominees, here are The Rules:

1. Copy the award to your site.
2. Link to the person from whom you received the award.
3. Nominate 7 other bloggers.
4. Link to those sites on your blog.
5. Leave a message on the blogs you nominate.

I'm honored to be a legitimate Kreative Blogger and excited to suggest these new blogs for your everyday routine. 

Paris Hilton

Sher and me, Paris, 1969

OK, so it wasn't the Hilton. But it was Paris.

Forty years ago today this was where I stayed. It was my first night in Europe, and I was a little freaked out. Built in 1900 as a train station, the hotel was huge: it took ten minutes to walk from our room to the lobby. Automatic light switches left the long halls dark just seconds after I turned a corner, and the interior decorating came out of The Third Man. The bed creaked and featured a chaise lounge type mattress, with three sections. Scared of bedbugs and spiders (I didn't actually see any) I was afraid to stretch my legs down too far under the covers, and I slept off my jet-lag in the fetal position. Years later we visited the hotel, which is now the Musee d'Orsay. It's better as an art museum.

Europe with the Kids '94 Scrapbook

The Hotel du Palais really did have bugs. Situated on the River Seine overlooking the bookstalls, it seemed like a fantastic deal. I had written ahead and reserved a room with private bath to accommodate four kids and two adults for $104 per night--total! (This was 1994. I checked tonight and it's now $34 a person to stay there.)

We hauled our suitcases up six flights to a large room furnished with two double beds and two singles. The bathroom was enormous; two sinks, a shower and a separate tub, plus a long counter. Such space is unheard of in a Paris budget hotel. Dee put a backpack and his coat in the giant walk-in closet and we left our bags to go out and explore the sights.

That night Marta climbed into her bed and noticed tiny little black specks on her sheet. After a minute she realized they were moving! Hundreds of minuscule ants lived in her bed! After a thorough search we were sure they were confined to that little nook, so Marta climbed in with her sisters and the lights went out. Within a minute our imaginations had the rest of us twitching and itching.

The lights went back on and I went into the closet to find the Uno cards to relax with. WHEW!! IT REEKED! Something had to be dead in there! I slammed the door and Pete opened the window to get rid of the stench. We sat staring at each other in horror. This was not the kind of hotel with 24-hour service and a concierge. We phoned downstairs and woke the desk-clerk, (who didn't speak a word of English) to get advice. He yelled a little and hung up. The situation boiled down to this: If we left, we'd have to pack everything and walk down to a deserted Paris street in the middle of the night, in the rain, with no place else to go. Or we could buck up. Dee suggested we just make the best of it, and promptly went to sleep. (I might mention here that Dee doesn't have a sense of smell. Not only did he miss out on the closet odor of death, he carried it around with him on his jacket for the rest of the trip.)

Heidi and Amy dealt the Uno cards and the game started. Rain splashed on the windowsill and mysterious cigarette smoke wafted into the room. Suddenly there were voices right outside our open 6th floor window! Three men in a little swinging box peered inside, shined bright spotlights in our eyes, and spoke to us in French! We were horrified! I called downstairs again and the sleepy clerk explained the situation loudly in his mother-tongue. I hung up. In a few minutes our visitors floated away, and we sat spooked, with our shoes on, pretending we were camping in the woods (with ants, dead animals, and drunks) until the sun came up.

Later we learned from the English-speaking day clerk that our building had been chosen for it's regular twenty-year inspection. The workmen do it at night so the ladders and equipment don't clog the narrow sidewalks below in the bustle of daylight. He assured us the situation would only last a few more nights. Our reply: "Le train part 'a quelle heure?" (When does the train leave?)

Paris is one of our favorite cities so we didn't give up just because of a few unnerving experiences. We've stayed in some of the ritziest hotels, some cheaper but still charming hotels, and some appalling hotels. I'll skip the appalling ones, but I've suggested some memorable places here. (The prices vary with the seasons, and go up every year. I'm giving the price each of their websites listed tonight, Feb 1, 2009.) The starred hotels are our favorites, where we stay time after time and are never disappointed.

1. Four Seasons George V ($939.75 a night. We paid a bundle in 1982, but not this much!)
2. Hotel de Crillon ($700.00 We paid about $300 in 1983, when we were in our heyday. They almost didn't let us in because we wheeled our own carry-on suitcases and wore denim jackets. We had to show them our confirmation slip, since we looked so unlike their normal posh guests.)
3. *Hotel Saint-Louis on the l'Iles de St Louis. Great location by Notre Dame, tiny room. ($178) We've stayed there a few times recently for about $150.
   
4. *Hotel Mansart right by the Place Vendome, and the Opera. Huge room. ($212.)
5. *Brighton Hotel on the Rue de Rivoli, just up the street from the Ritz and the Crillon. Same location, just smaller and cheaper. ($241.)
   

Hotel Brighton entrance, 2008

Brighton Hotel Double Room
$168 Oct 2008

Brighton Hotel Bathroom, Oct. 2008

View out the side window of Brighton Hotel at dawn.

Our room from the outside.

"All journeys have secret destinations of which the traveller is unaware."

---Martin Buber

Whether you're going back to school, emptying your nest, or heading off on vacation to the Paris, Hilton, expect some dark paths, stinky nights and even a few pests. When a spotlight illuminates your circumstances view it from a different perspective. Look for the gleam of experience and the dawn of opportunity. After all, isn't that why you're on this trip?

Think about some destinations in life that you've arrived at unexpectedly.
What did you learn?

Perfect Weekend: We Hit the Books!

Friday 10:00 AM
Marty and Dee enter
Tattered Cover Book Store
LoDo, CO.

There's a welcoming feel there, like you're coming back to a lodge after a day on the slopes.
Cushy chairs scattered on both floors; couches decked with pillows in each room, oak tables and desks hidden in nooks, surrounded by mismatched wooden chairs. The hardwood floors are covered with colorful ethnic rugs.

One task that morning was to search for examples of cover designs depicting a western or cowboy theme. Looking for inspiration is half the fun of a great bookstore. We sifted through pages, noting fonts, dropped caps, title pages, different layouts for appendixes, and how comfortable a book felt in our hands.

It's the final step before finishing a Heritage Associates book. After dreaming up an idea; researching it for months; writing, re-writing, inserting and blending; then editing and rewriting it again; we start the process of photographing; illustrating; and collecting images.

Marta marries the text to the images, with incredible graphic arts skills; scanning, experimenting with fonts, designing chapter layouts, spacing the images and connecting them to the text. Captions are added, paper weight chosen. Pete prints the prototype for binding.

With the finished book in hand, a design for the cover, and leather for the binding are finalized. Hand-made marbleized end papers are chosen for the presentation copies. The book makes the exciting trip to the bindery, where it will become a real book at last. This is our art, and good bookstores hold inspiration for us. We filled notebooks with thoughts and motivating ideas.

"I like being around books. It makes me feel civilized.
The only way to do all the things you'd like to do is to read."
---Tom Clancy

"The great gift is the passion for reading.
It is cheap, it consoles, it distracts, it excites.
It gives you knowledge of the world and experience of a wide kind.
It is a moral illumination."
---Elizabeth Hardwick

We set up a station on the first floor, with a lovely table in the middle of things, close to the cafe for bagels and hot chocolate. Alternating, to reserve our spot, we explored, returning with piles of books from the children's section, the travel section, the photography section, the reference section, the map section.

It was heaven. We stayed all day. At 6:00 we walked next door to a great place, Dixon's,
and ate Prime Rib Sandwiches, Nutty Cheese Salad (with avocados and bananas...the best!)
and Chocolate Croissant Bread Pudding with Vanilla Sauce for dessert.

"When I get a little money I buy books;
and if any is left, I buy food and clothes."
---Erasmus

Bright and early the next morning we were back at our post. This time we set up on the 2nd floor, with all new shelves to peruse. History books, biographies, how-to-write books, poetry, architecture in Eastern Europe . . . we were drowning in knowledge.

"It's in books that most of us learn how splendidly worth while life is . . .
---Christopher Morley

We couldn't leave without a bag full of treasures; we collected our favorites and packed them in.

We paid the tuition for our weekend seminar, and took home the texts.

"Books are wonderful things: to sit alone in a room and laugh and cry,

because you are reading, and still be safe when you close the book;
and having finished it, discover you are changed, yet unchanged!"
---Fay Weldon

Back to reality after a weekend at our favorite resort--
The Tattered Cover!

"A book--a well-composed book--
is a magic carpet on which we are wafted to a world that we cannot enter
any other way."
---Caroline Gordon

If I could pick anywhere to spend a day it would be a beautiful old library or The Tattered Cover Book Store in LoDo, Denver, Colorado. I feel cozy, loved, inspired, creative, and pretty dang smart.

Where would you be??

Planning Your Trip to Europe

European Scrapbook 1994

"Keep him talking," was the whispered advice in our German class. Everybody knew that Herr Bruderer would forget to give the promised test if we asked a question about his beloved Bavaria, and just let him ramble. When he put his feet on his desk, leaned back with his arms behind his bald head and started reminiscing we all relaxed. Grammar and word order issues were set aside in favor of culture and history. But we played right into his hands. It was on those days that we learned the most.

Sitting in Herr Bruderer's class as a sophomore in high school, I set a goal to go on a semester abroad to Austria. I caught his enthusiasm and love for a different land and I wanted to experience it for myself. Although I wasn't sure what it was, I recognized it when I got there.

It is a feel, an aura: cobblestone paths, unsalted butter, the smell of cheese in tiny shops, buildings built before Columbus sailed, restaurants that have been owned by the same family for hundreds of years. These details create the ambiance I pine for.

Colorful curtains, leaded glass window hangings, folklorish fabric on carved wooden chairs, flouncy light fixtures in cafes, embellished gables on houses still occupied centuries after they were constructed, bouquets of dripping umbrellas stashed in a corner stand, fur-trimmed baby buggies: this is European art in it's natural setting.

Europe tugs at the heart in various ways. Peter likes hiking and skiing in the alps, Amy wanders the museums in Paris and Heidi applauds the theater in London. Scott dreams of the World Cup, Paul rode his bike through France, Jolyn shopped for rugs in Istanbul. There are numerous reasons for going to Europe. What are yours?

When I went as a student, I imagined Europe like Disneyland. You know--immaculate streets lined with quaint shops; restaurants serving foreign versions of my favorite American food; people with accents greeting me with enthusiasm; freshly painted trains zipping me from land to land, and dropping me off in the center of a welcoming town square.

Paris was my first stop and I was overwhelmed and disappointed. It was raining, cold, dirty, old, huge and frustrating. The Eiffel Tower was nowhere in sight, and the Notre Dame was dark and dingy. It smelled. I was bored by the long tour of Versailles, having no background on what I was viewing.

Our hotel room looked nothing like the Travelodge standard double I had stayed in with my family. I ordered the only thing I recognized on the menu: Steak with tartar sauce. Come to find out Steak Tartar is French for raw meat loaf made table side, and served with crackers. My friends and I weren't familiar with jet lag, and we were surprised to wake up at midnight. Naively we wandered the streets of Paris, pleased that so many handsome guys were vying for our attention!

Whenever I hear that someone is going to Europe for the first time, especially if they're traveling European style, passing on the Marriott hotels, I urge them to read Europe Thru the Back Door by Rick Steves. Culture shock is so much less shocking if you're prepared. France, Germany, Switzerland, England--these countries have huge cities and medieval towns, with cultures different from each other and different than ours. That's one reason we want to go: to experience different. Rick Steves gives great perspective.

So, you're almost ready to plan your trip. Whenever I start planning something, from a party, to an important conversation, to reorganizing my desk, I ask myself: What do I want to have happen? After a little thought the answers start coming. In the case of a European tour, here are some ideas: I want to see Pompeii; I want to see the Sistine Chapel; I want to see what everyone is so excited about.

If you're anxious to get an overview of lots of places, start thinking how to alternate big cities, countryside, and small villages. Get a map. Decide how long you'll be gone. Be realistic in planning your schedule. For every week you'll be traveling, factor in a couple of days of downtime. You'll want to do your laundry, balance your bank account and sleep in. A whirlwind of cathedrals, art museums, and souvenir shops, with a different hotel each night, makes even the most enthusiastic traveler dizzy. Relax and give yourself time to soak in the atmosphere at a sidewalk cafe, knowing you have a day to catch your breath.

Your assignment is to think about why you want to go to Europe and what you want to have happen. Remember a book or movie that kindled your interest in Denmark or Holland and think about what you want to experience. Just daydream. Planning a trip to Europe can be almost as fun as going on one!

Choose a direction for life

Shrewsbury, England

We crossed the bridge and entered a warren of twisty roads, following a sign that pointed to the Centre. I glanced down at my notebook, and when I looked up I shouted, "There it is! Turn! Turn!" Dee was negotiating the right hand steering wheel, shifting with his left hand, but he still made the pivot into rush-hour traffic. I jumped out near The Lion Hotel to check our accommodations while Dee drove up the street to find parking. That's when he disappeared.

On the road with Oma and Opa.

After a sleepless overnight flight to London, we had decided to drive north to the Shropshire area where our research would start. We were unfamiliar with the drive, but we estimated it would take us about ninety minutes. Unfortunately, our navigator (me) had us exit the freeway too soon, and after a three hour detour on misty country roads, starving and with extremely frazzled nerves, we had reached the medieval town of Shrewsbury.

The list of hotels on the Internet was short, so had I assumed we were staying at one of the only hotels in the middle of a small village. But dozens of hotels and B and B's lined the maze of tangled streets that went off a ring road surrounding the city. Most of the streets were narrow with one-way traffic and I kept my eyes peeled for The Lion as Dee concentrated on avoiding cars, bicycles and pedestrians. I dashed across the street in the rain, while our car disappeared in the drizzle.

After I checked in, I wandered around the small lobby waiting for Dee. He didn't come. A driveway next to the hotel led to what I thought was a parking lot. But it turned out to be too narrow for a car, instead lined with trees and shrubs and garbage cans. Further exploration took me to an alley behind the hotel that connected the back entries of other shops and restaurants. When I came back in, the lady at the desk seemed puzzled when I asked if she'd noticed my husband. She said she'd thought I was alone.

Forty minutes passed, and then an hour. I was so hungry and worried, and exhausted that I could hardly think. Where could he have gone? Had he been in an accident? How would anyone know where to find me and tell me? Nobody in the world knew exactly where we were! What if he'd been kidnapped? Panic turned to near hysteria. I ran into the lobby bathroom and threw up. Again I asked at the desk and then went upstairs to see if he'd somehow found our room. Back in the lobby I paced for another thirty minutes, close to tears, my imagination taking me to horrible places.

And then Dee came through the door. Flooded with relief, I unaccountably yelled at him, "Where have you been?" He answered with equal exasperation, "I've been lost!"

As it turned out, there was not a place to park nearby, and the road continued through the center of town, with a labyrinth of confusing paths, taking him back to the ring road. Dee didn't have an address for the hotel or even a name; I had all the information with me. He couldn't remember where I had gotten out of the car, and he didn't recognize any street-signs or landmarks. How could he find his way? He didn't know where he was going!

The Lion, Shrewsbury, 2004.

I think lots of people are lost because they don't know where they're going. Life can be like Shrewsbury seemed to Dee: a maze of confusion, dead-ends and unfamiliar paths. Folks are weary, just searching for a direction.

After a lot of wrong turns, Dee finally felt a spark of inspiration. The answer to my frantic prayers came when he recognized the little driveway. It didn't go where either of us thought it would, but it brought him back to me.

I am so blessed to have direction in my life, and a destination I'm sure of. And I don't want anyone I love to get lost!

Secrets of a Happy Marriage

The Stars of Our Marriage
1969-2008

"There are many things, I'm sure," she said, "without which we could not live...
But love is the only one I can think of."

Some secrets for staying in love, so you never have to live without it:

1. Recall why you fell in love in the first place.
   
2. Count your together blessings, together.
3. Tell private jokes, and laugh often.
4. Think about the problems you used to have and how you solved them together.
5. Anticipate doing something you both love to do.
6. Watch your favorite old movie.
7. Take a long drive and listen to the music of your olden days.
8. Pray for each other.
   
9. Decide that unity is more important than being right.
10. Remember that love is not something you get, it's something you do.

Art by Warren Davis

My marriage is 39 years old today,
and I count my lucky stars!

Life Lessons of a Forty-Niner

Magazine Cover, Unknown

Today I start my 60th year. I'm a 1949-er, born in the first half of the last century...how old does that sound?? Having just spent some time with a newborn baby, I realize I've acquired awesome skills, knowledge and wisdom over these many years. I wouldn't want to start over!

Think about what you've learned in life while I count the blessings of being 59.

I can:

1. Feel a sense of peace
   
2. Identify hundreds of individual voices
3. Crawl (that takes coordination!), roll, balance and walk
   
4. Distinguish colors and hues (think of all the shades of green in the woods)
   
5. Follow a sound to it's source
6. Identify emotions in other people
7. Differentiate numbers, letters, symbols
8. Know when something is upside down
9. Perceive danger
10. Appreciate lovely scents
11. Feel the mood of the crowd
    
12. Anticipate cold
    
13. Steel myself for pain
14. Wait for food
    
15. Smell fire
16. Read
17. Entertain myself with my thoughts
18. Plan ahead to accomplish tasks
    
19. Organize my surroundings
    
20. Drive to a new address
    
21. Feed myself without getting it in my hair
    
22. Clean up a kitchen quickly
    
23. Follow directions
    
24. Wait without having a tantrum
25. Sense a need for quiet
26. Make unpleasant phone calls
27. Talk to strangers
28. Create a pleasant atmosphere
29. Face a crisis
30. Eat something that looks yukky
31. Smile when I've been insulted
32. Hold my head up when I'm embarrassed
33. Tackle a job I don't know how to do
34. Look calm when my knees are shaking
35. Pretend I'm having a good time
36. Say no to someone asking for a favor
37. Turn on the computer
38. Understand why old people rant about changes in the world
    
39. Remember why young people think they invented the world
40. Recall the poetic lyrics to classic songs
41. Watch black and white movies without whining
    
42. Wait out a bad mood
43. Accept a compliment
44. Expect respect
45. Laugh at irreverence
46. Put financial problems in perspective
47. Love others with no expectations
48. Let my kids make decisions
    
49. Follow a football game
50. Value another opinion
51. Discern when a person is genuine
52. Choose which traditions I'll follow
53. Trust my intuition
54. Appreciate old friends, even if I never see them
    
55. Pray with total faith that I'm heard
56. Accept that I'm not always right
57. Not try to top everyone's story
58. Tell the difference between Coke, Diet Coke and Pepsi
59. Cry for joy
    

Knowing how to do something is an accomplishment. Doing it at the right time is a different thing. For that I'll need a few more birthdays!

Make a list of the things you've learned in life. Then cheer yourself on.

Go Forty-niners!!

BYU Blog Talk

Business Card by Amy

I've received requests for copies of the speech I gave at BYU Women's Conference May 2nd, on blogging. If you are interested, please send a request and your email address to my email and I'll send the file to you.

This talk was given as part of a presentation on Family Reunions. I spoke on how to strengthen ties between family members using the Internet and Blogs. It is in a religious context, has some scriptural references, and is not a workbook for the technology of blogs. I used some material that has already been published on my blog, and I will publish more excerpts as posts in the future. (I say all this so you'll know what to expect.)

My talk as a whole has a copyright, but you are welcome to quote from it, or share segments of it, as long as it is attributed to me, with my name and email address. If you use any part of it on your blog it must be linked to travelinoma.blogspot.com You do not have permission to use it in it's entirety for any reason, and long excerpts must be in quotes and linked. If someone else wants a copy of the whole talk, have them email me. My talk may not be used in any commercial form.

I'm thrilled so many of you want to read it and share it, but I'd like to have it seen in the context I created. Thanks!!!

Gathering History in Austria

Down to work.
This was, after all, a business trip.

Dee is writing a family history for Clive Client. (Names have been changed.) Clive's Dad came to the USA from Vienna as an 18-year-old boy in the 1950's, leaving his family behind. Dad's sisters, Aunt Louisa (now 75) and Aunt Greta (now 65) still live in Austria, and have all the scrapbooks, letters, photos and memories that are left. We drove to a mountain village near Salzburg to interview them.

Aunt Greta lives on a 12th-century farm comprised of four buildings, with a grassy courtyard in the middle, and surrounded by orchards. She and her husband (who is an architect) restored the home 40 years ago, and raised eight children.

We sat around her kitchen table and Dee and the aunts all spoke German. I majored in German many years ago, and after a while my language skills kicked in and I could follow the conversation pretty well. I laughed and nodded appropriately, but groped and stuttered if I was required to answer.

*On a side note: The Familie Greta has a big gathering every summer, inviting everyone they know to bring anybody else. The guests bring cots or sleeping bags, and sleep wherever they find a spot. There are huge pot-luck meals, and the entertainment is pot-luck as well. Those attending are encouraged to give lectures, conduct discussions, teach crafts, organize sports or games, and provide music. Often Aunt Greta and her husband don't even know the people staying at their home. It lasts three days! Doesn't that sound like an interesting tradition?

Anyway, we spent almost the whole day, mesmerized by the family stories. They told us about their parents who were living in Vienna when the Archduke was assassinated, which started World War I. Aunt Louisa was 5-years-old when the Nazi's took over Austria in 1938. (Picture the von Trapp family escaping in Sound of Music.) She remembers looking through the rubble for treasures when the Allies bombed Vienna during World War II.

After the war Austria was divided up like Germany was, and Vienna had four sectors, like Berlin. (Have you seen the movie called The Third Man?) Our Client family lived in the Russian zone when the Communists were in charge, and the aunts recalled their mother standing in long lines for hours trying to buy food for her five little children.

We heard about their father traveling to his native village in Bohemia (now the Czech Republic) for a family wedding. It broke his heart when the Nazi's and later the Communists made it impossible for him to take his family there to visit their ancestral home.

Dee copied down names, dates and addresses and picked portraits from the scrapbooks the aunts could scan and send him. We were ready to leave Salzburg, and discover more.

In Vienna we found archives that provided local history, as well as specific locations and directions to areas that had been bombed and rebuilt.

A used bookshop had a back room with boxes of dusty maps. We were looking for villages in the Austro-Hungarian Empire, a country that doesn't exist anymore. Cities were renamed when different regimes took power. It was a challenge to find a town on an old Bohemian map spelled one way, and then try to find it on a modern map.

(This challenge was taken a step further when we arrived in the Czech Republic and discovered that the towns on our Austrian/German language map weren't spelled the same way on the Czech map.)

Art collections were resources for local turn-of-the century city scenes,

and antique stores offered an assortment of old photos, stamps, coins and other ephemera to use for graphics in the book.

Churches and cemeteries had records of births, christenings, marriages and deaths.

We hired a driver for a day (Charlie) and Dee gave him a list of all the places we wanted to photograph.
(Charlie was also a fan of Harry Lime, of Third Man fame, and pointed out those important sites, too.)

We documented it all. (I took 455 photos on this trip!)

Great Grandpa Client had expressed the desire that his homeland be remembered.
and we wanted to honor his wishes.
After all, we'd visited his home, his work, and his grave, and felt pretty attached to the man.
His birthplace was important for the record.

How hard would it be to find Tabor? It was only a couple of inches away on the map.
We decided we had to try.

"Attics and Basements"

Corn Market in Ledbury, England

I'm feeling nostalgic and grateful today.
Dee received advice from a wise man twenty years ago that changed our lives.

(I need to give some background first.)

Dee decided to change careers in 1985, yada, yada, yada, and we moved to York, England for a year while he got a master's degree in Historic Preservation.

During that time, the Mormon Church was preparing to celebrate 150 years in the British Isles, and a professor at BYU knew we were living there. He was writing a book, and searching for some particular historical sites in England. Memorable events and locations were detailed in diaries written 150 years before (by Heber C. Kimball and Wilford Woodruff,) however the places had disappeared from modern maps.

Farms, churches and landmarks mentioned were called Hilltop Farm, Castle Frome, Benbow Pond or Job Pingree's Mill. Although the names were well-known to LDS historians, the actual places were lost in the "depths of the country." Dee was asked to follow the journals to discover appropriate locations where the Church could place historic plaques, hold celebrations, and even purchase property for the British saints to enjoy.

Yorkshire Countryside

Over several months we traveled the length and breadth of England's tiny, crooked village roads, using 100-year-old ordnance maps, and collecting information from local folks. Church members had immigrated en masse to Utah in the 1850's, and their important places weren't important to the people now living in England.

Most of the modern Mormons didn't know the history of their earlier counterparts who had left, and were unfamiliar with the church sites themselves. (This was the reason for the celebrations, plaques and book in the first place.) Without the aid of a computer, satellite map, or GPS, we felt like real-life explorers gathering a bit of information here and there for a basic primer the saints could study.

Ours was an unpaid position; we actually paid all our own expenses, too. It was a hard time in our life to go a second year without income. But we discovered that we loved gathering history and assembling the pieces together, like a puzzle. Until places, facts and human stories are compiled and put into written form, they are inaccessible. Students can't easily learn what the information is until it's organized into a book. We wondered if anyone would pay for this kind of on-the-ground research. It was valuable, necessary and we were getting good at it.

Using a magnifying glass to read the old maps, we found markets, lodgings, and ponds, and then transposed them onto modern maps. Sometimes the roads were gone; often we had to climb out of the car and peer through high hedgerows to see the ruins behind them. Luckily things don't change too quickly in England and we eventually sent our author friend directions from a cemetery in Llanelli, Wales to a home on the Isle of Man, to a stone wall in Downham, Lancashire, with many significant farms, chapels, and rivers in between.

When we returned home, Dee served on the committee that prepared the historical markers. He also put together a private preservation trust and raised money to purchase and rebuild some of the buildings we had found in ruins. There are guided tours in Britain designed around these sites today.

Gadfield Elm Chapel

The next year we went back to England for a month to set up displays in town halls and libraries around the country, and transport the plaques to their destinations. When it was all over, it was time to find a real job.

Dee had a chance to interview Gordon B. Hinckley during this time. He was a counselor in the 1st Presidency. He asked Dee about his career plans after the Sesquicentennial was over and Dee told him he was considering a job in the church archives.

President Hinckley recognized some characteristics and talents unique to Dee. He said this:

"Dee, history is not just in the archives. Most of it is in the attics and basements of everyday people, waiting to be discovered. You tell those stories."

Dee in his office.

And so, Dee decided on a career of Gathering History. There wasn't much of a job description for his made up profession, but over the years he's gathered those pieces, too. Offhand Words of a Prophet: Dee took them to heart and figured out how to make them applicable to himself. Now he spends weeks in attics and basements all over the world finding treasures, and giving life to long dead heroes.

And his assistant couldn't be happier.

Me in library Amesbury, MA