We've all talked a lot about our senses and the world Grandpa created for us- this post will be no different. I'll probably be mentioning lots of flashes of memories. Not all of them will have to do with Grandpa directly.
I think my first Thanksgiving memory is at Aunt Lorene's. To this day when I smell celery seeds/salt I think of her house. I remember seeing legs and lots of people. Olsens and Peacocks, but nothing more specific than that. I must have been pretty small.
I remember Thanksgivings in the house. I really liked those. We were REALLY crowded, but all together. Those doing dishes or making food weren't in another building.
I also remember the Thanksgiving Grandpa was redoing the den. We did bunches of crafts. Tole painting.
Then there was the shop. Playing games after dinner. Kristi eating all of the olives, Mitchell eating an entire pumpkin pie.
Christmas:
The ward Christmas party for the OV 1st ward. I was an angel. My cabbage patch preemie was baby Jesus, and my grandpa was the narrator. After we sat on Santa's lap we got a sack of peanuts and hard candy.
The smell of coal burning stoves makes me think of driving home from Grandpa's on Christmas Eve. I don't know why. Plenty of people burned coal for heat- and not just on Christmas. I remember driving around town looking at the decorations. My favorite was the shooting star. As the years went on there were fewer and fewer of those. Grandpa's house always had a snowman on his power pole. I loved that my Grandpa had the best lights in town.
I loved the train under his tree. I loved the Santa that would walk around and ring a bell. The elves, etc. on the front porch, the matching jammies, the Gift of the Magi.
I'm sure it wasn't- but it always seemed effortless to get together and enjoy the holidays. I know that is because all of my cousins were in the same tiny little town. Most people I know claim they come from a small town. Of 30,000 people. I always laugh. They don't know what it is like to be from a small town.
There are lots more, and I know this isn't something specific about Grandpa- and I like to keep things on topic here, but I figure all of these things were possible because of Grandpa and you all might have holiday favorites to share here as well.
Friday, November 19, 2010
Friday, November 12, 2010
Sense of Comfort
About a month ago I took the Praxis exam. In order for my to start my student teaching I need to pass the Praxis with a score of 168. I studied my butt off and I was very nervous. When the results came back I had gotten a 166. I was devastated. I had worked my butt off and I didn't pass. I registered for the test at that moment and I take the test tomorrow morning at 7:00 am. (November 13)
Ok, so here is when the tie this story back to Grandpa.
I work with a girl named Kelli. Kelli is a great friend. Her husband's name is Chandler. I visit with them often and I am very fortunate to have them as friends. I was sitting on my balcony about a week ago and I was pondering on the Praxis and how my career is on the line. At that moment in time I had an idea. I needed a Priesthood blessing before my test. I asked myself, "really, Mitchell?" I hadn't had a blessing since I moved to Logan 2 years ago. I hadn't had a blessing from anyone other than my Grandpa is years. As I sat on my balcony I felt like I was, in a sense, betraying my Grandpa by having another man lay his hands on my head. That was my Grandpa's job not some other person's job. So I asked Kelli to ask her husband to give me a blessing. Thankfully he said yes.
I went to their house last night after work and they fed me dinner and we talked about many wonderful things. I had told Chandler that I hadn't had a blessing from any other man besides my Grandpa in years, and he was quite honored to have the privilege. After we cleaned up the mess, we took a chair in the living room and Chandler asked for my full name. "Mitchell Rue Watson", I said. "Rue?" "Yes, Rue. It is my Grandpa's name." When Chandler placed his hands on my head and started his blessing he never once used a singular pronoun. The first sentence went like this. "Mitchell Rue Watson, by the power of the Melchizedek Priesthood which we hold, we lay our hands upon your head, and we give you a Priesthood blessing". Another thing that I noted during the blessing was Chandler would sway back and forth like Grandpa would.
When the blessing was done I said thank you and on my way home an overwhelming sense of comfort inundated my body, and for those few minutes while I drove in silence, I knew that Grandpa was there. 2 men gave me that blessing. When I got home I sat on my bed with a smile on my face with gratitude in my heart, and I kindly got on my knees and said, "thank you".
I may not be an active member of the church, and I may not ever return to the church, but I will always have an everlasting testimony of the power of the Priesthood, and I have my Grandpa to thank for instilling in me that foundation of a testimony of the power of the Priesthood and for being able to give his grandson a blessing when he needed one.
Ok, so here is when the tie this story back to Grandpa.
I work with a girl named Kelli. Kelli is a great friend. Her husband's name is Chandler. I visit with them often and I am very fortunate to have them as friends. I was sitting on my balcony about a week ago and I was pondering on the Praxis and how my career is on the line. At that moment in time I had an idea. I needed a Priesthood blessing before my test. I asked myself, "really, Mitchell?" I hadn't had a blessing since I moved to Logan 2 years ago. I hadn't had a blessing from anyone other than my Grandpa is years. As I sat on my balcony I felt like I was, in a sense, betraying my Grandpa by having another man lay his hands on my head. That was my Grandpa's job not some other person's job. So I asked Kelli to ask her husband to give me a blessing. Thankfully he said yes.
I went to their house last night after work and they fed me dinner and we talked about many wonderful things. I had told Chandler that I hadn't had a blessing from any other man besides my Grandpa in years, and he was quite honored to have the privilege. After we cleaned up the mess, we took a chair in the living room and Chandler asked for my full name. "Mitchell Rue Watson", I said. "Rue?" "Yes, Rue. It is my Grandpa's name." When Chandler placed his hands on my head and started his blessing he never once used a singular pronoun. The first sentence went like this. "Mitchell Rue Watson, by the power of the Melchizedek Priesthood which we hold, we lay our hands upon your head, and we give you a Priesthood blessing". Another thing that I noted during the blessing was Chandler would sway back and forth like Grandpa would.
When the blessing was done I said thank you and on my way home an overwhelming sense of comfort inundated my body, and for those few minutes while I drove in silence, I knew that Grandpa was there. 2 men gave me that blessing. When I got home I sat on my bed with a smile on my face with gratitude in my heart, and I kindly got on my knees and said, "thank you".
I may not be an active member of the church, and I may not ever return to the church, but I will always have an everlasting testimony of the power of the Priesthood, and I have my Grandpa to thank for instilling in me that foundation of a testimony of the power of the Priesthood and for being able to give his grandson a blessing when he needed one.
Monday, November 8, 2010
Smells
I am a smell person. My sense of smell is very sensitive. Over the years I have come to realize that it is much more sensitive than the average person's. Not only is my nose sensitive but because of it, I associate many memories with smells.
For example, the first couple of times we turned on the furnace after Mom died, I remember how it smelled. Now, I'm sure you have all smelled that smell of the furnace coming on for the first time or two in the fall. Up until that point, I never paid attention to it. Well, that year, when I smelled it, I didn't know what it was. Dad explained that it was the furnace and that it would smell musty like that for the first couple of times it comes on.
Every year since, when my furnace comes on, I remember that first time after Mom died. Always.
Also - shaving cream. I loved being in the bathroom with Dad when he shaved. He used good old fashioned shaving cream. So - I lived there with him for 18 years. I have lived with a husband for 26+ years. Every time I smell shaving cream, I think of my dad. I don't think of Vernon or of Kent but I think of my dad. Never fails. Shaving cream and my dad go together.
Just a few minutes ago, as I was in the kitchen making chicken noodle soup, and I heard it raining outside, I opened the kitchen door. The smell of rain and wet leaves brought back a flood of memories. Oh my goodness. I had flashes of being a young girl, playing outside after school. Of Mom being inside making a dinner just like I was doing right then. I thought of headlights pulling into the driveway and the lamp post being on. (And if the lamp post was on, it meant someone was not home yet). I thought of Dad and how he usually had a piece of bread with jam after dinner while we were all still sitting there at the dinner table. Or he would have one of those pastries that came in a foil pan that slid into a plastic bag. I never liked those.
I think most of my "smell" memories come from being a young girl. It's amazing how the smell of something can trigger a memory for me. Sometimes a long, lost memory or just a flash of a memory.
Why is it that most smell memories are from my growing up years? I'm not sure but in my humble opinion it is because that's where Julie became Julie. Oh she has changed a lot over the years, she evolved after leaving home and experiencing all that she has experienced.
Yet my learning about the world, even though it was a small world at 115 East Center, that's where I discovered the smell of rain, of wet leaves, of shaving cream, of musty furnaces and of so much more.
My parents created that world for me. A place where we paid attention to nature and the changes of each season. And with a Dad who pointed out those things to me. So I'm grateful that I have a very alert nose and very vivid memories.
For example, the first couple of times we turned on the furnace after Mom died, I remember how it smelled. Now, I'm sure you have all smelled that smell of the furnace coming on for the first time or two in the fall. Up until that point, I never paid attention to it. Well, that year, when I smelled it, I didn't know what it was. Dad explained that it was the furnace and that it would smell musty like that for the first couple of times it comes on.
Every year since, when my furnace comes on, I remember that first time after Mom died. Always.
Also - shaving cream. I loved being in the bathroom with Dad when he shaved. He used good old fashioned shaving cream. So - I lived there with him for 18 years. I have lived with a husband for 26+ years. Every time I smell shaving cream, I think of my dad. I don't think of Vernon or of Kent but I think of my dad. Never fails. Shaving cream and my dad go together.
Just a few minutes ago, as I was in the kitchen making chicken noodle soup, and I heard it raining outside, I opened the kitchen door. The smell of rain and wet leaves brought back a flood of memories. Oh my goodness. I had flashes of being a young girl, playing outside after school. Of Mom being inside making a dinner just like I was doing right then. I thought of headlights pulling into the driveway and the lamp post being on. (And if the lamp post was on, it meant someone was not home yet). I thought of Dad and how he usually had a piece of bread with jam after dinner while we were all still sitting there at the dinner table. Or he would have one of those pastries that came in a foil pan that slid into a plastic bag. I never liked those.
I think most of my "smell" memories come from being a young girl. It's amazing how the smell of something can trigger a memory for me. Sometimes a long, lost memory or just a flash of a memory.
Why is it that most smell memories are from my growing up years? I'm not sure but in my humble opinion it is because that's where Julie became Julie. Oh she has changed a lot over the years, she evolved after leaving home and experiencing all that she has experienced.
Yet my learning about the world, even though it was a small world at 115 East Center, that's where I discovered the smell of rain, of wet leaves, of shaving cream, of musty furnaces and of so much more.
My parents created that world for me. A place where we paid attention to nature and the changes of each season. And with a Dad who pointed out those things to me. So I'm grateful that I have a very alert nose and very vivid memories.
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