A Strange Memory

I'm not sure just how to start this "memory" post, but I keep being reminded of this memory so I guess I will just start writing.

It keeps happening lately when I am walking through Wal-Mart grocery section, back by the juice and drink section. When I walk past the lemonade, fruit juices and things in the glass bottles, back in the back in the open coolers. Something jogs a memory or feeling about a vacation we were on or something like that. I have this fleeting feeling that we were looking for a drink and thinking how exciting it was because we didn't get to purchase things like that in our normal, everyday life. But because this was a vacation, we were able to get something special to go with our lunch. Do any of the other sisters remember a time like that? It seems like we were out of state, in a large grocery store, buying things for lunch. I remember thinking it was cold because of the open coolers and we were trying to decide which glass bottle of drinks we were going to get. I can't place where or when it was happening, but if feels so real.

It is funny what little snippets of memories we can feel more than remember. I wish I could ask Mom or Dad about it. It is probably something that no one else remembers, just something that is tucked away in my mind, but I feel it so many times when we walk through that place in the store. I never stop to buy anything, just get that same feeling each time. It must have been something that really impressed me at the time. Probably excited because it was something new!

March 19

So I have spent the bitter part of the week dealing. Like really dealing. Emotionally,mentally, physically dealing. We are going through infertility treatments currently and have become a walking pin cushion. We really felt like this last cycle was the one. As our Endocrinologist was looking things over it looked like 3 were going to be released. And then the due date was discussed if in FACT any of the 3 decided to stick around.

The Due date was March 19.

We found it Ironic because we were adamant on Naming this child after her grandmother ( if it was a girl) so her Middle name was going to be Lori. And we all knew her name was going to be Emmalee. Well around November things were crazy with us and we decided that we didn't feel just right about everything and things backed off. Then grandpa died.

The other day we were talking about Names because we weren't sure if we were pregnant or not. I asked D if I could name my sweet baby after Grandpa Rue. When we have a child and it is a girl Her name will be Emmalee Rue Brown. Then when we found out the due date we knew it would be perfect.

But like life, it didn't go perfect. There will be no baby On March 19. And in true RUE fashion, I tore apart my kitchen table and went to town sanding it. The smell of the sawdust and the feel of the wood... I knew that I learned something from him.

Wow... I am still sanding.... And in the end it will perfection. Nothing less

Blessings

I grew up in a home where many priesthood blessings were given in times of need. I remember the night before I started jr high. I was very nervous and my dad came down to my room and gave me a blessing. Many, many times over the course of my life, my dad gave me a blessing.

They didn't stop when I got married. Unfortunately, Vernon didn't grow up in an LDS home. He didn't understand the power of the priesthood. He hadn't even heard very many blessings given by anyone. He was very hesitant to give them. So even after I got married, I turned to my dad to give me a blessing. Dad/Grandpa not only gave me blessings but my children as well.

Every year, the night before school started, we made the journey to Grandpa's or he came to our house. It was a long standing tradition. He gave them blessings when they were sick or hurt.

Last week, I was sick. I was very sick. I wore out the floor from my bed to my bathroom. After 24 hours of thinking "this is the end," I asked Kent to give me a blessing. As he did so, I thought back on the blessings of my dad. As much as I'm grateful that Kent, my sweet husband, can give me blessings now, I still miss my dad doing that for me.

The morning of his funeral, I woke up with cramps. Cramps combined with nerves from having to speak, made it hard for me to stand up straight. I had planned on asking Kent to give me a blessing before the funeral. We were at the church, along with the funeral directors. The church was quiet, the snow was falling and Kent and I went into the Relief Society room to give me a blessing.

Kent pulled the chair over by Grandpa's casket and he gave me a blessing there. For us it was a very spiritual experience and one that I am so thankful for. I knew my dad was there.

The other night, as Kent gave me that blessing, I knew that once again, my dad was there. I am so thankful for a father, who honored his priesthood and who loved me.

A side note: Several years ago I was talking to a non-member. They said they didn't understand why women would want to be a member of this church where we were basically second class citizens because we couldn't hold the priesthood. Their question didn't bother me at all because I knew that I was not a second class citizen.

A couple of years ago, I had a terrible cold. I think I almost OD'd on NyQuil. I had taken so much to find even a little relief that it made me sick to my stomach. I spent the better part of the night on the bathroom floor. When I was able to get up, I went in and woke up Kent and asked him to give me a blessing.

A week later, Kent had a terrible cold and he was on the bathroom floor in the middle of the night. I asked him if he wanted me to call someone to come and give him a blessing.

Light bulb moment: For me, the priesthood was immediately available. I didn't have to call someone, wake them up, wait for them to arrive. All I had to do was wake up Kent and the blessing was there. Not the case for him. He didn't get a blessing that night because he didn't want to bother anyone.

So - second class citizen? No way.

The priesthood was available to me immediately. I benefit from the priesthood in my home without having the responsibilities that go with it. No one will call me in the middle of the night to come and give them blessing. I think women have the best of both worlds as far as the priesthood is concerned.

I'm grateful that the priesthood is in my home - available and immediate. Thank you Kent.

Just Grandpa

I only have/had one Grandpa. My dad didn't have much to do with his family and my Grandpa Watson died when I was younger. They were all the way in California.

I was thinking about the name of this blog, "Memories of Grandpa Rue". For me it kind of feels like there is more information there than I need. I am not making a dig at the title or anything of the sort. This blog is meant for a lot of people to use, and lots of them have/have had more than one Grandpa. I am simply making an observation that in my life he wasn't Grandpa Rue. He was just Grandpa. It is kind of like if I were talking to my mom about Nicky and said, "My cousin Nicky." All I need to say is "Nicky".

In my life if I were referring to some other Grandfatherly figure, they received the modifiers. Grandpa Olsen, Grandpa Guy, Grandpa Watson. If "Grandpa" was ever mentioned in conversation, it was Grandpa Rue.

In fact, it feels funny saying "when 'Grandpa' was mentioned in conversation... it was Grandpa Rue". My thought actually went more like this, "when 'Grandpa' was mentioned in conversation... it was Grandpa". It is kind of like when you talk to your friends about your parents you say, "My mom." When you're talking to your sibling you don't say, "My mom" you say "Mom".

Things changed when I had Daphne. Suddenly we were dealing with 3 more Grandpa's than I was used to! Again, they all received the modifiers. Well, except when we were talking to Daphne about Grandpa, then he became Papa Rue. Otherwise, when "Grandpa" was mentioned in conversation not directly involving Daphne, it meant Grandpa Rue.

He was also the last Grandpa Trevor had. When we first married he kept calling Grandpa "Grandpa" and I had to tell him that he didn't have to do that. In our family we just used names. Josh and David didn't call him Grandpa and Larry, Garth, Vernon, and Kent certainly didn't call him "Dad". He was Rue to all of them, or sir depending on how stern he was being. Trevor told me that he hadn't had a Grandpa in a long time and kind of wanted to have one again.

I'm telling you, there must have just been something about Grandpa. He's just Grandpa and that's all there is to it.

Just thought you should know

Tyler had surgery today and had phenol in his legs and his tonsils removed. He is home. He would LOVE some Ware love. He gets to walk through HELL everyday and it is sometimes a little tough. He has been pretty good this afternoon but tonight has been tough.

Happy Fathers Day, Grandpa!

I have been thinking a lot of Grandpa today. I remember all those Fathers Days growing up and having our "party" out on the deck with the family. It was never really a planned thing, if it was I didn't know about it :) We all just showed up and ended up on the deck. Miss you Grandpa!

A Week in Logan

Last Thursday I was driving south on Logan main street. I was needing to turn left and head east; however, the light was green so I was yielding to many vehicles heading north. I inched my way into the intersection to have the opportunity to turn left when the light would switch. I noticed the line of cars continuing north, so the wait was very long. When the light decided to turn yellow the cars heading north stopped allowing me to turn left so that I wasn't left in the intersection; however, a white Dodge decided they wanted to own the intersection, so they gunned it and ran the red light, nearly hitting me. I was a little shaken up after and my immediate response was, "Call Grandpa and ask him who was in the wrong!" When I knew that I couldn't call him, I decided to call mom and/or Chelsie. I found no answers, and I am still curious who would have been at fault.

In other news, I am sitting on my porch right now, enjoying the sun, drinking some lemonade with ice. It reminds me of spending time out on the deck as a family. I loved those afternoons. I remember always being the, "Mitchell, will you go get...." boy for Grandpa and Grandma. I know we have all made jokes about how Grandpa would say, "3 ice cubes", but it made me feel good that I could help my Grandpa with the most simple things. I will forever remember my Grandpa by the way that I served him. I helped him in the yard, helped with the clocks, and many other things.

A few weeks ago I was out for a run in Orangeville, and I decided to pay Grandma a visit. I went inside and we talked for a bit, she showed me his room and the wallpaper removal process. She left the room to answer a phone call and I could have a moment in his room. I opened up his closet doors and I saw his tie holder. I remember, as a child, I loved seeing his tie holder and how it would rotate. I saw a shirt of his, and just like my mother, I pulled the shirt in and held it. I smelled the shirt and for that brief moment, I had Grandpa next to me. I knew Grandpa was watching at that moment. I could feel it. I could feel him.

On my way back to Logan, I drove in silence. I thought about life, family, friends, and Grandpa and what I had experienced that afternoon in his room, and I have come up with this conclusion: Before I had gone home I hadn't spent much time on the fact that Grandpa was no longer here. I knew he had past, but I never "felt" what I did that afternoon in his bedroom. So I take that experience as a reminder that my Grandpa still knows me, he watches me, he is reading this blog as I type it, he is still there. So I think we will all have a reminder sooner or later, and they will happen when we are needing that reminder, and when we are in need of that comfort and love that we once had when Grandpa was here.

The Great Flood of Orangeville

(I posted this on my blog, but thought I would repost it here for those of you who NEVER look at my blog. Which is okay....really, it's OK :)

Dad always said that people remember things differently, and I know that is true. But this is my memory....
The Great Flood of Orangeville happened on the last day of school when I was in 5th grade. Anyway, that is what sticks in my memory because the next year on the last day of school, Uncle Jim...(Principal Peacock) showed us his home movie of the great flood. The entire school took their chairs up to lunchroom to watch the movie, along with other movies. I remember him asking who remembered that day the previous year. We didn't have the lunchroom until I was in sixth grade, so the flood had to be when I was in fifth grade. That's the way it is in my memory.

It had rained all day long, really rained. Back then, we had ditched, the canal, and the one-lane bridge. I remember walking home in the pouring rain and getting drenched to the skin. I remember sitting on the red stool watching out the kitchen window as the water rushed down the road. The jeep was outside at the end of the sidewalk and the water was up to the middle of the wheels. Dad was running in and out, driving away and then coming home, for whatever reason. I know there were a few times he grabbed the shovel and went up to the canal on the corner, where the canal crossed under main street. I suppose they were trying to close down the gate that let the water into the ditches.

The canal ran along from the corner on Main Street behind Uncle Bruce's house and to the corner by the elementary ball field. There was only a small dirt road along that block east of the school, with the open canal right where the middle of the road is now. There was a foot bridge that went from across the bridge over to Aunt Lorene's house, no handrails or guard rails. The canal was flooded over and the foot bridge was underwater. Sometime during the afternoon we got in our car and drove over to Aunt Lorene's house. I remember seeing the water coming down the road in front of the school and across the canal. I wondered how the water went OVER the water in the canal! The water was moving really fast down the road and fields there, right into George and Ann Bell's basement windows.

I remember people saying that the canal above town had broken and the water was all rushing east through town. My kids might remember how the rain rushes off the clay hills up the canyon...well that is what was happening, but it was all over town. Cottonwood Creek was so full, with trees and muddy water rushing so fast. The water came clean up to our backyard, in the middle of all the apple and plum trees. There was a time Mom worried about the water coming up to the house.

I remember the water had washed over the road at the Mill Dam, and for several months we couldn't get across, until a new road was built. I don't remember if the dam there broke, or if it was always broken. It seems like another chunk of it was broken off.

You can see from the picture above that the water had been higher than in the picture. Look on the step on the left. It has dirt and debris that was left from the higher water. The walking path on the other side of the bridge was probably just touching the water. I hated to walk across that on a good day, let alone during a flood!

It was certainly a flood to remember. I don't think a "last day of school" goes by that I don't think about that flood. I am sure everyone has lots of stories they could tell about The Great Flood of Orangeville.

Facebook

I am sure since all of us are on facebook that you have seen them all but here is a few pictures of the D!

A Student's Memory

My friend, Wendy Knudsen, wrote this message on my personal blog about Mr. Ware. Since I just found it hidden away, I thought I would share it with others. Wendy moved to EC when we were in junior high. Her dad taught at the high school for several years, then they moved away. She is related to the Wrights in Clawson.

Debated on where to leave this comment . . . your blog won out! I wanted to share a funny little memory I have of your dad.

How many people out there can actually remember who their Driver's Ed teacher is? Lucky for us around our age group, it was your dad! I remember finishing up the driver's training right around my birthday. It seemed like EVERYONE had a birthday before me and I was one of the last to get a driver's license.

The last day I was driving, we (me and someone else were driving together that day) stopped at the rest area between Castle Dale and Ferron (near the Orangeville turnoff?). Your dad filled out the paperwork on the little piece of paper and signed off on it that I had completed all the requirements and passed everything satisfactorily. Then he folded that paper twice. I was in the driver's seat ready to drive back to Ferron. As I was exiting the rest area, I came to a complete stop . . . just past the stop sign! With that, you dad shook his head and said, "Wendy, I just signed off on this! I'm going to have to do something." With that, he tore off a small corner of that folded paper and said he was sure that I would remember to stop in FRONT of the stop sign instead of past it! :o)

I'm sure the DMV office wondered why my paper had this little tear in it! And who knew that it would be YOUR dad that would help prepare me for navigating the freeways in southern California all these years later!