A Smelly Lesson

   As I start this memory I need to clarify a thing or two. My Mother was a great believer  and follower of Jesus Christ and a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. I state this as so no one might misconstrue my lack of straight forwardness in previous blog entries. The things spiritual and scared of nature I hold dear and won't be discussed here, they are held elsewhere.  However, not including my Mother's faith or the women that impacted my life so much would be like talking about the Holy Land and not mentions the Jews, or Italy and the Roman Catholic church. They are synonymous with each other and have effected the outcome and lives of all it's inhabitants.

   My Mother's firm belief in the principal of forgiveness was at her very core. It was a driving factor in the way she lived her life, acted towards others and approached trials and heart ache. I witnessed this so many times in my own life as I would do stupid things and she would simple say "We can't go back and change it, so why worry about it, let's figure out how to fix it." If I learned not to carry a grudge it was because of her, and sayings like this. It doesn't mean you forget...it means you get to control the emotions you remember it with. (a very powerful lesson I was taught) Mom had figured out that time and experience was not reversible, most of us still think in some way that it is and that we can change the past by what we do in the future. Sorry to tell you this, but it doesn't work that way. The past is the past, set in stone, unchangeable, inerasable and unforgettable. We can change our lives so as not to do the same thing. We can do what we can to repair any damage or effect and time will ease the intensity of the memory. Mother believed that only Christ has the power and authority to assist us in all three, but that we are still required to ask, work and apply its principles to be successful. She said "The hardest part of forgiveness will always be the part of forgiving oneself." How true that is.

   As I sit here in my cozy little den on a cool November day, if I let my mind drift back 40 years, I can still smell the acrid smell of Skunk and feel the burn on the right side of my face and the blindness in my right eye slowly creep over the lens... I am 12 years old it is a hot August day. I have been sent to get the irrigation water for the peach trees, I need to walk the ditch from our neighbors fence along the back of the property, down the hill where I can gate the ditch so the water will come out in small streams to go down each of the peach tree furrows. I carry with me a single shot 410 shotgun, and a round nose shovel. Since I am irrigating, I am in boots, levis and a t-shirt. I open the first gate that allows the water to travel down our ditch. As I walk along the path following the water to assure that the ditch is clear of debris, I step around a large bush and on to a large skunk...it opens both spray sacks full at me as I turn and lower my shotgun, the blast at less than two feet disintegrated the animal but not before the green plume had covered my right side with spray and the mist engulf the rest of me. I couldn't breath and crawled several feet to clean air. My skin was on fire, my right eye swollen shut already, my mouth thick with putrid vile stench that coated my tongue, my nostril's screamed from the overload of odor and my head felt as if it might explode. Leaving the gun I crawled to my feet and staggered down the hill, somehow finding my voice calling one word "Mom, Mom, Mom" still don't know how she heard but without hesitation she grabbed me to keep me from falling even though I must have smelled overpowering. As she laid me on the concrete surface of the basketball court above our home, I felt a cool damp cloth over my head and realized it was mom's mumu...she had dampen it in the sprinkler and know she was the one running around in her underwear (Long Garments) . When she returned, she told me to close my eyes and hold my breath for a moment, as I did the smell of vinegar fill the air, breathe she said, ok hold again the white dust everywhere (baking soda) caked my body, then came the unmistakable pop of a canning lid. What had she opened? I was soon rewarded with the answer as tomato juice began to pour over me...and I began to vomit uncontrollability from the skunk spray and smell of vinegar and tomatoes . I hated tomatoes. Even though it was August and hot I shivered on the cement. My Mother inspected my face and eye, she was very worried I might lose sight in my right eye. I had taken a direct blast from the skunk to the face and was very lucky. After awhile the liquid had dried and I had calmed down Mother told me to return to the stream remove all my clothes place them in the stream, place a rock on top of them, retrieve the shotgun and come back down where she would be ready to help me. I did as I was told, walking naked from the stream to the backyard in the day was a new experience since puberty had come, still I wasn't shy maybe just a little more self conscious (and yes it is still my favorite attire). Mom had laid out an old sheet where I laid down and received another round of vinegar, baking soda and tomato juice. Lucky there was nothing left in my stomach to vomit. Once dry I was rinsed by the garden hose and sniffed...nope still stunk like a skunk uuuugh. through the routine again and I still smelled. Then she realized the problem as I dried the next time I found the hair trimmers hooked to and extension cord, off came all my hair, yes ALL my hair truly the first time I would be embarrassed (Yes pun intended) in front of my mother.
The smell was finally gone.

    The clothes including my mothers mumu never lost the smell and had to be discarded. Not everything or everyone can or chooses to be saved. Mom taught me that all we can do is offer what we have, sometimes all we have and even then its not enough. I lost my clothes and my mother lost her mumu but it could have been so much worse. I was fortunate not to loose my eye sight and that is what I remember, not how painful the following weeks were for my eye, the fact that food tasted wrong for a month and nothing smelled right for months until all the nose hairs had replaced themselves. I also remember how immediately  Mother came rushing to my side. She knew what the danger and cost would be, yet there she was to aide and comfort me. Why? Well she believe in Christ and believe that this is how repentance and forgiveness are. Immediate upon asking, gentle, caring and comforting through the process, supportive and healing till finished.

   
   You may believe what you may and I will love you regardless, for I am simply telling you what my Mother believed and lived so you might know and understand her and her actions. We each have our own choices and roads to follow, if you choose to remember Gertrude Madsen, remember her with a smile on her face, open arms, a twinkle in her eye and a knowledge that she believed that every soul was worth her best effort, what love she could give and the freedom to find joy in the path they had chosen.    




Gertrudism #11 "There is no forgiveness without love, there is no love without forgiveness"

   

                  
  

Men, Money and a Wilson A-2000

     So as you can imagine, raising a large family on a small farm in Centerville, Utah on a salesman's salary must have been a challenge for my mother. I have tried very hard to remember any significant conversations about money, or the lack of money, with my mother yet I can't recall any. I can only assume that it was due to my lack of interest. Sex, politics, faith, her artistry and imagination all were subjects that engaged and fascinated me. If I had asked, I am sure she would have freely spoken about the subject, but money wasn't to become important to me for several years to come.

   Dad worked for Graybar Electric for 35 + years and must have been good at his job, though I never knew it until he retired and packed his desk where there were two full boxes of awards for sales contests and company achievements. He was also a master craftsman, self taught, in many fields but by heredity in the art of wood working. I remember going through the open carry boxes of planes, mallets, chisels, hand drills and scrapers, most labeled with the name "Orsen" his father.  I never heard from my father a single story about either his father or mother, at least not one I remember...I find that discomforting and sad and most likely my fault for not asking when we were together.  I am hoping that this effort will ensure that my children never feel that same discomfort.

 I love this quote:

"We all grow up with the weight of history on us. Our ancestors dwell in the attics of our brains as they do in the spiraling chains of knowledge hidden in every cell of our bodies." ~Shirley Abbott

  There were many outstanding men in my life, yet I know very little about them: Stan Smoot was one of my young influences and gave me my first baseball glove when I started little league. He had played minor league baseball, which I thought was very cool. He was in real estate and politics; he ran for governor of the state of Utah when I was a youth. Horton Hess was a retired mailman my whole life and an avid scouter. I remember he sat me down in his prestine living room when I was 11 or so to show me his Silver Beaver Award from the Boy Scouts.  "Eric," he said, "when you have one of these then you know you given back to those that worried, sweat, and helped you get to eagle." I didn't have a clue what he was talking about but it was a real cool medal so I told him I would get one. He cackled and laughed this big belly laugh through his large handle bar moustache, "I Have no doubt you will." I received my Silver Beaver Award in 2003 and dedicated it to him. Ken Duncan owned Duncan Lighting. He was rich and was my introduction to golf...I loved Ken, he always made an effort to make contact with me and make me feel special. I think he did it as much for my mom as for me, Ken and Genève were our next door neighbors to the north. If there was ever a need, mom sent me there. There were many more men whom I watched and influenced my life, and yes, most for good but some left some painful dents, scratches, and damage. Even with someone like my mother guiding me through the repair process, there are times when the light reflects just right off the repaired surfaces where I still seem to see the residual effects of the damage. 

    A word of Caution - Most men go through life with blinders on, only focusing on the task at hand. There will always be young man's watchful gaze on the action you pursue. Please take the time to at least think about your action if you're not willing to acknowledge their existence.    

   Mom's ability to understand the dynamic relationships between a young boy- young man and the men in his life was such a stabilizing factor in my life and in the life of my best friend, Scott Fugate. As we as youngmen tried to figure out what was the right and wrong way of acting, how to speak, how to think...mom taught us both a great deal that has served us well with many of the challenges in ours lives. Mom and I had many discussions about how to be thoughtful, kind, and respectful. Mom would often say, " It takes no time, effort, or money to say, 'I Love you, Thank You, and Please', but will be worth everything in your relationships in life". Gertrudism #1 really was a key to who mom was, she was always grateful...a lesson I am still trying to learn as well.

    When I was 15, baseball had officially become my love and obsession. Even though I had discovered girls, I had found something I was very good at. I could think as quick as I wanted (without being required to show my work, even though I could always come up with the right answers in math class), didn't have to spell, sit still, or read anything except body language, which I was good at, and it wasn't work. I studied the game, its players, the equipment and how the game was played. Everything was achievable for me, the uniforms, socks, hats etc. except one thing. The only piece I was missing was the best glove in the game, a Wilson A-2000. At the time it was $90, which would amount to about $400 today (which is what some baseball gloves can cost today). It was not reachable for me or my family, but I asked my mom for Christmas, birthday, and every present occasion for the next decade if this could be my gift. Most parents have heard this logic and plea. I will never know what my mom sacrificed, or if dad was involved, but there on Christmas morning was my glove. It  never left my side for the next year as I conditioned, and trained the leather to close automatically. I was lucky that my basement bedroom had no windows and a cement wall, as I spent most of the winter bouncing a baseball from the wall to my glove. The glove followed me through high school, summer, college baseball careers, and accompanied me to Japan to play each P-day to the oohs and ahhs of the Japanese players.  Can a simple thing like a baseball glove make such a difference in a man's life?  The answer is NO. It's not the glove, it's knowing what it represents. Mom had figured out how important this glove was to me, even if she couldn't fathom spending that amount of money on a thing and even if she couldn't understand the hold baseball had on me, she knew it mattered to me. If it mattered to me, it mattered to her, and that's all that was important. One of the hardest of mom's lessons for me to learn was to stop worrying about what matters to me and start worrying about what is important to others.

   I am always grateful for people that have been placed in my life. I have come to realize that happiness is caused by events in our lives, satisfaction is the result of remembering those event that went well or were pleasant, but joy; real joy comes from our relationships with those people placed in our path while we journey here on earth and our faith in the god we choose to believe in. My mother knew joy. She express it in so many ways. Song, cooking, art, service, compassion but most of all she simple shared the love her faith gave her in great abundance.

   May this week of Thanksgiving find your heart full of expression that you may open your mouths to all those you love...let there be no doubt nor let the words stay silent " I love you and Thank You " can bring joy that can sustain a life time.  


Gertrudism #10  "Challenge and change always come bearing gifts."

            

Faith, Mom and Me

    As I look back on so many of the amazing women in my life I have come to realize that they all had several things in common, but the most striking similarity was their faith. A faith that allowed them to live as they believed.  All of these women held many leadership callings in the church. My mother was a relief society president several times. Ruby Brown also served in that capacity. Bonnie Tanner and Estella Hess held various callings and Maryeleen Smoot served in the highest calling a women can serve as the General Relief Society President, yet not one of these women let their callings define them. They would have been just as extraordinary, kind and charitable with or without their callings. I know this because I witnessed this over and over again as these women cared for those around them without duty or requirement simply because that's who they were.

    Mom taught me that the church was just a vehicle to help us learn, but the gospel was perfect and worthy of our effort. She lived this way her whole life, always caring for those in need even when she might be in greater need herself, giving what she might "even to the last widow's mite" if it would ease someone's pain, calm a troubled heart or lighten the load of the weary.

   I was 14 and had just gotten home from school. It was Fall because darkness had already started to set. When I started down the stairs to chang to do my chores,  mom had ready a plate of food, a blanket and an old coat from the downstairs coal room sitting of the ledge of the kitchen stairs. I eyed the mysterious package. Mom said, "Go change and I will explain." When I came back up mom told me that a hobo had stopped at the farm and since dad was traveling and tonight was especially cold she said he could stay in the hay loft. He wasn't dressed well so I was to give him the coat and hat and see if I could find some of my old gloves, take the food and blanket to him and go do my chores. I met him in the hay loft and he told me his name was Stan Upjohn and he was from Chicago. He had been traveling around the country for several years and was headed to California because it was warmer there to sleep outside at night during the winter months. I told him he could have the clothes and where fresh water was. He watched as I milked the cow and I asked he wanted some. He gulped a big glass of warm milk straight from the pale that I had just finished filling. Yuck! I didn't like warm milk even on the coldest days except when it went down my rubber boots, now that felt heavenly! He thanked me for the food and disappeared behind the hay bales. The next morning when I went to milk the cow, I quietly searched for Stan. There neatly folded was the blanket. On top was the cleaned plate and in the center was a six inch braided twine rope and a large glass marble of the bluest color. I didn't think much of this at the time, but now the gesture was certainly gratitude personified.

   Mom taught me that all people have faith, it just varies in what. The worst thing I could ever do is discount, demean or ridicule someone else for the faith they have. It saddens me to see family, friends, church and society in general be so closed minded and arrogant that they would take away the simple form of freedom given to all, to believe and have faith in what and whom they wish. I never understood how anyone who professes to believe in Christ could ever harm, or be critical of another's belief or choices. Like saying "I believe in gravity" and then doing the opposite by jumping off a building. The "do unto others"  thing, but only when it's convenient or you agree with them, of course, otherwise it doesn't apply, just like gravity doesn't apply each time you leave the earth's surface right?

   On one of our pilgrimages to the Geological Library building in Downtown Salt Lake City, Utah, was myself (8 and newly baptized) mom and yep, you know it, Ruby Brown.

  Ruby had on her over-powering flowery perfume. I don't remember my mother's perfume which is curious to me because I have so many wonderful and strong olfactory sense memories. The smell of bacon grease as my dad was cooking the only thing he would cook, fried eggs you didn't have to flip, hash browns out of day old baked potatoes and thick cut bacon. The smell of fresh cut alfalfa in July. I would go lay between the rows and let the smell wash over me as the white puffy clouds would drift over head and I would dream of thing that would make me smile. The unmistaken smell of cherry wood as you sat lofted in a tree picking cherries. The musk of the wood's sap combined with the cherry juice would leave a district smell on your hands for days. The acrid and suffocating smell of the chicken coop (a mixture of feathers, dust, and powdered chicken feces would permeate every pore. Your eyes would water and coughing was assured).  I remember the smell my mother had, her hair, her breath, her clothes, yet if she wore perfume, and I know she did, it doesn't come to mind. 

   We would park at the ZCMI center during the summer months so mom and Ruby could walk though the gardens of Temple Square and I think give me time to get a bit of energy out before entering the Library. As we walked we came across three Muslim women dressed in Hijab. I had never seen this and said so in not so quite a voice (which to this day is still an issue). The women raised their heads, but made no direct eye contact. Mom knew they heard this, so, in typical Gertrude fashion she walked over and politely asked of one of these women that her son was wondering what the significance of her dress was and that she didn't know, and would she mind telling him? Two of the women moved back and hid their faces more, but one drew me closer and explained that it was a symbol of modesty, purity and represented the veil between men and God and it represented their faith. My mother thanked her as did I. I have thought of her smile from time to time, it was radiant and bright. It is a shame that we let the prejudice and the pride of religion get in the way of living the gospel and that it causes us not to act simply as human beings that care for each other.   

  If mom had prejudice, I never witnessed it or saw it. I know I never heard her speak about another person's faith poorly, even when someone of our own faith was struggling, including myself. She offered nothing but compassion, love and support. It is what my children know, that my arms are always open. They are always welcome at home and they will always be loved. That comes straight from what mom taught, engrained and practiced.


Mom loved this and believed it:

Gertrudism #9  " Charity Never Faileth "

Mom and I painted this on 144 thimbles for a Relief Society  dinner

Intimate Conversations

      I grew up on a farm with horses, cows, pigs, chickens, lambs, dogs, cat, rabbits, fields with pheasants, quail and grouse. We had several large beehives, orchards of cherries, peaches, apricots, three plums, several apple trees. There were rows of grapes, acres of hay and pasture and large garden areas, both vegetable and flower. If you throw into the mix a family with nine kids, the circle and cycle of life becomes an everyday kind of thing. I remember many dinner conversations about the veterinarian coming to either help an animal get pregnant or deliver, and where the hives would need to be moved to  best suit the fields and trees. Well, having been born with an innate curiosity that was encouraged and honed by my mother's challenge to observe life, more than once with a glove larger than me was I able to feel a calf inside a cow with the help of the vet whom was checking to see if it was coming out breech or not, or witness the beauty of birth in all it varied forms both animal, insect, and plant.

     One of my clearest memories of this is the bee keeper, Ben. With my mother by my side, he had just smoked the main hive in the cherry trees and pulled the center tray where the queen ruled. She was magnificent, but was also surrounded by her minions, thousands of small pouches ready to burst into new honey bees. Ben let me touch them softly so I could feel the vibration of the hive as it hummed. It was slightly sticky when I removed me fingers. He told me that it would be sweet if I wanted to taste it, it was far sweeter than the honey they produced, which to this day I have always thought as curious. Mom also touched the hive and a big smile crossed her face, normally not much of a bug person, but as I said, this was amazing to experience.

    So creation was everywhere in my life I just didn't know what to call it...sex, that what's I learned it was called listening to my brothers and sisters, and their husbands and wives as they would talk with mom and think that I wasn't paying attention, which most of the time they were right. Then came 5th grade and Miss Kartchner, slender, well-built ,long hair, beautiful smile with playful eyes (oh and did I mention she wore blouses that showed cleavage?) Well I was gravely disappointed when I wasn't assigned to her class, how much so I can't even remember my own teacher's name...but this is why. Several of my friends were in Miss K's class so I spent as much time as I could in her class. Then came the secret meeting only for girls..5th grade maturation. That drove me nuts. I didn't know what it was and I wasn't invited, that was not acceptable on any account. So I figured it out. I knew there was a break when school let out and the meeting started and that after the meeting they would go to the lunch room for cookies and punch...again very unfair, so I simply slid into the class under Miss K's desk, pulled the chair tight, I knew she seldom sat at her desk and waited.

     Everyone filed in. 45-mins. later, after really learning nothing much new (except how long I could endure the pain of being cramped in one position for that long.) and wishing there was a hole in the front of the desk so I could see the slides, they left for their treats. I waited a while longer and left the class, got my bag and started to leave the school. Just about at the end of the hallway, 10 or so feet from the exit, was Miss K. She stopped me and asked why I was here so late. Of course I lied about forgetting something and with a very large smile on her face she said, "Well I hope it was worth missing your bus for, can you get home okay? "  I gulped and said I could, that I was headed to a friends and that I would see her tomorrow...she again stopped me and said, "No you won't." I thought, "Oh no, I'm caught"...but again with that disarming smile she said, "It's Friday. See you Monday," and off she went.

      Of course when I walked in the door an hour and a half late (lucky for me Rulon Ford had seen me walking and given me a ride part way) mom asked where I had been...now this was not unusual for me to wander in late, I could very often get lost in an adventure or simply stop by a great spot to tell myself a story...and normally I would just tell her that because she always knew. I learned that very young, mom always knew, sometimes she would call you on your lie, other times she wouldn't but she always knew. So out with the story of how I hid to hear about women starting their cycle for the first time. My mother explained that most girls and even some women would be uncomfortable speaking of such a thing around men and that it was wrong of me to assume I had a right to know. She started right then and there to teach me that a woman's body was hers and hers alone to give, that the gift shared in human sexuality is beautiful, healing and natural. She asked if I had any other questions about what I had heard when I told her I had been reading the inserts in my sisters' tampax boxes she laughed and hugged me and told me that we would probably be having many more conversation about human sexuality.

     Sure enough over the years, mom and I had many intimate conversations about sex. The strongest advice came shortly after Shauna and I were married. Mom and I were china painting. Mom was discussing someone we knew so she put her brush down. "Eric," she said, "I have come to realize that sex in a relationship is one of the strongest motivators in determining the satisfaction, happiness and health of any relationship. Faith, children and society might keep you married, but sex will keep you in love. That is, sex given; never bound by guilt or duty or payment just given freely to each other. It soothes, heals, encourages, buoys up and strengthens." I was a newlywed, so of course I couldn't have agreed more and still do....

This Gertrudism was one of two pieces of advice my mom gave me when I married Shauna, she didn't use it as often as the others.

Gertrudism #8 "Never use sex as a bargaining tool"     

Seven of the nine of us in the mid seventies in the Rock House in Centerville Utah. Yes that is me in the back next to Lynne with hair, proof positive it did exist

     

The Game

      There I was, at ten years old, crouched down listening, in my hand a perfect round flat stone. I am ready to rise and throw at just the right time....The Smoot home was across the street and down several houses to the south of our home on Main Street. The ground sloped away from the road, so when the home was built and the ground leveled a small three-foot retaining wall was needed at the roadside. Scott Smoot was one of my childhood friends, as were his brothers. Their home was larger than ours and housed their seven children (all names started with "S" ) nicely. Stan was a business man, politician, and local leader. Maryellen was one of the most remarkable ladies I would ever know. Even though I would invade her home at all hours day and night and infect her sons with my disorder for mischief (All the Smoot Boys are wonderful) Maryellen would feed me , clothe me (she wouldn't let me run around in just underwear even though I protested) and often house me. She taught me opera and classical music. She would later become the General Relief Society President of the Church, but to me she was another strong, wonderful influence for good in the life of a boy.

        Back to the Stone: I was and continue to be very good at thinking up games. I can make a game or competition out of any event or mundane active. One quick example, then back to the rock. As my children and I wait in line for rides at amusement parks, my kids know the game is afoot when they see a penny in my hand...the object to get it into a stranger's pocket or purse without their knowledge. Let's say there are a lot of people who found coins where they least except to find them...my kids giggle and laugh at their father, and most of the time several other people (strangers ) join in the game. It makes the lines go by very quickly. The game that day involved several bottles and cans set- up across the street, at the end of Horton Hess' property and the beginning of Olin Sheriff's driveway. As cars would come along Main, generally at speeds of 40 to 50 mile per hour, we would pop up from the wall, throw a stone under the car, skipping it to hit the can or bottle. Simple right? WRONG! This became very hard to do. Often the stone would skip up into the under carriage of the cars. Loud clanks and clangs of noise would echo as the car motored down the road seldom stopping. Rural traffic was used to road debris and things bumping the bottoms of their cars.

     The game was only to 25 points. One point for getting across the road under the car, one for hitting a target, double if by chance two cars were passing.  It was my turn and there was the unmistakeable sound of the high pitch and speed of a VW Beetle pop, pop, pop engine coming down the road. My hand-eye coordination was very good and my arm strong (both would get me to start at third base in college and an invite the spring training camp for a professional baseball team). I could see the stone skipping, finding the old coke bottle and shattering it. I stood and threw, I heard the sound of glass explode...then the sound of  rubber screeching, as brakes were roughly applied. The little VW came to a shaky stop when the driver's side window was shattered with my stone.

     Well one of the other things I did well in my baseball career was steal bases and that didn't fail me now...I ran till I couldn't breathe. Then I just wandered for an hour or so till I thought It was safe to go home. As I approached home my spirits lifted because there in the drive was Dick and Ruby Brown's car. My father's car was also home, which meant card night...phew. When I walked into the house, sure enough a game of hearts was being played, but when my mother looked up at me there was not the usual pleasant expression on her face. She told me a gentlemen had stopped by that had a window busted out of his car, and that he was an off-duty county sheriff. Well, I had learned a new word on the playground at school and I wasn't sure I knew what it meant except you said it when you were in trouble, at least I thought...ooops. I simply and elegantly said,  "oh F***."  Yes, there aren't many other letters that go in there. Silence...lots of Silence. Poor Dick, one of the most gentle men that ever walked this earth, was actually blushing. Ruby was coughing, grasping for her water, dad had this half-smirk, half-mad face, and mom simply put her cards down and walked me down the long, narrow hall to the back bedroom to talk.

     She asked where I had heard that word and if I knew the meaning. As you know, I could never keep anything from her so I told her what I knew. She explained how hurtful and damaging words like that can be. Then we were done... I was baffled and thought, "How can she not be mad at me?" She understood where I was in both my understanding of life and language. What I saw next I didn't like, for my mother's countenance seemed to change as we approached the subject of what happened with the car. As we talked, I began to realize that what I was seeing was disappointment. I knew that was not something I wished to ever cause her on purpose again. It wasn't the act of breaking the window, because accidents and poor choices happen everyday, but it's how we account for them that matters. That is what she was trying to teach me. See wasn't mad I broke the window, she was sad that I had ran away. 

     I saw that expression on my mother's face a couple more times in my life, due to my own lack of courage or stupidity, but fortunately I never let it go very long before making it right with mom. The real lesson of compassion and selfless love came a couple days later. The man returned with the estimate to repair the window. I met him and told him of the game I had been playing, apologized, and worked out a payment plan. What I didn't know was that the first night he came to the house my mother had told him it would go as such, with one other exception. For the next month, on each Wednesday after school for two hours, and Saturday for 4 hours, I was his farm hand to do whatever needed doing at his Farmington home. I was shocked! The man said, "well I'm not sure what a 10- year old boy can do." My mother agreed and simply said, "Then I will come and work also." We each put 24 hrs of labor into his garden. His wife was as mad as I have ever seen a woman be upset at a man...but by the end she and my mother were good friends. She often helped us in her garden and they both attended my my mother's funeral... 

Gertudism #7  " God's greatest gift to his children is agency, God's greatest curse to a parent is giving his children agency."

Imagination, Fear, and the Utter Disregard for Logic

     I lay in cocoon pose elevated above the ground in a silver silk parachute, swinging effortlessly from side to side, listening to the soothing music, smelling the rich aromatic smells of sandalwood, sage, lavender, and ginger. Instead of staying in the moment, as the yoga instructor is encouraging us to do, my mind wonders to how much my mother would have liked this...if you have read any of the prior stories you already know that mom's mind was amazing in many ways. She was a wonderful artist and worked in many different mediums, a self-taught cook, pastry-chef, and candy-maker. She knew both common and scientific names for most plants that grew on our farm and would make me repeat them when we worked with them, she would give me a nickel if I could name the type of roses(Dusky Maiden , the Duchess, Hume's blush etc.) we had in our garden. I actually earned a couple nickels...I would get a quarter if I could find a plant mom didn't know both names for (never got a quarter).

     I loved to cook with mom, and thankfully most dishes I make are edible since I never use a recipe and very seldom are they made the same way twice, with the exception of candy. Candy was the only thing mom used a recipe for  because of the complex nature and the fact the temperature varied so widely from candy type, some of my fondest memories are of cold Decembers with the kitchen widow cracked open, the Mable table in front of it and fudge, peanut brittle, or dipped chocolates cooling on it. Mom would makes mounds and mounds of candy for neighbors, family, and friends. She more than once catered weddings for daughters and family members and even friends, she had 30 or 40 molds used to make various types of hand-made chocolate mints. I remember spending hours and hours dipping and pouring molds and chocolates, all the while my mother smiles, hums, sings, tells a story, or just talks about life. Sometimes her life, sometimes we talked about other people we knew. When my friends were over, they were invited to join in the work and the conversation and love. One of my best friends, Scott Fugate, would get just as many hugs and kisses from mom as I did, yet that was okay because we all saw mom love so many people without ever feeling neglected or needing to compete for her attention, still not sure how she did that.

     When I was a teenager, my mother decided it was time to learn how to drive. She would have been in her late forties, her husband and six of her eight children had their driver's licenses, she had counted on Ruby Brown, but Ruby had recently had some health issues, and considering who (me) was coming of age I think she thought she might need some mobility. I remember one of our conversations about driving, since I was already driving the old Dodge truck or International Scout around the farm, and me as a kid reassuring her that there was nothing to be afraid of. It was simple...of  course I had no clue what I was talking about, yet as I mentioned before I knew that mom knew and felt the fear failure, but never let that stop her from trying something new or something that needed to be done. She learned this young when her mother died when she was a teen (17) and her father left her, her two sisters (Miriam and Unity) and her brother Harold. (To my nieces and nephews, your fathers and mothers have a wonderful history of this that Aunt Unity sent to each of the Madsen children I would encourage you to get a copy if you haven't read it ) Mom got her driver's license, and continued to teach herself new things all throughout her life... and when things needed doing, even though logic said, "wait or let's plan this out, "  mom had a sledge hammer in her hands breaking down a wall between the dinning room and kitchen, or splitting rocks to face a 2 1/2 story fireplace, or building several long rock walls. Mom always took the words "it can't be done " with a glint in her eyes and a slight crook in her smile...you went on your way and the next time you came back she had started it, so you either help her finish it or shut up and watch. She did this with all types of service, home projects, and yard improvements. As far as I know, mom didn't attend any education more than high school, yet she was intelligent, well-read and spoke well on all subjects. I know she had many aspirations and desires, yet I don't remember her ever complaining to me about her life and the things that she had and had not been able to do...it was, and has been a great lesson to witness in action and be able to call upon in my own life. I have not been as good at not complaining as mom was, and maybe mom had someone to relieve some stress with... I hope so. This woman could have accomplished anything she wanted, and had any acclaim that the world could offer..I will be eternally grateful that she chose to be my mother and exhaust so much of her effort in my behalf.

Gertrudism #6 "Hard work schools all parts of Self... Mind, Body, and Soul."





Sissy, Gertrude, and Unity