Missing the Fountain at the Rexall Drug

As a young High School student I worked at Ashton's Department Store.  I took my breaks on the corner at the Uintah Rexall Drug.  Oh how I wish I could still stop in there for a bit to eat.  Marion Swain operated the fountain and fixed the finest food.  If I stopped by for a morning break I almost always had a sweet roll and a glass of milk.  This was not just any sweet roll.  They were made in Ashton's bakery by Twila and Dolly and were wonderful.  Marion took those and made them out of this world!  She'd take the bonnet off a nice sticky stack of them, select the biggest one for me and toss it on the grill.  Then with a Wooster paint brush she'd slather it with melted butter and let it warm and get crispy and caramelized around the edges.  She'd place it on a plate with a fork and serve it with tall glass of whole milk.  I'd probably weight 400 pounds if she were still there serving up that delicacy.

For lunch I always had her salad plate.  A dinner plate loaded with equal portions of cottage cheese, tuna-macaroni salad, the best* potato salad in the world, and green salad with a few cello-wrapped saltines.  Oh my goodness was it good stuff.  This evening I finished off a batch of tuna macaroni salad with some cottage cheese and wished I had the rest to round out my meal.  It was homemade, wholesome and just plain good food.  I had it every lunch there for two years.

My afternoon break was just as consistent.  I had a root-beer float with scooped, real ice-cream.  You can't make a good root-beer float with soft ice-cream.  It just doesn't melt right, nor seem as creamy and delicious.

Marion was like a grandmother to me.  I ate at her table more often than I did at home.  I loved to visit with her.  While she cooked or did the dishes.  She had dish pan hands, her hair tied up in a net and a resolute determination to do her job well.  I always sat there by myself, usually during off hours when the crowds weren't there.  People came and went I'm sure but all I remember was Marion.  That is until one fateful day.

I was in this very marching band.  It had a little more class in those days.  The Drum Major is my good friend Keith.  You can see both Ashton's and the Uintah Rexall Drug in this photo.  Also Bobbie's Dress Shop where Sweetie worked.

I had quit Ashton's and was working as a surveyor.  One day I happened to be in town in the early afternoon and, for old time's sake, stopped in to see Marion.  The place was hopping and the only stool was right next to a pretty girl I was remotely acquainted with.  We had a good visit over our meals.  I have no idea what she had, but of course I had the salad plate.  Marion gave me a wink of approval as I sat beside someone she obviously approved of.  As we parted I paid for the young lady's meal, which she graciously accepted as she has thousands of times since.  She became my sweetheart, my wife and the love of my life.  And *her mother's potato salad is even better than Marion Swain's.

Welcome Home Whitey!

Today I'm re-embarking on a wonderful adventure that began three years ago.  My neighbor and friend Whitey has Alzheimer's.  Shortly after I retired from UPS and upon our return from Newfoundland, Betty began calling occasionally to have me help with Whitey.  He'd slip out of his recliner and onto the floor and she'd need help getting him back up - things like that.  By December, I was over there four or five times a day.  He was losing his ability to walk and poor Betty was beside herself trying to give him the loving care she hoped to.

Any wife would have a hard time deciding his care was beyond her capacity; and so it was with Betty.  We shed a lot of tears and Betty struggled with such a conflicting decision.  Most Alzheimer's patients don't last as long as Whitey has.  The 2 1/2 years he was in the Care Center were fraught with seizures and other difficulties, but those have ceased and his care has become simpler as he is not at risk of injury as he's utterly unable to change positions, even in bed.  A couple of months ago, another woman in a similar situation suggested that Betty might now be able to bring her husband home.  She resisted.  But the notion began to grow and blossom into a possibility.  Betty was certain that she couldn't do it alone.

As we've compared notes; on the day that I felt inspired to quit seeking employment and stay home to write, Betty felt impressed to ask me to assist her with bringing her husband home and in his daily care.  She didn't feel she could ask me though, not knowing what I was up to.  A few days later, Betty and I bumped into one another at the Walking Park and walked a few loops together.  As we conversed I told her of my plans and of the huge leap of faith I was making as I knew it could be many months before I realized any revenue from writing.  Her own issues suddenly clarified and she dared ask.  Having already assisted with Whitey a lot and being blessed with such a disposition as I have; it was easy to say, "Yes!"  Betty will help me with a little income, though I won't be accepting nearly what she offered.  I don't consider this a job, but an opportunity to serve.  So, I calculated what would be just sufficient for my needs and intend to accept nothing more.  I couldn't bear to profit from Betty's misfortune.  Of course she will save a large amount of money as the Care Center is very expensive.

Anyway, we brought Whitey home today.  Several of his Priesthood brethren turned out for the occasion.  Betty had asked for a couple of guys to help me lift him up the steps and into the house.  Eight men showed up!  It was a quiet celebration of sorts as we welcomed him home.  A couple of sweet ladies from the Care Center, who'd accompanied him home were also there to bid him goodbye.  You could tell they loved him and would indeed miss him.  Thank Heaven for the Care Center and the good people who love and care for so many who need to be there.  Thank Heaven for the Care Center Branch who serve their spiritual needs during their stay.

Now to the task at hand.  I'll still be writing most of the time.  But every few hours I'll run over and help where I'm needed.  Periodically, I'll be spelling Betty while she goes to the Temple, to a bridal shower or out to lunch with friends.  I'm thrilled to be able to help.  These are wonderful people for whom I have great love and respect.  If I can play a tiny part in improving the quality of their lives together, it will be the joy of a lifetime.

Sweetie and I will be doing our share of commiserating as she's currently the primary caregiver for her own ailing mother.  We both have remarked that these days of service and love are priceless beyond measure.

The other night Betty took a son and his family to dinner with Whitey and the Rest Home.  They ate pizza while he had his pureed dinner.  As they were leaving, Betty gave him a kiss and Whitey, who has only spoken gibberish for years said, "You're a wonderful woman."  What a blessed, tender mercy.  I believe that Whitey's spirit is still conscious, even though his mind is completely confused.  I believe that one day we will know, that his spirit was able to use that poor decrepit body to convey his love to his devoted wife.

I am certain that I will count myself fortunate to have witnessed the eternal bond of love and friendship that persists through deepening trials in the lives of these fine Saints.

Repenting

Yesterday I spoke in Church on the topic of Trusting God.  The Spirit attended in abundance and we rejoiced at a marvelous opportunity to learn.  Our attention was focused on the fact that God will direct our lives if we will seek His guidance and be willing to obey His instructions.

I have been impressed with the Alcoholics Anonymous 11th Step Prayer, "Lord, what would Thou have me do today?  Please give me the strength to do it?"  These words are the focus of my prayers.  Of course I spend a lot of time in gratitude in my prayers as well.  There are other requests.  Requests for things I have no direct influence over.  Still these words are the most productive words in any prayer.  I have found that my prayers get answered a lot more quickly and effectively if I ask Father what I should be doing, rather than if I spend my prayers telling Him what He should be doing.

If it troubles you that my prayer comes from AA, then you might be more at ease with this:

Paul, en route to Damascus to persecute the Saints, saw a light from heaven and heard the voice of the Lord. Then Paul asked a simple eight-word question--and the persistent asking of the same question changed his life. "Lord, what wilt thou have me to do?" (Acts 9:6). The persistent asking of that same question can also change your life. There is no greater question that you can ask in this world. "Lord, what wilt thou have me to do?" I challenge you to make that the uppermost question in your life.  (Ezra Taft Benson)

The more completely I focus my attention on that great quest, the happier and more productive I become.  The other neat thing I've discovered as I attempted to implement President Benson's advice is that God never asks me to give anything I haven't got.  He most certainly stretches me.  Certainly, he pushes me out of my comfort zone on occasion.  Never, though, doesn't He make requests of things I am not prepared to deliver.

Best of all, I've learned, like Nephi, that God always provides a way for us to keep His commandments.  Even the little daily ones.

So, why is this bit about repenting?  Because, yesterday when I got home from Church and Sweetie had gone to her Mother's and Katie had gone off to her Singles Ward.  I asked that question. "What would Thou have me do today Lord?  I got my answer; I was to take some extra peaches around to the ladies I home teach and to a couple of friends.  I didn't do it though.  Instead I went and took a nap.  I could have done both, but I napped too long and by the end of the day felt quite hollow and unfulfilled.  I asked forgiveness as I closed the day in prayer and committed to do better today.

I had the best morning going around to see Paul and Phylis, Billie, Lynne and Norma.  Each blessed my life with good cheer and sweet conversation.  To think I might have enjoyed that yesterday and had today to do something else.  It is a good reminder to keep on my toes.  Essentially, God told me yesterday to go out and have a pleasant, uplifting, fulfilling Sabbath afternoon, but I was too lazy to be so blessed.  What a lesson.  What a life!

What a World!

The little kids and I were up early this morning to go to the Farmer's Market.  My tomatoes haven't done well this year and I've a hankering for BLT's this evening.  Apparently nobody's tomatoes have done very well.  Booth after booth had squash that looked wonderful.  Only one had a few pretty puny tomatoes.  The seller affirmed that it had been a very tough summer for tomatoes.  I bought her out of her ripest ones.

Megan stopped by a booth where a fellow was selling hand carved walking sticks.  He also had a couple of little wooden outhouses on display.  He handed Megs a quarter and suggested she put it in the slot at the top of the outhouse.  I assumed it was meant to be a bank.  When she dropped the quarter there was aloud pop and the outhouse fell to pieces.  Jeff was pretty sure she'd ruined it, but Megan wasn't fooled.  She knew it was a prank and she got a pretty big kick out of it.

My friend Lee had a booth of Artisan Bread.  I bought a yummy looking loaf of Parmesan encrusted goodness.  I love this means of free expression.  Anyone can show up there and peddle their wares.  It interests me to see who's good at what.

One fellow was selling eggs and freshly slaughtered chickens.  I wished I had fewer eggs in the fridge.  Fresh eggs are so good.  Megan wants to raise chickens.  Jeff thinks the rabbits are enough.  I agree with Jeff.

There were a few booths of hand crafted trinkets and jewelery.

A young couple were selling Grand Junction peaches that were wonderful and fresh.  I bought a box.  While I'm seriously trying to lose weight, once a year I have to binge on peaches and cream for a couple of days.  I'll get my fill this evening and maybe tomorrow and then I'll look forward to August for another full year.  I like the notion of restraint.  If I had peaches and cream often they wouldn't mean nearly so much to me.  Plus the gluttony would not only dull my senses but destroy my health.  One precious indulgence in peaches and cream a year makes them seem like heaven.  The same goes for bacon.  Though, even at it's best bacon seems more terrestrial than celestial.  But hey, I like earth a lot!  I just expect to like heaven better.

So, a pleasant morning staking our claim to a quieter simpler, more down to earth way of exchanging things gives way to the computer and another note.  As I sit down to write though, I'm interrupted by an alert that my friend and cousin Steve is on line.  I open Oovoo and up he pops, live on my screen.  Steve's living in Connecticut, two time zones away; but for now we're sitting in the same room.  Both of us have books for a back drop.  How fitting.  What a miracle!  We sit in our own quiet homes and visit face to face as if we were across the desk from one another.  He's just got back from a long bike ride and as we share our mornings we get as sense of why the prophets longed to live in our day.  We joke and laugh, update our histories, and move along, knowing we're not that far apart after all.

It's been a rather startling morning.  So simple, yet so grand.  So ordinary, while being so miraculous.  How is it that we could be so very blessed.

Doctor, Doctor

I took Mom to the hospital this morning for a scheduled procedure.  She's become so tiny and frail.  At eighty-eight she's still an amazingly resilient and resolute person.  I am clearly just her ride.  She's fully in charge of everything else.

I leave her in the lobby while I run over to her doctor's office for some papers.  Arriving there too early I sit down next to Max.  I haven't seen him for years.  He's grown older and slower.  We've both grown past the old religious confrontations that don't seem to matter so much any more.  We chat for a few minutes about growing up in Jensen and him losing his dad at age eight.  The nurse calls him in to the examination room and he looks pretty old as his eighty year old frame, still large, but stooped marches resolutely through the door.

My papers in hand I head back down the hall to the hospital proper.  There I encounter Leonard and Nell. Leonard is just learning to maneuver a wheel chair.  Nell hasn't changed much, but Leonard looks much older and drawn.  His robust good cheer hasn't changed a bit though.  A more engaged, encouraging, delightful man, I've never known.  I'm clearly a peripheral friend.  We belong to different churches, circles, age groups, everything; yet Leonard always makes me feel like I'm his best friend.  He wants to know what I'm doing these days and I tell him I'm writing a book.  He encourages me on that too, but we're both in a hurry to appointments and so we have to move on.

In the radiology lobby and while Mom has her treatment, I find Cindy and her mother-in-law.  I saw them on a visit to another doctor yesterday.  Cindy's husband Jim and I are good friends.  We sold camp trailers together.  He's a baptist preacher and I've attended his tiny congregation.  Yesterday, when I met Jim's mother I made some smart remark about tough women who could put up with a character like Jim.  His mom seemed pretty offended that I would say anything disparaging about her perfectly darling son.  (Jim's 60 years old.)  Today I decide I'd better make it up to her so I mention that Jim is a good friend for whom I bear deep respect.  She replies, "You can't pull the wool over my eyes.  I raised him and believe me, he's no angel."  She got me both times.  Something I'd expect from Jim.

Then Cindy pipes up with a open raucous laugh.  "You know," she says, "I was supposed to be picking him up right now from a Colonectomy."  She obviously meant Colonoscopy.  "But he got here all prepped this morning, only to discover that his appointment was for next week!"  She laughs and laughs.  "You know how well he listens - with his mouth."  I'm thinking poor Jim, now he has to go through all that prep and nasty gut cleansing treatment - all over again.  Cindy says, "He's had a good practice run."  "More like practice runs,"  I amend.  Now I'm laughing, holding my ribs.

Jim's mother gets back from her x-ray.  Jim is clearly her son.  Both of them full of spit and vinegar.  As they leave I tell Cindy to tell Jim I said, "Drink your barium like a man!"

I wonder if I'm due for my next Colonoscopy.  I think I'll wait until I'm having a period of severe sleep deprivation.

As mom and I emerge into the hall.  Joanne and her mom appear, coming the other way.  Two sweet little ladies pause to commiserate about how and where they are and why.  Both are near 90 and considerably smaller and slower than they once were.  The genuine good cheer they exchange is so pleasant and uplifting.  I don't know how well the two of them know each other.  They've lived in opposite ends of town.   Still they belong to a pretty exclusive sisterhood by now; and just a glance or two exchanges tokens of membership that affirm they're still here and get each other.

Leonard is waiting by the front door.  He wants an autographed copy of my book.  I explain that its a long way from completion.  "What's it about?" he asks.  "Growing up around here," I tell him.  "I've changed the names to protect the guilty."  "Thanks!" he sighs.  "I couldn't find any innocents," I explain as we shake hands.

"Now be sure I get an autographed copy!" Leonard insists with a smile.

He'll probably be gone before I ever go to press, but who can argue with optimism.

How we're going to miss these octogenarians when they've moved on.  We miss their predecessors too;  those who died in their sixties and or seventies.  But these, these enduring few are such beacons, such talismans of an era of more certitude; such anchors to life's ship.  I fear we'll go adrift without them.