What was your first allowance?

Since I am taking at random slips of paper from a "journaling jar" that my mother made for me years ago, I do not know what is coming up next. This particular slip is interesting.

I honestly do not remember ever getting an allowance. Sorry, Mom, if you remember differently.

I do remember starting fairly young going out and earning money doing anything I could do. I would help moms around our little community with whatever they needed done and I was capable doing. I never asked for money, but they would usually give me a nickle or sometimes even a dime. That does not seem much now, but in the 1950s that was a treasure for someone under 10.

Five cents would buy two candy bars. I must admit we were not allowed to have candy much then, plus I was not hooked on chocolate as much as now. I did love soda, especially Nehi Grape or Orange sodas. Yummy. Our local market had one of those coolers that you put in your money and then slide the soda off a runner over to where it would come out the cooler. They looked like chest freezers of today, only they were just refrigerators that held sodas. I must admit that I loved going and getting one of those.

I was lucky to live in a small community that had no rules for kids. We could get on our bikes and ride almost anywhere and have a great time. We only had to be home in time for dinner. The market, which was just a tiny little country store, was about 2 miles from my house. So by the time I did the work, got paid, rode my bike to the store, sat and drank the bottle of soda, played on the "monkey bars" at school across the street, and rode back home, no calories were gained. I was always skinny back then.

Since I often watched the neighbors' kids while the moms did their work, the moms became very sure I knew what I was doing and could be trusted to baby sit. This is where I really earned my money. During the summer and on weekends, I would babysit for anyone who called me. I got called often. I started doing this the year I turned 11 or 12. Wow! I was so grown up.

Now remember late 1950s early 1960s this took place. I never stated how much I would work for. Most people were more than generous. I did have one family pay only a penny a hour, which I felt I worked way harder than that. I always had to play with the kids outside, bring them in, bathe them and put them to bed. Then do the dinner dishes and fold the laundry. The rest of the evening was mine to read or watch TV. I guess they felt that was enough or they were too poor to pay more. I accepted it, but I also would wish they would not call on me.

Most others would pay me either 5 cents or 10 cents an hour. One family actually paid 25 cents an hour. That was great because if I worked for 4 hours, I would earn a whole dollar! If we paid a teen or even a pre-teen that amount for four hours work, we would never get them to do anything or get accused of child abuse.

Now let's put into perspective what a dollar would buy then. I started sewing when I was very young and when I was 11 I started sewing my own clothes. Simple blouses and skirts and short pants, but it gave me a bigger wardrobe than I was used to. So patterns cost 10 cents each. Once I bought a pattern, I could make a whole bunch of clothes off the same pattern. Technically that made it a one time purchase for that style. Often I could borrow patterns from neighbors, which dropped my costs down considerably. Fabric, cotton fabric that today costs over $10 a yard, you could buy three yards for a $1, making it 33 cents per yard. Three yards for a small girl was enough to make more than one item.

So I did not get an allowance? So what? I learned how to sell myself as a moms helper. I learned how to babysit. I learned how to work in a kitchen as an assistant. I learned to have a great work ethic, though most of that learning came from my mom and dad.

I am thankful for the training and the freedom I had as I grew up. I am thankful for all those other moms that looked out for me while my mom worked full time. I am thankful for the blessed childhood I had. I wish all kids everywhere could have such a carefree time in their lives.

Trip to Mom's - March 2010

A week ago today, Saturday, Gil said let's go see your mom. I had to be back by 10 a.m. on the following Friday, so I said too far. Then I thought why not. Sunday morning I had to teach a class in Relief Society at 11:30 a.m. When that was over, Gil and I packed up, put the dog in the car, and away we went. We dropped Mochi, the dog, off at Elisa's house. Mochi loves to do sleep overs there, as they have two dogs that she loves to torment. Then we drove on to Winnemucca, Nevada. We got up early on Monday and drove into Eagle, Idaho, next to Boise. We got there around 11 a.m. their time. Since we left Winnemucca before there was much open, we were starving. We picked up Mom and took her out to breakfast-she had not eaten either.

We had a quiet day with her at her apartment. Talking, looking at photo albums and interviewing her on video. That was fun. We asked her questions about her childhood memories; we talked about her dating my dad and their subsequent marriage; she gave me some insight into what her life was like as a young mother having three kids in four years. It was great. I learned things I did not know about Mom. While she was talking I was looking at a photo album that had many pictures of her as a teenager. We talked ever so shortly about that time in her life. Then we ran out of tape.

The next day, with new tapes in hand, we drove to south eastern Idaho to a small community called Pingree. My Aunt Margene lives there. Her health is deteriorating and we wanted to see her one more time. As she and Mom, Margene's older sister, talked, I put the video tape on. It was fun to see their interaction. They talked a little about Margene's health. Then they started talking about their childhood together. What a fun time we all had. I learned about them as teens and about my grandparents and aunts and uncles. What a treasure to own now - a verbal history of the two of them. It is not complete in any way, but we have them talking about it all in their voices. How I wish I would have done more of that with others that have gone on before us.

What is your greatest joy? Your greatest sorrow?

I know it sounds cliché, but my greatest joy is my husband. We have been married 40 years—almost 41. We tend to think alike; we finish each other’s questions; when we are not with each other, we are lonesome. It is not always perfect, but it is better than I ever thought I would have, and I am thankful for him every single day of my life. Because of him, I have three great kids and several grandchildren that we both adore. I cannot image my life without him.

My greatest sorrow has been losing my dad. He died when I was only 21 and a day does not go by even yet that I do not think of him. My parents divorced when I was 10, and that is when my sorrow began. I tried to stay close, but the situation did not warrant that. When I was 14, he left and I never heard from him again. Then I received the call that he died in 1970. Going to his funeral was the hardest thing I think I have ever done. I cried constantly. The funeral was held at a mortuary. It was cold and uncomfortable. The singer was horrendous and sang a song that Dad would have died if he heard it. In fact he would not have been pleased with the whole ceremony. Afterwards we went to one of my uncles homes. I could not stop crying. I had to excuse myself and go into a bedroom due to my tears. I never want to experience that severe of sorrow ever again.

Someday I will try to analyze what the sorrow was all about—or at least that extreme depth of sorrow. For now it pains me to even think about it.

I have not been posting here lately.

Good afternoon. It has been a while since I have posted here. In all honesty I have wondered if I should be posting these thoughts to the internet. Then my daughter wrote saying how much she was enjoying reading this information, as she and her daughter were learning more about me than she knew. Since I do my original text in Word, I am keeping a file of what I write that I can eventually print out for my posterity.

I hope anyone who is reading this, too, is finding this information interesting. More than that, I hope you are taking the time to write your answers to the questions I post. Have fun with it. Make it yours in your own way. Even if you do not write from the questions, take time at least once a week to write down something of your personal or family history. It is great fun to go back and read it at a later date.

Keep journalling!

Describe a Night at Grandma’s House.

My Grandma from my dad’s side died at a very young age. She died after giving birth to her youngest child. My dad was still a young boy at the time of her death. I do not remember hearing any stories about her at all.

My Mom’s mom, Thelma, was a wonderful woman. I loved going to her house, whether it was for the day or for the week. She was always cooking something—cookies, canning jams, fruits or vegetables, bread. Her house always smelled like something good. I preferred to stay there when there was a lot of staying there, as the kids all got to sleep on the floor in her big living room. That was so fun. I loved my sleep, so I did not take part of all the giggles and silly things that went on into the late night. But being there with my siblings and cousins was a delight. I had such a strong feeling of family during those sleep-overs.

When it was just me, I had to sleep in the front bedroom. I really hated that room, as it was always so cold. Grandma would always shut the door during the day. It was a nice room over all. It faced the east, so it was bright and sunshiny in the morning. It also faced the big garden Grandma had and her apple orchard. It was fun getting up in the morning and looking out to see the yummy things growing out there.

She had a television, but we were not allowed to watch too much of it. During the day we were given chores to do. I loved my Grandma’s Kirby vacuum. Every morning Grandma would ask me to vacuum the living room and family room. I thought I was the luckiest girl in the world. My sister Anne would be asked to gather the eggs from the chicken coop. I did not like the smell in there, so I was glad that was not my job. I do remember when I was very young going out with Anne and my brother Bob to gather the eggs. Grandma had a lot of chickens, so we had a lot of eggs in our baskets that morning. When we left the chicken coop, Anne and Bob started throwing some of the eggs at the outside wall of the chicken coop. I don’t remember, but I probably was in the fray, too. I do remember Grandpa coming out of the milk barn and caught us. We all got in big trouble for that. I hated them being unhappy with me and would do anything they told me to so I would not have to face their displeasure in me ever again.

We also got to pick the ripe vegetables and fruits. Raspberry picking was the best. We would pick one and eat two. Grandma loved to can raspberries, but she did not get too many to can when we were picking them.

The best of all was having breakfast with my grandpa and grandma. You could smell the yummy food long before it was ready. It was always a big breakfast with lots of bacon, toast, jams, eggs and potatoes. Before we could eat, we all knelt down at our chairs and Grandma or Grandpa would say morning prayers. Boy, could their prayers go on and on! But they always included me, and anyone else there, in the prayers. That always made me feel so special. I think the prayers made the food even better.

I loved those days at Grandma’s house. I miss her terribly and wish I could still go see her.

Tell About the Birth of Your First Child.

My first child was a boy, though the doctor swore up and down before he was born that it would be a girl. He, in fact, wrote GIRL across my belly in magic marker before I ever went in for delivery. The nurse later told me he was unhappy because he had never been wrong before. Oh well.

Two weeks after my due date, I decided I better catch up on my laundry, since I did not know when that child would ever come. On a Monday I washed everything that was dirty. Since I did not have a washer or a dryer, I toted all the laundry to the Laundromat and washed it all. I then took it all back home and hung it out on the line outside to dry. Gil was working, so I did this alone. Later that day, I brought it all back in and folded and put it all away. That night Gil and I went to our friends’, Maryann and Alex Johansen, to have dinner. Afterwards we started playing a board game. I was tired and my back hurt but was having fun, so I did not say anything about going home. Alex finally turned to me and told me I was in labor. I told him no I had just done a lot of carrying heavy things and was just sore. He said he had been watching me wiggle in my seat since dinner and that I was down to 10 minutes apart from each wiggle. They had a baby about three months before, so he knew what he was talking about. I sure did not know what to expect, so I took his word for it. Gil and I headed home.

We had to travel past our hospital on the way home. Gil asked if I wanted to stop and be checked out. I still did not believe I was in labor, so I said no. When we got home, we both went to bed and I slept soundly until around 7 a.m. At that time I work up with a sharp pain. A few minutes later, I had another one. Okay. This might be it. Well I had a weekly checkup appointment at 9 a.m., so I waited and went to see there first. By then the pains were very regular and getting more painful. My appointment was at Kaiser Clinic in Santa Clara, which was right next door to the hospital. After getting into the exam room at the doctor’s office, the nurse asked how I was doing. I told her about my contractions. She went to get the doctor. He told her to send me immediately to the hospital and he would check in with me in a little bit there.

I had not brought anything, as I still did not believe it was my time—even though I was two weeks past my expected delivery date. I wanted to go home first, but Gil stated he would go and get my things if really was the time. So to the hospital we walked.

It took a little while to get checked in and settled. Finally a nurse came in and checked to see what was going on. Sure enough I was in labor and had started dilating. She said I was not too far along yet, but they would keep me since we lived quite a ways from the hospital.

So they prepped me for delivery. I was pretty nervous and asked if I could delay this, so I would have time to get emotionally ready for it. I was told that was what the previous nine months were for.

Not too long after being admitted, I heard a woman screaming and crying. The nurse taking care of me came in. I asked if something was wrong out there. She said no, that a woman was just being a baby about it all. Then I was REALLY scared. My eyes started to tear up. The nurse said do not worry. It is not that bad. She is just taking it to extremes. At that point I turned to Gil and told him to make sure if I started to scream like that to cover my mouth with something.

The day was long. Remember I was at the doctor’s office at 9 a.m. I did not go into hard labor until late afternoon. See I could have gone home and psyched myself up for what was coming. Since I did not bring my bag, I had nothing to keep myself busy. Gil went into the waiting room and brought in a couple of magazines. One of them was a Sports Illustrated. There was an article about Roy Campaneras and an injury he received while batting. After reading that article, Gil and I had a long conversation about baseball. We were great baseball fans.

Finally things started happening, which I do not remember too much about. Around 6:30 p.m. on July 1st 1970, our Jason was born. When we first met him, Gil and I decided he was not really a Jason. All evening we discussed what we would name, as Jason was the only name we even considered. The next morning we decided it would be Donald. We have always been thankful we did not name him Jason, as that was the most favored name for that year and several years to come.

He was beautiful. In fact I had nurses come in to my room to meet me, as they had seen him and thought he was the most beautiful baby they had ever seen. We thought so, too. I will write more later about Don and the joy he gave to us.

What did your grandfather do for a living?

I can only relate to my mother’s father. My father’s dad died when I was 5 and my dad left home when I was 10. So I do not know too much about him.

My mother’s father’s name was James Loren Christiansen. He was born in 1898. In my eyes he was a great man. He raised 6 children. Two of the three boys went on missions. Two served in the military. One was the dean of students at the University of Arizona (or Arizona State). They all eventually went to the temple.

Grandpa was originally a farmer in Moreland Idaho. He also worked at what was called the AEC [Atomic Energy Commission] site west of Idaho Falls. Then after he retired, he drove school bus for the Moreland Elementary School.

He always seemed to have a twinkle in his eye and loved to tease his wife, Thelma, my grandma. He also was always working. So was my grandma. They taught their kids to be hard workers, too. They, in turn, taught their kids to be so, too. I know when you show by example how to work, the people around you tend to learn it and follow your example. I am a hard worker. My kids all do a great job at their jobs. Example is truly the best teacher.

One of the things I always think of Grandpa is when I was staying at their house, I got up early one morning and found his teeth in a glass of water in the bathroom. How shocked I was. I did not know anything about false teeth up until then. I started screaming and ran out to my grandma and asked what they were and why were they there. Grandpa was out getting wood for a fire. Grandma went to the door and yelled, “Jim, get in here and put your teeth in. You scared Peggy half to death!” I ran to the bedroom and waited until I heard him go into the bathroom. I sure did not want to see him without his teeth in.

Grandpa and Grandma celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary. They were such a wonderful couple. I loved staying with them when I was little (when I was older, too). I was always scared to go to my own meetings at church. Grandma always taught Gospel Doctrine, so I would go in with her. I was always so amazed that she knew scriptures as well as she did. Grandpa would even help her with some of the concepts. They made a great team there as well as at home.

Grandpa had a stroke and then another one. Grandma kept him at home and helped him take care of his needs, as he continued to have strokes. My brother, Bob, was visiting one day when Grandpa had another severe stroke. He picked him up and drove him and Grandma to the hospital in Blackfoot Idaho. Grandpa died there that day. I was always so thankful that Bob was there to be of assistance to Grandma.

My family was a young family at the time of Grandpa’s death. Due to financial constraints, I decided not to attend Grandpa’s funeral in Idaho. We lived in California. I have regretted it ever since. That is one of true regrets I have in my life. He was a wonderful man, and I did not take advantage of saying goodbye to him one last time.

I loved my grandpa and still miss him. Though I do not want to pass away soon, I do look forward to seeing him again someday.

1st Journal Entry

Question: What do you think about television?
I LOVE it! And I HATE it.
Hate first: it takes too much of my time. I hate commercials, especially anything that makes me blush or cringe depending upon who is sitting next to me. I hate remotes, especially in the hands of a man. Men tend to change stations whenever a commercial comes on and then forgets to put it back to the original show until five minutes later—thus missing part of the show. I also hate that when I love a program I will watch the same episode over and over again until I can start saying what the characters are saying until it starts to drive others crazy. I hate that the news shows have turned from giving us the news whether it is bad or good. Instead they have become more like a gossip/entertainment show or, worse yet, a let’s see what the host(s) are going to do today—like bungee jump, hide in the world, dance at the Olympics, etc. I could go on.

Love next: I love to watch history shows, especially about the Civil War. I love nature shows. I love shows like Burn’s National Parks series or any of his other series—especially his baseball version. I like Law & Order (the original version) and other cops and law shows, except any of the CI shows. Too graphic. I love NPR. I love the TMC old movies—especially because they do not have commercials. Gil and I watched Ben Hur the week before Christmas. It was the one done in the late 1920s and was in black and white and had sub-titles. It was great. I love that I can get the LDS conferences on it now. I love that I can put a movie in the DVR, put a fire in the fireplace and sit down to do hand sewing/quilting/crocheting and have a great afternoon or evening all by myself or with someone special. I love the company it gives me when I am alone, even if I am not watching it. I love putting in a musical when I am cleaning the house. I get done faster and love to sing along with the musical. My neighbors might not like it, but I do.

Like everything else in life, TV comes with good things and with bad. We just have to regulate ourselves so we do not become obsessed with it. I need to work on my obsession.

Getting started on your journal

Easy recipe:
Bring in your life history.
Add a bit of nostalgia.
Put in several facts and feelings.
If you follow the above recipe, you will have a wonderful, interesting personal history.

All you have to do is answer the questions given or create one of your own. Spend a few minutes after reading the question/rememberance. Let the memories flow enjoying them. Then write down what has come to mind. Remember you do not have to write down the sad parts, if you do not want to. Just remember your life journal will not be complete without at least a mention of hard times. Just do not write anything that will hurt anyone that might read your journal.

This journal that you will write will help preserve your life by helping you to write all your homemade memories. The best gift you can give yourself.
Good luck and happy writing.