A collection of distilled sarcastic wisdom, numerous photographs, discussions of books and stuff to learn and more stuff to think about from a retired economics professor turned blogger and photographer.
The pictures I posted yesterday of my two daughters, Kim and Carolyn, and my two great granddaughters, Sadie and Elise (Carolyn's granddaughters) were far and away the most popular pictures I have posted in months. I'm no dummy, so here are two more of the little charmers!
Daughters Kim and Carolyn, and Carolyn's granddaughters Sadie and Elise. The occasion was a baby shower for granddaughter Michelle who married a Utah Ute and avowed that her baby would never wear Utah red. Oh boy. Send in the marriage counselor. Make sure he or she is not a Ute. Michelle received more loot for one little baby than we ever had for all of our five kids combined. We had to use my wife Velna's coat for a blanket for oldest son Russell after she came home from working part time on the Montana State U campus while I was laboring for my master's degree in agricultural economics.
Our daughter Carolyn came from Texas to play with Sadie and Elise for awhile since Daddy is assistant coach of the BYU women's basketball team and Daddy and Mom and little Camille are off in Spain while the women's team is playing basketball.
It didn't matter if the weather was 40 below in a blizzard and a whiteout or if Velna's dad was sick or well, when the call came, he was up and gone to the railyard for another trip either to Cheyenne or Rawlins. I never heard him complain.
Photo of my wife (second from left), her mother, and two of her sisters. We were married in December 1952 so this Easter was our first Easter after marriage. I was finishing my degree at the University of Wyoming and would graduate in May 1953. Fortunately, my wife had a job and could make the payments on her engagement ring. Little did we both knoiw that Easter that we would be headed for four more years of college.
With four of our five kids (the fifth was yet to be born in Laramie WY) in Ann Arbor Michigan when I was finishing my Ph.D. dissertation and we were living in a second floor two bedroom apartment with an occasional mouse.
We were late getting to St. George in early December since Michelle and Josh decided to get married the end of November. Now, only a few months later Josh has about finished his first year of teaching high school science stuff and coaching wrestling and Michelle continues her super MBA-type professional career. Plus they are building a house a hop and a skip away from a Rio's Mexican restaurant so they will never be without food. This photo just happened to be on my photo list of pictures taken to get us from Salt Lake to St. George.
Once upon a time this grove of trees surrounded a little plain weathered brown house where I was born in 1932. The location is in Penrose Wyoming, a little valley by the Shoshone River 12 miles west of Powell Wyoming in northwest Wyoming. I lived and grew up the first nine years of my life in this little house with no running water, heated by coal and cottonwood chunks, no electricity until 1937, no washing machine, an hour each way to school at Powell Wyoming on the ancient and primitive school bus, no indoor plumbing. In many ways these nine years were the most formative years of my life. We weathered the Great Depression under my mother's watchful and frugal care while my dad was gone most of the time trying to find a day's work here and there. We had no car while dad was gone, and we had no telephone. But we ran among the apple trees and the cottonwoods in the summer and tromped through the high snow drifts in the winter and scraped the ice crystals from the bedroom windows so we could see outside. We had very few toys, very few books, very little of anything. But I and my (then) three sisters used our imaginations and invented things to do, schemes to act out, holes to be dug in the orchard to hide away from mother where she could not (we thought) find us, strawberries and peas and corn and radishes and carrots and everything else that would grow in the summer to pick, with the wind whistling through and around the tall cottonwoods and lulling us to sleep in the summer. Now in the autumn, if not the winter, of my life, I look back on those struggling years with longing and gratitude to my parents, and especially my mother, for perseverance and for the love that kept us bound together through the blizzards of winter and the violent thunder storms of summer. We grew and we survived and we prospered in all the things that mattered.