Guy-Speak

After 37 years of marriage, I am finally getting a handle on my husband’s Guy-Speak.  Here are some examples

Me:  Did you like dinner?

Him:  It was alright.

Translation:  It was not my favorite dinner, probably because it was healthy and had no meat.  I am not  complaining because I don’t want to cook.

Him:  I am doing a fun fix-it project.

Translation:  I have found a project that involves an engine. It is challenging, probably expensive, my friends can help with it, and when it is done I will have something I like to drive around.

Me:  I am so mad about what Josephine Doe said about Warblesnorts!

Him: Silence....

Translation:   I am not interested in this topic.  Josephine Doe can say anything she wants about Warblesnorts, and I am good with it.

Him:  I am going to mow the lawn.

Translation:  Would you help me mow the lawn by moving the hoses and fences around the trees, and doing the easy part with the other mower?

Him:  That four-wheeler ride was a blast!.

Translation:  That four-wheeler ride was challenging and, more important, dangerous.  I got to see cool old mines, try to bust through snow drifts, and spend time with my friends.

A person in a jeep asks us the following while we are four-wheeling:  Did you just come up that road?  How was it?

Him:  It was a little rough.

Translation:  The road has the same incline as the Empire State Building and is packed with boulders the size of a large dog.  No one in their right mind would drive on this road if they didn’t have to.

 It takes a while to get the hang of Guy-Speak, but I am proof that it can be done.

Leaving Pompey's Pillar

After my Dad's brother Robert Theodore died and my Dad and his sister Win nearly died,  Maude and Dunc Robertson decide to give up their dairy farm at Pompey's Pillar.  Dad always told me, that the water was bad in Pompey's Pillar, and they thought that it was the cause of the sick children.

The first child to become seriously ill was  Robert Theodore "Teddy." He died on November 17, 1913. The Great Falls Tribune reported:

Robertson Baby Dead

On Monday morning at 10:30, Robert Theodore, the fourteen-months-old son of Mr. and Mrs. Oscar D. Robertson of Pompey's Pillar, died of acute inflammation of the bowels.  The little child has been a sufferer for a long time.  The remains were taken to Great Falls the first of the week and internment was made in the family burial plot.  

The members of the family and Miss Mittie Brodock, Mrs. Robertson's sister went to Great Falls to see the remains of the little fellow put in its final resting place.

Robert Theodore Robertson

Bill for Teddy's Headstone

My Aunt Winifred and my father became desperately ill with the same symptoms Teddy had and nearly died.  Dad said his hair at birth was red, but it all fell out during this illness.  When his hair grew back in, it was dark brown.  The illness of both children had to have occurred in 1917 or after since my Dad's birth was March 9, 1916, and he said he could talk enough to say, "Milk, Momma!" when he was recovering.

After losing a baby and nearly losing two others, Grandpa and Grandma packed up. They auctioned off their farm and headed to West Fork to take up flax farming.  The town is now called Westby, located in the northeast corner state.

An old red journal of Grandpa's indicates some business with the railroad, whether the car number applies to supplies coming early in the Pompey's Pillar venture or moving, I don't know. A red journal indicates the the family made the move to West Fork by rail car. Possibly, Dunc and John went ahead to build a house and make things ready for the rest of the family. Journal entry, "My car is 41350."  Uncle John accompanied Grandpa.  Journal entry,  "Left Wolf Point at 5 oclock Nov 15, 1917 for Great Falls John and Dunc. Laid Over in Glasgow the 17    went from Glasgow to haver at 4 oclock   are at Coberg in the Milk River Valley."

Journal entry, "Pompey's Pillar Mont Apr 15 1917    a regular Blizzard is Raging today"

Later journal entry, "Bound for Scobey.  Left Pompey's Pillar with my carload of Household goods 5 horses and wagon on April 17th at 3.30 pm 1917

April 18 left Billings at 1 oclock on Gt Northern"

Journal entry, "Rate from Pompey's Pillar to Billings on ....car, Billings 12 to Plentywood 32, Plentywood to Scobey 12.  Robinson at Lead office of Gt Northern in Billings gave me the rate  Take no other"

Journal entry, "April 19 kept me in Billings from 7 oclock on the 17 until 3 oclock the 18th thence to Gt Falls  Laid over 6 oclock on the 19th until 4:30 P.M. the 19th  Just arrived in Havre 4.30 A.M. of 20th        arrive at Glasgow 8.30 P.M. Laid over untill 12:30 P.M.  Then Left for Bainville  arrived at 8.30 am 21 Apr     Left Bainville 1.30 P.M. Apr 21 bound for Plenty Wood     Apr 21 6 P.M. arrived at Plenty wood.  Left Plenty wood Sunday 22 at 3 pm   Bound for Scobey    Arrived at Scobey Apr 22 9.30 P M at night  Apr 23 at Scobey   snowing like blazes for two days 23rd and 24      Apr 26 John"+



The flax venture was a bust.  The family lost every penny they had.  My Grandmother delivered twins, a boy and a girl in Fort Benton, where her sister Mabel lived, on Oct 10, 1917.

Maude holding Geneva, Gene, Sid in the background and Winifred

In the middle of all this upheaval, O, Dunc , was drafted to serve in WWI Nov 4 1918, eleven days before his 46th birthday.  He did not see combat but served in the Washington shipyards.

So the next time I think I'm having a rough day or a rough year or a rough 5 years, it might be time to ruminate on these events in my Grandparents' and parents' lives and put things in perspective.

Learning More About Pompey's Pillar

View from the Pompey's Pillar Farm, taken by the rich relatives from Chicago

The years in Pompey’s Pillar must have loomed large in my grandparents’ life.  They saved more paperwork from this time than from any other time in their life combined.  There are receipts for operation and maintenance fees, character references, various correspondence with the bureau of reclamation , tax notices, deeds, maps, stock certificates,  and water rights, to name a few.

Fees

Character Reference

Farming during the first year: 1909

Before the Pompey’s Pillar venture, O. Duncan Robertson and Maude Brodock Robertson must have saved up to provide themselves with a healthy stake to get started.  No greenhorn, Grandpa did not calculate to rely solely on farming the alkaline western soil. He had a dairy farm in mind.  Their dairy stock was of the finest.  Grandpa kept excellent records of his improvements and his stocks’ pedigrees and milk production.  Mr. Berg, whoever he may be, and Warrent bred their cow to Grandpa's registerd Holstein bull.

Certificate of Registry for bull

Grandpa had names for his cows.  It appears that many were named after friends of family:  Nettie, Mittie, Beauty, Rose, Edith, Alberta, and May.  This is more evidence of our changing culture. If anyone named a cow after me, I would assume the person was trying to pick a fight.

I would have never dreamed that the Huntley Project, Ballantine, Pompey's Pillar area created a telephone company.  But here is the stock certificate that proves it.  Evidently, Grandpa had stock in the company and had the contract to string some of the lines.

To me it looks like the Pompey’s Pillar neighbors were a tight knit group,  Several papers refer to a Yeoman’s Association which Maude, Dunc and several neighbors joined.   There is even a certificate that looks remarkably like a health insurance policy.  In this valuable paper, my Grandmother lists the causes of death from siblings to grandparents.

Dairy Licene for the Robertson's Yellowstone stock farm.

Bill for stringing telephone wire on the Yellowstone Stock Farm Letterhead

Building Huntley Project

I’ m inclined to believe Wikipedia when it states that much of Huntley Project was poorly designed and cheaply built.  It wasn’t long before repairs and replacements were needed. Looking at some of the receipts, the maintenance fees seem to occur often and fees seem exorbitant for this time period.  Call me naive, but $172.90 for irrigation maintenance fees for a farm where the entire mortgage was a $1000.00 seems outrageous.   Like the rest of the west, the soil tended to be alkali and crops didn’t grow as well as the farmers would have liked. Interestingly, Wikipedia states that in 1913 some of land became waterlogged. 

 Looking through these documents made me realize at little more about the character of those I descended from.  They were very literate, paid their debts, and were good business people.  They valued quality and knew how to plan to achieve their goals.  Grandma and Grandpa, you were A-1.

My Eleven Rules of Fashion

• Blue jeans go with any color.

• Fur went out after the ice age. Why would you even WANT to wear fur when you could buy a machine washable, water resistant, warm ski jacket at a fraction of the cost? 

• Ski jackets go with any outfit from the formal to the casual. 

• If it’s uncomfortable, it is not fashionable.

• High heels have never been and will never be in style. Ever.

• If the primary focus of skin tight apparel is jiggling fat, the wearer is not fashionable.  The wearer may be disgusting and comical, but not fashionable. Trust me on this.

• If I like the color, fit, and print, it is in fashion.

• Keen sandals and lace ups, and Vasque boots are the most  trendy footwear on earth.

• Anyone paying thousands, or even hundreds of dollars for clothes, is out of her/his cotton-picking mind.  Donate to a good cause or put the money into retirement instead. Anyone worth knowing does not care about the brand name of someone’s clothes and accessories.

• The latest fashion among the teenage set is FUNNY when the over thirty set wears
  it.

• I don’t care what anyone else is wearing this year, but I encourage everyone, as a public duty, to wear something.

What the Truly Fashionable are Wearing This Year

Study Your Back Trail

My grandfather had words of advice to avoid getting lost:  Study your back trail.  As a Montana cowboy in the 1880’s and 1890’s, maybe Grandpa knew a thing or two about what it was to be lost. 

Grandpa maintained that often people became lost because they failed to turn around occasionally and see what the landscape would look like on the return journey.  When the travelers headed back, nothing would look familiar because they had never stopped to see how things looked traveling the opposite direction. Even though I stick closely to trails, I stop now and then to study my back trail when I hike.  You never know when you might be forced off a trail by someone’s bull, a bear, or other circumstances.  Off trail, you really need to know what the country looks like facing the other direction.

Studying your back trail is a good idea in life too.  Every now and then it makes sense to look back and evaluate what you have come through, how you handled it, and what you would do differently.  The 10^th step of Alcoholics Anonymous provides for studying your back trail every day by taking a daily personal inventory and owning mistakes.

While studying your back trail is important, I have come to realize that this, like anything else, can be overdone.  If you spend all your time facing backwards and memorizing the most minute details of the country you have already passed through, you are bound to trip over the rocks and roots ahead of you.  When hiking, you stop only once in a while to study your back trail.  It’s not efficient, and can be dangerous, to focus most of your attention backwards, giving minimal heed to your forward progression.

I have spent too much time studying my back trail.  I plan to change that.  I still want to evaluate  my actions daily and correct behaviors I need to correct. Still, no matter how much I measure my conduct and hope to improve, I am human.  I make mistakes.  No amount of bemoaning the past can change my mistakes or the mistakes others made that affect me. My only hope is to rely on the saving merits of my Savior. If I want His help and forgiveness, I have to let go of both my mistakes and others’ mistakes and move on. This is the healthiest and best way to live a life.

I will continue to study my back trail, but I plan to spend most of my efforts in charting my movement forward. I don’t like to mess up, and I am going to try to avoid this. But part of my development includes dealing with my mistakes.  Beating myself up when I make errors doesn’t stop me from making more errors, it only makes me depressed, anxious, and afraid.  Stop now and then to study your back trail. Concentrate mostly on your front trail.  Both statements are good advice.

The Years at Pompey's Pillar

As any of my family knows, Pompey's Pillar is a large rock close to the Yellowstone River that was large enough in the landscape for travelers to use it as a marker.  Many early explorers and travelers carved their names in the rock.  It was named for Pompey, a black man who made up part of the Lewis and Clark Expedition.  William Clark is the most famous grafitti artist on the monument.

My Dad was born at Pompey's Pillar, Montana, the town.  This town  now consists of a few trailers, a couple of houses, a few old buildings and a Post Office.  But when Dad's parents, O.D. Robertson and Maude Brodock Robertson  moved there in the early 1900's, it was an up and coming place. A riverboat made runs from Billings to Pompey's Pillar and back. There were businesses and a bank.

John, Les and Winifred Robertson in front of the Pompey's Pillar homestead

Huntley Irrigation Project, completed in 1907, encouraged settlers to homestead this area.  The Crow Indians ceded reservation lands for settlement.  O.D. owed Indians fees on his homestead, which was close to the Pompey's Pillar Monument.  His dairy and stock farm was traversed by fly creek and the railroad.  Every morning a train bound for Billings would stop and O.D. would load milk onto it.  

I don't know if O.D. and Maude set their sights on a homstead in Pompey's Pillar when they were married January 20, 1904.  But by 1906 they were making plans to homestead there. When they arrived, they had two children, John and Leslie.  Robert Theodore (Teddy), Winifred and Sidney were all born at the Pompey's Pillar Homestead.  

1906 Certificate showing O.D. Robertson  was eligible to file for a homestead.

When Maude and Dunc lived in the area, Pompey's Pillar had a Community Club - the card makes me think it was like a Chamber of Commerce

Uncle John's Report Card

Mr and Mrs Davis.  Mrs. Davis taught school in Pompey's Pillar

The Family Brands

When it came to remembering facts and details, my Dad was a star.  He could tell the date, month, and year of about anything of at least minor importance that happened.  Once Dad reviewed the family brands with me.

Turns out, Dad remembered the details of the family brands with stunning accuracy too.  He told me my grandfather had a brand that was not good for branding horses.  For horses, the brand had to be put on the jaw, not a good place to brand a horse.  So my grandmother registered a brand in her name, the Lazy BK .  This brand was acceptable for horses because it could be used on the hip and not the jaw.

The following documents I stumbled across show my Dad remembered the facts about the family brands with his usual precision.  One of the documents below shows that Maude Robertson in 1904 registered the R6 brand, but for horses it had to be used on the jaw.

The next document is a Department of Livestock certificate to move livestock from one location to another.  Requiring livestock inspection to move stock still holds today within the state.  The horses being moved had the Lazy BK brand.  Dad, you were a champ when it came to details!

The R6 registered in 1904

The Parable of the Baked Beans

Back L to R O.A. Robertson, Clarence Barnces
Front: Jack Radford, Robin Byrd.

Jack Radford

Robin Byrd

After his arrival in Montana on July 9, 1864, my great grandfather, O. A. Robertson, formed partnerships with some other miners.  One of the partnerships he formed was the Cayuse Mining Company with partners Clarence Barnes, Jack Radford, and Robin Byrd at New York Gulch (now called York).

I’ve gathered that cooking was one of the least favorite chores in a mining camp.  O.A. and his partners decided on a rotating cooking schedule and that each person would take turns cooking for a week at a time.  There was one hard and fast rule: anyone who complained had to take over the cooking for the rest of the week. 

O.A. sat down to a dinner of baked beans after a hard day mining.  Tasting his first mouthful, he burst out, “These beans are too salty!”  Remembering the rule, he added, “But they’re all the better for it!”

His correction was not accepted and he had to cook for the remainder of the week.  I can think of several life lessons we could learn from this incident.  What are the life lessons you gain from it?

Riverboats and Questions

For quite a while this picture has perplexed all the family members.  First, we thought it must be Fort Benton.  After all, my grandma’s twins Gene and Geneva Robertson were born at the Fort Benton Hospital so we know someone in the family was there for a while.  

Next, we wondered if this picture was of the ferry that ran on the Yellowstone River from Pompey’s Pillar to Billings.  This was logical since Grandma and Grandpa had a place in Pompey’s Pillar for a while.  But the river and the hills didn’t look quite right.

Recently, after conversing with knowledgeable historians who are also stars at internet research, the mystery might be solved. 

It appears likely that this is a picture of ferries on the Yukon River.  These Ferries took prospectors up the river to Dawson City during the gold rush.  Grandpa went to Dawson City and the Yukon and tried his luck.  For us, it’s fabulous that he liked to buy pictures of the times.  Piece by piece, the family history is coming together. 

Native American Blood Could Be a Myth

On Dad's side of the family, there is an abundance of  very dark eyed and dark haired people.  We have had various rumors from distant family connections that there is Native American blood in the family.  One picture of an ancester looks very Native American. Out of curiosity I had my cousin tested only to find the Robertsons are pure Celts.

Taking another stab in the dark, we tested my female cousin's DNA Line.  The mt DNA tests the mother's, mother's, mother's....  Well, this time we ended up in France (14.56%of the population belonging to the haplotype) and Austria (12.6%), with Italy coming in third (10.6%) .  Check out Maine et Loire - Maine-Anjou (14.56%), France - Herault - Languedoc, France (14.13%).   I thought this line was German and Dutch. Curioser and Curioser.

As for French blood,  my Dad always said we have French in the family.  I have never run into it yet in any of my genealogical research. And I'm not so sure I want to be French. Not a nation I admire. Sorry.  If an ancestor was French, at least she had sense enough to get out of there at least by the 1700s.

The mystery still exists.  It remains only to check out a male with the Brodock surname.  Unforunately there are none living left in our immediate branch of the family. Even checking out a Brodock might not work out if a Brodock married a Native American woman.  The YDNA finds out the father's, father's father...  In this test, it would miss any women with Native American blood.  We would have to find a female descendent whose mother was a Brodock to find an NA woman in the mix.  Did I mention I am getting a headache? 

Anybody have any more ideas?

On Returning the House to Normal after Christmas

On the second day of the new year, I took down the Christmas tree, and found nerf bullets in its branches: three. 

On the third day of the new year, I vacuumed out the couch and found four nerf bullets in the pouch

On the fourth day of the new year, I began the wash; in which was five nerf bullets. O my gosh.

On the fifth day of the new year, I cleaned the heater fins, and found two nerf bullets deep within.

On the sixth day of the new year, the corners I did mop, and still the nerf bullets did not stop.

On the seventh day of the new year, I cleaned the ceiling fan, and there was more nerf ammo for the can.

This Christmas was fun and the grandkids were a scream, and of all these nerf bullets did they dream.

I thought they had fun with the skates and sleds and dolls, but they loved the nerf bullets most of all.

Next year, oh next year, I have thought about it lots:  I am banning nerf bullets to the shop.

Ghosts of Christmas Past

Ashley Blodgett, Landon Chrstensen Evan Price

Back Maren Price Preston holding Kristy and Lisa, Sid Robertson
Front: Julie Price, Chris Spoja Anna and Kelly Spoja

Rachael Latour holding Evan Price

Evan Price

Lisa Price

Maren and Julie Price

Maren and Julie Price

Maren and Julie

Kristy, baby Sydney Spoja, Lisa in front of Julie, one of the Spoja twins.

Staying True to What I Believe

There is a story of a young couple moving to a new town.  In trying to find out more information about the town they were moving to, they asked an elderly man, who was a native of the town, what that town was like.  In response the old man said, “Tell me about the town where you live now.”

     “It’s great!”  Answered the couple.  “The people are fun and friendly.  Everyone goes out of their way to be kind and helpful.”

     “This town is just liked that,”   answered the old man.

    Another couple moving to the town stumbled upon the same old man.  This couple also asked him what his town was like.   The old man queried, “Tell me about the town where you live now.”

     “Oh it’s awful,” the couple responded.   “The people are snobbish and stuck up.  Everyone is unhelpful and unfriendly.”

     “This town is just like that,” answered the old man.

People always find what they are looking for.  This is true of research and any topic, especially Joseph Smith.  No individual will ever know of the truthfulness of any faith based on logic and research alone.  No matter what church you belong to, it requires faith to believe.  There is no religion, famous person, or organization that will shine in the glaring scrutiny of staring backward in time at bald facts.  If you want to find dirt, you will always be successful.   Not even Abraham Lincoln smells like a rose in the light of this scrutiny.  All religions have allegations of child abuse, deceptive and self-serving clergy, infidelity, murders in God’s name, and any other atrocity you can think of.  Look for it on the internet.  You’ll find it.

Since there will always be voices opposing any belief in anything, faith is required. Having faith is a decision.  It means feelings must be listened to as well as facts. It means prayer.  It means study.  It means creating a space for something besides what you can see, touch, and hear in your life.  It means you are not guaranteed a complete understanding in this mortal existence of everything that has ever happened.  Why would you need faith if you had that understanding? 

Having faith is spiritual exercise which leads to growth.  Faith can lead to a trust in God – depending on individual decisions.  This must be important because humans rarely have complete knowledge and understanding of anything.  Ask a physicist if you don’t believe me.

I am almost 60 years old. To abandon my faith means that I must lie about the spiritual promptings I have received from a source outside myself.  It means that I must abandon the assurances, comfort, joy, peace, and happiness that I have experienced as I have practiced my faith.  I would have to say these experiences never happened, or they didn’t have any significance. Or I would have to adopt the position that these experiences were the result of my own self-delusions.   That would be the ultimate self-betrayal.

  I’ve seen deluded people.  They are not peaceful, happy, or assured.  That is a fact.

When you become divorced from your feelings, you have to rely on facts as others present them.  Without consulting your feelings, there is no fail-safe mechanism to weigh another’s presentation of facts, except other facts.  How do you know which “facts” are really facts?  What part do others’ motives play in the presentation of facts?  It’s hard not to flounder among all the different versions of the facts.

The interesting thing about those who propound facts and logic as the only way to reach conclusions is that those in possession of this “knowledge” often end by telling you they just “know” their conclusions are right.  In the end, even proponents of facts and logic must use feelings as a foundation for their beliefs.

When dealing with plain facts, the backstory makes a big difference.  For example, how would you judge a woman if you knew that she encouraged her two-year-old child to drink shampoo?   Next, that woman used a toothbrush to force her child to vomit.  What would you think of a woman who would do such awful things to a child?  I’m certain you would call Child Protective Services in view of the bare facts.

I am that woman.  I tried to make my child drink shampoo.  When I wasn’t successful, I used a toothbrush to force her to vomit.  I did this at the direction of the Poison Control Center after my daughter grabbed a bottle of Campho-Phenique and took a swig.  The back story matters.  Backward glances in time may reveal some facts, but much of the backstory is missing.

As far as Joseph Smith’s marriages, I don’t like them.  And I don’t understand them.  But here is what I do understand:  trying to analyze or condemn, explain or abhor, defend or decry the actions of people from a vantage point with a gap of more than 150 years in time is an exercise in the ridiculous.  In many ways, people living in our culture today are miles apart in experience from people living 150 years ago.  There is also a significant cultural gap.  Compare marriage laws, if you doubt me.  If you believe that Joseph Smith had a powerful vision of God our Father and Jesus Christ, there is a gap of light years in spiritual knowledge as well.  People slinging mud without really knowing  the backstory, feelings, and experiences of the majority of people involved seem every bit as judgmental as people who oppose abortion and Gay marriage are supposed to be.

Speaking of being judgmental, compared to homosexual marriages, late term abortion, drug use, transgender surgeries, cross dressing, purposefully having children though not married, LBGT fight clubs, and a lot of other practices accepted in our society, plural marriage seems tame.

To tell the truth, I think it’s humorous that all this hoopla about polygamy is again in the news.  I heard all this stuff forty years ago when I was a college student.  And a hundred years ago many of the same stories were circulating with the same viciousness. There is nothing new here, except the internet.  My guess is that these new attacks are a funded, organized effort in retaliation to the church’s positions that militant groups don’t like.  If your position is that the church manipulates its members into acting on and believing its doctrines, how can you be so sure you are not being equally manipulated by groups opposing the church?

As for me, I have never had much influence on anybody.  I am not rich, famous, or even especially intelligent.  No one is required to believe the same way I do.  In fact, I would be acting contrary to my religious beliefs to use any methods to coerce any person to think or act the way I believe is right.  I believe in the individual’s right to think and act as they please.  I have a deep and permanent love for all my friends and family, no matter what their choices and beliefs.  Although that love does not mean I will tolerate abuse either of myself or my faith. I am willing to trust in God  and let Him handle the outcome.  I know that trust is justified.

Remembering Stacy

During my growing up years I heard about the sad events that occur in the lives of people.  But those hard things happened to other people.  We all have a built in optimism safety mechanism.  We need to think tragedy won’t strike us.  That is how we get through each day without being an anxious wreck.  That optimism is good. It helps us live our lives sanely.  Still, none of us are immune from heartbreak.

On September 30, 2005, my heart did break.  But with the tragedy, I learned that the Lord is there for me, providing tender mercies to help me find my way through it, if I will let Him.

I will never forget the early September 2005 phone calls from my daughter.   My daughter told me that Stacy, my oldest grandchild, was having headaches and vomiting.  She had missed several days of school.  My daughter was worried. Stacy seemed tired and discouraged from the week or so of headaches and nausea.

 For some strange reason the thought, “She has a brain tumor,” came to my mind.  I didn’t speak the thought aloud. What kind of a statement would that be to make to a worried parent?   I am not a doctor or even a nurse.  I have never researched out medicine on the internet, books, or anywhere else.  I don’t  like to be involved in medicine in any respect.  Hospitals give me the creeps.

A day or so later, my daughter called again to tell me that a doctor visit revealed Stacy was nearsighted.  The conclusion was reached that this nearsightedness was the root of all the problems.  My son-in-law, daughter, and Stacy and younger sister left for New York to start my son-in-law’s first job out of law school.

The trip east was miserable.  Stacy vomited in the car.  At night she would cry out in pain, but the pain could be controlled with Moltrin, until the last day.  In Indiana, a few days into the trip, my son-in-law was sitting in the backseat with the children. He noticed something terribly wrong with Stacy.  They rushed to the nearest Emergency Room in Angola, Illinois, where the staff insisted Stacy lie down.  A CAT scan revealed a brain tumor.  We speculate that lying down increased the pressure on her brain because she quit speaking after lying down and was comatose. 

A helicopter life-flighted my daughter and Stacy to Reilly Children’s hospital in Indianapolis.  I will never forget the phone call from my daughter telling me of these events and that doctors doubted Stacy would live.  I remember trying to call my other children and sisters to inform them of the situation.  Dialing the telephone was a major challenge. I kept dialing wrong numbers.  Putting together the words to explain the situation was almost impossible.

Kindergarten

There were two problems that seemed insurmountable.  First, the last time our family had any relatives east of the Mississippi was in the 1840’s.  So there was no family within a thousand miles to offer much needed help.  Secondly, we had two children serving missions for our church. Our son had entered the mission home at the beginning of September, while our daughter was in New Jersey. If we needed to contact them, we were to call the Stake President.  It was General Conference weekend and the Stake Presidency was nowhere to be found.  The stake clerk and executive secretary were new and did not know how to contact missionaries.  I think a person would have a better chance of placing a personal call to the President than contacting a missionary without the assistance of the Stake President.

In this time of anguish, the Lord did not forget us.  My sister, who lives two states away, just happened to have home teachers visit that evening.  Her home teacher had a friend, a Pediatric Endocrinologist who lived in Indianapolis, Indiana.  This friend also happened to be a member of the 6^th Quorum of the Seventy. 

I called the friend, John, and reached his wife, Karen, on the telephone.  Usually, John was in Salt Lake for General Conference, but he had decided to stay home this time.  John and Karen went to Reilly Children’s hospital and stayed with my daughter and family.   Karen took my younger granddaughter, Rebecca, home. My daughter was nervous about what four-year-old Rebecca’s reaction would be going with a stranger, but Rebecca seemed to know Karen was a safe person. “I’ll be alright,” she said.   John helped my daughter and her husband deal with doctors, and picked us up at the airport when we flew in. 

The three oldest granddaughters. Stacy on left.

During our flight to Indianapolis, Stacy died.  John and Karen opened their home to all of us and my son-in-law’s parents as well.   John knew how to get the contact information we needed to talk to our missionary children personally and explain what had happened.  John and Karen helped our children find a funeral home and make burial arrangements for Stacy.  They took us back to airport to fly home.

This help was a miraculous tender mercy.  This help from strangers made a tremendous difference to us as we tried to cope with the loss of our granddaughter. I never want to forget these tender mercies and the people that made them happen.

Another tender mercy I experienced is harder to explain.  In the months previous to Stacy’s death, I kept having a recurring thought.  It seemed to come out of nowhere.  The thought was that when tragedy happens, we have to accept it.  If we rise up and fight against the tragedy and become hateful towards God and others, we only hurt ourselves.  At the time, I wondered what this recurring thought was all about, but I knew it was truth.  When Stacy died, I knew why I had the thought.  It was as if the Lord realized I needed this preparation not to harm myself with bitterness and anger toward anyone.  I guess God knows I’m a bit of a fighter. 

At church I had learned, over and over, that the gospel helps us cope with adversity.  I had picked up the idea that when tragedy strikes, it wouldn’t bother me that much because I knew the grand scheme: that I could be with loved ones again.  Suffice it to say that I did not sail through Stacy’s death.  I remember feeling like I was going crazy and had no control over my mind for a while.  I remember realizing I was in the mall parking lot  and having no idea how I got there.  I remember hurting.  Bad.  Knowing the God’s plan did help and does help, but it did not mean that I escaped the grieving process.

One of my missionary children told me of a tender mercy she experienced.  On her mission she had to keep going, heartbreak or no heartbreak.  One day not long after Stacy’s death when she was feeling especially full of sorrow, she visited a member’s house.  Because of the way our world is, missionaries are directed not to coax children to sit on their laps, etc.  As my daughter missionary sat in this home, one of the little children, of her own initiative, climbed into her lap and hugged her.  

Stacy is the toddler.

 That experience made a difference to this young missionary.  She felt God was aware of her suffering and provided comfort.

 Stacy’s death brought me the realization that no one gets off this planet without experiencing sadness, tragedy, frustrations, unfairness, humiliation, bitterness, and disappointment.  No one gets out of here without faith being tried.  Every rotten experience represents a crossroads in our lives.  At this crossroads we make a choice.  Do we keep our faith or become bitter?  Do we struggle, accept, and move on in faith?  Do we rail against God and those who have hurt us? Do we keep trying, or do we give up?  Do we step forward with courage or take a shot at getting even with God?  Do we let God help, or do we try to make it on our own? The choice is ours, and it makes all the difference - now and forever.

Comment on Mysteries

This is a follow up to my post on mysteries in the bloodlines.  I received a comment from Mr. Doug Gonzales that provided valuable information about Henry Brodhack.  His information coupled with logic pointed to Henry being at  least half Native American.   Doug, I would love to get a hold of you, but I am not sure how to do it.  If you are on Ancestry.com, you could send me a message there.  This blog might also have a way to send me a message.

I am truly puzzled to learn that, a nephew tested 3% African American.  We did have ancestors who were slave holders from the South.  I can add the information that I had one of my male cousins DNA tested to determine if the Robertson line might have Native American blood. The Robertsons are pure Celts.

From the BYU testing , I learned that the most accurate way to test would be to find a woman whose mother was a Brodock and follow the mitochondrial DNA back through the female line. This procedure should determine if Submitta was Indian.  If we found a male with the Brodock surname  followed the male DNA back well....I'm getting in over my head, not to mention confused.

I learned from BYU-TV that not all DNA testing is equal... by a long shot.  I have a friend who knows her grandmother was Cherokee.  Ancestry.com DNA testing concluded she had a percentage of something that was not WASP (White Anglo-Saxon Protestant), but the test couldn't pin down what that percentage was.

In the meantime, who wants to be tested next?

O.A. Robertson - the Celt line

Rose Byrd - the English line, but there are rumors about an Indian Agent in the family

The Millers - Scotch and Danish and Norwegian

The puzzling Brodocks:  Left to right Charles, Henry (sitting), and friend.   Most of the girls were dark but two out of three boys were blondes like their mother.

Miller girls- more Scots, Danes and Norwegians.