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slickshoesareyoucrazy · 2 years ago

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Sunday

So before my writer’s block cracked open in August, someone I believed was my friend sent me this writing prompt that actually did produce some quality writing in about 20 minutes. She sent it to me right before Mother’s Day, which is historically a hard day for me to deal with because of my relationship with my mom. I posted it on Mother’s Day, and I maybe reblogged it once. And today is Sunday, and the prompt is for Sundays, and I wanted a trusted friend or two who I don’t think saw this before to see it here, and I wanted to add onto it. I know I’m posting a lot here and I’m not sure who if anyone is looking at it, but the words are helping me. So I’m going to keep doing it. Anyway, this was the prompt:

Here’s what I wrote:

Sunday

My mother always prioritized convenience over connection. When I was a little girl, Mom never minded the twenty minute drive to the river to drop me off with my grandparents daily, because they provided free childcare for me when she worked. It was convenient. I set up camp at Gramma and Granda’s; that’s really where home was, even though the address listed on my school and medical records said Not Their House. Once Gramma died, and I was closer to twelve than eleven, and Mom felt confident I could handle myself alone without getting her outwardly accused of being a negligent mother, all of my connections became her inconvenience. Pull her out of the school district she’s grown up in and move her into the closer, more convenient one. Who cares if she doesn’t have any friends? Who cares about her missed connections? Who needs connections when you have convenience? Geographic closeness will always conquer emotional closeness on Mom’s list of what’s important. I started living for Sunday. The same twenty minute drive once a week to visit Granda, one of exactly two people I felt lovingly connected to, and the only one still living, became a chore. My connection didn’t matter, only her perceived inconvenience did, but I still got to have it on Sunday. I still got to go to the little river town church where my favorite aunt and uncle and cousins all went; I still got to watch baseball on cable with Granda in his little retirement home apartment. He sold the house and split the money four ways; twenty-five percent to Mom and Dad. He didn’t want the money and he didn’t want to live there anymore without her; there were too many stacked years of memories; too much connection from which he couldn’t escape the heavy loss. He didn’t want to live anywhere without her, really; he didn’t want to live without her. Period. Granda started regularly asking God to take him so he could be with His Doe and not in this little apartment where he lived only for Sunday and the scraps of connection he used to feast on every day. Mom called him a drag. She echoed his wish that God would just take him as often as he made it, but she didn’t want him to regain his treasured connection, she just wanted to pile up more of her own convenience. She hoarded convenience like a dragon hoards gold, and regardless of how much she felt was stolen from her or who she felt took it away, that was the loss she felt. Mom despised Sunday. Sunday took more than just a stray coin or two from her abundance of convenience; and my connection to Granda; to the river town; to the rest of my family; never adequately compensated her for her deficit. It grew every week; my debt for insisting on the connection grew with interest each Sunday, but I let it grow until Granda died too. He finally got to reconnect. At least I hope that’s what happened with him and Gramma; they’re together now, somewhere, everyday, connected. I’m not sure about it though. I don’t go to any church on Sunday anymore. I don’t even make a twenty minute drive. But I’m home and always connected.

I should have subtitled this post Connection and Convenience.

I’m posting this again here because I’m feeling the same dismissal and disregarding of my connections from the person who sent me this prompt originally that I have always felt from my mom. She’s like oddly echoed my mom on so many levels for me in the past two weeks of sitting in fairly extreme social anxiety. Like an echo, it’s not exactly the same as the original sound, but it’s close enough to be recognizable. I thought we were connected. Because of my past with my mom, I’ve been unfortunately set up to believe that anyone who willingly spends time with me and/or talks to me where I get to say things too must love me. But almost always, they’re using me. And this person definitely was. I was convenient company, not a real connection. As soon as I became inconvenient, I wasn’t connected anymore. I try my best to not ever operate like that. I certainly never intend to treat other people like they are just a convenience to me, and I try to convey that I am willing to deal with a fair amount of inconvenience for a real connection. What I give is always real. It comes from a genuine, sincere place. But sometimes things in my own life come to the surface, like serious anxiety and trauma triggers...like practical impediments like sickness and travel and family emergency...like whatever. And I know those things happen in other people’s lives too, so I try to never be inconvenient whenever I possibly can. I know people have families and other friendships and careers and health conditions and their own trauma that makes it difficult sometimes to connect with me in convenient ways, and I try my best to be alright with that. So when someone else treats me cavalierly...makes it very clear that although I am willing to wade through some inconvenience for them, they aren’t willing to feel a drop of it from me...ever...regardless of what the inconvenience is...it hurts a lot. It hurts because it always takes me back to my mom. It triggers most of my anxiety and trauma and self-esteem damage triggers. So that’s where I’m at this Sunday. There, and I’ve been watching Derry Girls kind of staggered with amazing friends, and Granda Joe really makes me miss my own Granda.

TV show actors ^^^^

Real Life Me with my Gramma and Granda ^^^^^ Whoever reads this? You’re not convenient company for me. I feel like you’re an important connection. I hope you feel that way about me too. <3

#missing my grandparents pretty bad the past month #especially the last two weeks #connection you can be secure inside and certain of is very rare; they were my first real ones #and only real ones for a long time

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darriness · 5 years ago

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Fic - Like You Wanna Be Loved 10/16

Author: darriness

Word Count: 1630

Summary: Explanation

Author’s Note: Posting tonight because tomorrow morning's chapter? Chapter Eleven? I'll just say one word - smoosh ;)

Thanks to my beta, @darrenismydarcy!

AO3 Link

Kurt takes a deep breath before knocking on Blaine’s door. Blaine opens the door a second later and the pair stare at each for a long moment. They saw each other not five hours ago but it feels like much longer and it also feels like everything has changed. Kurt muses that most everything HAS changed in that time.

“Come in.” Blaine offers, moving aside to allow Kurt in. Kurt moves into the apartment and looks around.

“Where’s Bethany?” He asks.

“Sleeping.” Blaine says and Kurt nods, “Please. Sit.” He says and it’s so like this afternoon that Kurt almost gets dejavu, but this time he does take the offered seat, sitting down primly on the edge of the chair that is perpendicular to the couch. Blaine sits on the couch and rubs his hands together nervously, “So you said we need to talk and I agree.” Blaine says.

Kurt nods, “Do you think you could...answer some questions for me?” He asks. On his way over he’d thought of what he’d say but in the end he has more questions than answers at this point and figured it was the best place to start.

Blaine nods, “Yeah. Sure. I can do that.” He says.

Kurt nods again, “So you said you and Bethany have been on your own for two years?” Blaine nods, “Where were you before coming to McKinley?” He had planned for his first question to be what happened with Blaine’s parents but now, sitting in front of the other boy, his nerves get the best of him so he had decided to ask a less important question first.

Blaine’s eyes widen like he too didn’t expect that to be the first question, “We lived in Westerville, two hours from here. I went to a private school there and Bethany was in a public elementary school.”

“And you moved here because…?” Kurt asks.

Blaine swallows, “There were some people who were...getting suspicious. Of us.” He clarifies, “They were asking questions about why no one ever came to Bethany’s parent/teacher conferences and my friends were wondering why I never came out with them anymore. Stuff like that. It seemed safer to...leave. Go where no one knew who we were.”

Kurt nods again and tries to appear as non-judgemental as possible. He’s not judging Blaine in the slightest, but he doesn’t want to do anything to make Blaine think he is, “How do you...manage this?” He asks and then cringes because even to his own ears that question sounded the definition of judgemental.

Luckily though, Blaine keeps looking at him with the same open, though slightly nervous, expression he’s had since Kurt got here and answers, “We almost didn’t make it through the first few weeks.” He sighs, “Not only did Bethany ask every night if our parents were coming back, we were basically surviving off of what I was able to pawn from our house. I had no idea how I was going to get by but…” he swallows, “my parents are very wealthy and a month after they left they sent Bethany a huge lump sum of money to help with expenses - not us, her.” Blaine shakes his head, almost resignedly, “It covered us for the first year and a half, and then when we came here, we sold the house and that replenished what we’d used and then some. It’s...quite a lot of money.”

“But how did you sell a house...and get this one for that matter...without an adult?” Kurt asks.

Blaine presses his lips together and looks away for a second, “Ummm I have this friend, who I’ve known since I was four, who is really good at hacking into computer systems and...forgery.” He coughs awkwardly, “He’s the only one who knows it’s just me and Bethany. Well, until now.” He says, gesturing to Kurt, “He promised to help me any way he could and that included getting our house sold, I don’t even want to know how he did that, and securing us the rental of this place.”

Kurt’s mind is reeling from all the information he’s learning. He tries to keep his face neutral and open, but he’s simultaneously shocked, appalled, and proud.

“And how do people not realize Bethany’s parents aren’t around? Signing her up for a new school? Even this sick day? How do people not ask questions?” Kurt asks.

Blaine scratches his forehead, with a guilty look, “A mixture of my friend’s computer magic and my own...falsehoods?” He winces and then sighs, “He forged all of our missing medical records for school and I have a fake email account I set up to pass as our parents to communicate with the schools.”

Kurt takes a deep breath. Of course, Blaine would have to lie to keep himself and his sister safe. He tries to tell himself he has no right to feel unsettled by that, “About those medical records...have you and your sister just not been to the doctor in two years?”

Blaine shrugs, “Yeah, basically.” He says, “If we go to a doctor, they’re going to figure it out. Luckily, we haven’t needed medical attention in two years and I’d very much like to keep it that way.”

Kurt lets out a breath. He couldn’t imagine the fear that would come from thinking that an illness or injury could cause you to be separated from the only family you have left. Speaking of which…

“Do you not have any other family?” He asks.

Blaine shakes his head, “Both of my parents are only children and all four of my grandparents died before I was ten. It’s just Bethany and I.”

“What happened, Blaine?” Kurt suddenly whispers and he’s shocked to notice that he has tears in his eyes, his voice a hoarse whisper in the room.

“They were going to kick Blaine out.” Comes a third voice not previously part of the conversation and Blaine and Kurt turn sharply to find Bethany standing in the doorway to the living room, hugging a sweater around her tiny frame, still looking tired but less fever-bright than earlier.

“Annie…” Blaine whispers, but Bethany shakes her head.

“Our parents were assholes to Blaine.” She says.

“Bethany!” Blaine admonishes as Kurt’s eyes widen but Bethany just shrugs.

“Well they were. I was seven and I could see it. And then the night he came out to them, they had a huge fight. I was already in bed but woke up when I heard screaming. I listened from the top of the stairs. My dad was saying some really bad stuff to Blaine.” Blaine hangs his head as Bethany continues, “And my mom wasn’t any better. Then I heard a crash and I went running downstairs. When I went into my dad’s office I found Blaine leaning on my dad’s desk, holding his cheek, with my dad standing in front of him.”

“He hit you?” Kurt asks, turning back to Blaine.

Blaine just nods, still looking into his lap, “It wasn’t the first time.” He whispers.

Both Bethany and Kurt bite their lips together before Bethany sighs and continues, “My dad was yelling that Blaine had to leave and that he wasn’t allowed back until he stopped being gay. I started yelling that I wanted Blaine to stay. My mom told me to go back to bed but I just kept yelling that Blaine had to stay. My dad didn’t care that I was there, he kept yelling at Blaine that he needed to leave and getting into his face.” Bethany shrugs, “I got really angry and pushed between them, pushed my dad away from Blaine and then…” She stops.

“And then she punched him in the stomach.” Blaine finishes and Kurt gasps but when he looks over at Blaine, the other boy is smiling at his sister, a look of fondness on his face as Bethany smiles back.

“You did?” Kurt asks in disbelief (and newfound pride).

Bethany nods, “Three or four times. My dad got even madder and I thought he was going to hit me. He never had before.”

“And I wasn’t about to let him.” Blaine adds, “Not that I think he actually would have, but I pulled Annie behind me just to make sure. I would have rather he’d hit me again than hit her.”

Kurt feels tears in his eyes again and he feels breathless. How did a seven- and fifteen-year-old get past this?

“But my dad just shook his head and said that nothing was worth this and that if we wanted each other so much we could have each other. He and my mom left the very next day.” Bethany finishes, moving to sit next to Blaine on the couch and grabbing his hand.

Blaine grabs her hand in both of his and smiles at her, “Annie was my hero that day.” He says, “And I’ve spent the last two years trying to thank her for it.”

Bethany moves to hug Blaine to her and Kurt feels tears trickle down his cheeks.

“Wow.” He says after a moment, and Blaine and Bethany pull apart with wet chuckles, “You stood up to your dad at seven?” He asks.

Bethany shrugs as Blaine smiles, “She’s pretty amazing.” Bethany scoffs and waves her hand but smiles up at Blaine anyway, “We make a good team. We make this work.” Blaine adds, looking back at Kurt.

Kurt nods, “I can see that.”

Bethany looks at Kurt from under her lashes, “So...you won’t tell anyone?” She asks.

“I already said I wouldn’t.” Kurt says, “But I’ll say it again if you need to hear it. I won’t tell anyone. I promise.”

“Thank you.” Blaine whispers and Kurt nods with a soft smile.

#klaine #klaine fanfiction #klaine fanfic #my loves #my stuff #like you wanna be loved #chapter ten

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bangkokjacknews · 5 years ago

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Young and Homeless in Bangkok - REPORT

The children in #Bangkok who live on the street – runaways from home and the dangers they face

Most evenings, a boy of about 14 years old appears outside a busy 7-Eleven store near Siam Square, a hub of glitzy shopping malls in the Thai capital, Bangkok. The youth is coated in dirt, his black hair is matted, and his nails have grown claw-like. He wears unwashed shorts, an oversized jersey, and plastic flip-flops. He takes a plastic cup out of his backpack and places it by the door. As the cup slowly fills up with coins, he sits hunched with his head resting on folded arms between his knees, or sprawls inert on the pavement. He never says a word or even looks at anyone. The boy appears sleepy or dazed, in a possible sign of substance abuse. He may be mentally impaired. He has likely been living on the street for months – perhaps years. “His parents are bad people,” says a woman who hawks fruits from a cart beside the store. “They sell drugs, I think.” The teenager hails from a notorious inner-city slum and prefers roaming the streets to returning home. “I offered to take him home, but he doesn’t want to go,” says a man who repairs shoes on the pavement. “I feel sorry for him.”

Lakkhana Sirikan is a researcher for the Missing Persons Centre of the Mirror Foundation. Photo: Tibor Krausz There are scores of other runaways like this youngster around Bangkok according to the Missing Persons Centre of the Mirror Foundation, a Thai non-profit that spearheads efforts to track down missing children and reunite them with their families. “They’re usually from disadvantaged backgrounds and domestic problems cause them to run away,” says Lakkhana Sirikan, a researcher at the unit. “Neglect, abuse and domestic violence are the main reasons, but problems at school can also be a factor.” Changing family dynamics also work against some children.

Sombat Boonngamanong is the founder of the Mirror Foundation. Photo: Tibor Krausz “There’s been a breakdown of multigenerational family bonds in Bangkok,” says Sombat Boonngamanong, a social activist who runs the Mirror Foundation. “Children neglected or abused by their parents often don’t have their grandparents or other relatives with them for support. Many poor parents face lots of pressures, and some take it out on their kids.” Last year, 244 children were reported missing in Thailand, according to the foundation, although many other cases may have gone unreported. Eighty-five per cent of the children are runaways, the charity says. Most are eventually located and either returned home or taken to an orphanage. “Some cases are especially sad,” Lakkhana notes. “A 10-year-old girl was reported missing. We found out she’d been abused and exploited at home, kind of like Cinderella,” the researcher says. “She got on a random bus and stayed on it until the last stop. She wanted to be as far from home as possible.”

A mural by a street artist on a wall beside an inner-city slum in Bangkok, Thailand. Photo: Tibor Krausz The girl is now in an orphanage. Like most runaways, the youth near Siam Square survives by begging. He does so alongside a wheelchair-bound man with multiple sclerosis, and a heavyset man with a badly dented skull who lives under a stairway. “Living on the street is hard, but for some kids it’s better than staying at home,” explains Piyabut Phailamun, who used to be one of those children. A soft-spoken 25-year-old, Piyabut ran away when he was seven and was homeless for 15 years. Domestic troubles drove him away from his family’s wooden home in a low-income Bangkok shantytown that sprawls along railway tracks. Piyabut’s father, a bus driver, had several children by two women and his mother didn’t care for the boy, who roomed with his grandmother. “My grandma made me look after her and didn’t let me go outside,” he recalls. “When I sneaked out to play with other children she beat me.”

Piyabut Phailamun, now 25, ran away from home at age seven and was homeless for 15 years. Photo: Tibor Krausz One night, fearing he would be punished again for playing outside, Piyabut decided not to return home. An older boy took him to Sanam Luang, a large grassy field by the Grand Palace in the city’s historic heart that was home to numerous homeless people, including children. Sanam Luang wasn’t far from his home, but to young Piyabut it felt like a world away. “I liked it there,” he says. “It was a fun place. I had many friends.” He didn’t lack for much, or so he thought. Vendors gave him food, and with the money he begged he played games in arcades and internet cafes. Many of his transient benefactors were foreign tourists.

A scene from a shantytown alongside railway tracks in Bangkok. Photo: Tibor Krausz “When you’re a child it’s easy to beg because people take pity on you,” Piyabut says. “The police didn’t pay attention to us.” He bathed in the nearby Chao Phraya River and slept on the grass or pavement. If he had money to spare, he rented a mattress with pillows for the night from an enterprising local. When the rains came, he sheltered under bridges or the eaves of houses. Piyabut scavenged in rubbish bins and helped Buddhist monks with their alms rounds in return for leftovers. “I wasn’t homesick because I didn’t have good memories of my home,” Piyabut says. “I enjoyed doing whatever I wanted.” The longer runaways stay on their own, the worse their prospects get. Some become aggressive and violent. Some become druggies or alcoholics. Some go into the sex tradeSombat Boonngamanong, the Mirror Foundation Yet it wasn’t all fun and games on the street. Some homeless boys were lured into selling methamphetamine pills, known as yaba (“crazy medicine”). Other youngsters began shoplifting, stealing and committing other crimes. Sexual abuse and exploitation were constant threats. “Three boys went with well-dressed men who bought them things,” Piyabut recalls. “I never saw them again.” Like many stray children, Piyabut didn’t go to school, so he cannot read or write. Until recently he didn’t know his own name and went only by “Um”, his nickname.

Young people from a shantytown situated by a railway line gamble by the tracks. Photo: Tibor Krausz “The longer runaways stay on their own, the worse their prospects get,” says the Mirror Foundation’s Sombat, 51, a high-school dropout who has been running various humanitarian projects for nearly 30 years. “Some become aggressive and violent. Some become druggies or alcoholics. Some go into the sex trade,” he adds. Yet, even after decades on the street, some runaways do beat the odds. Ae doesn’t know his real name, either, or even the year of his birth. An amiable fellow in his 40s with a wispy goatee and a bad limp from gout, he was abandoned as a baby into the care of monks at a provincial Buddhist temple. “My parents didn’t want me,” he says. He was bullied by other boys so ran away when he was seven or eight. “I wasn’t afraid to be on my own,” he recalls. “I looked for food in the garbage and asked strangers for help.” He ended up at Sanam Luang, where he begged and sold newspapers, though he couldn’t read. He revelled in the frequent outdoor festivities at the site, with live music, movie showings and free food. Ae still loves public gatherings. His closest call came when he was tricked into joining the crew of a fishing boat. He was forced to slave away for months at sea with no pay. “It was very hard work,” he says. “If you resisted, they could push you overboard and no one would know.”

Ae, who doesn't know his real name, ran away as a child from a Buddhist temple. Photo: Tibor Krausz Ae managed to escape. He now lives in a small rented room and helps other homeless people as a social worker for the Mirror Foundation. At Christmas, he dressed up as Santa and walked the streets, handing out gifts to vagrants. “Ae is an exception. Many homeless people don’t make it,” Sombat says. “He’s lucky he hasn’t gone to the dark side by doing bad things.” “I’ve had a hard life,” Ae concedes. “Many of my friends have died.” Piyabut, too, has beaten the odds. Three years ago, he came down with tuberculosis, which went untreated because he didn’t have money or even an identity card needed for government-provided health care. “I thought I was going to die. I wanted to go home,” Piyabut says. “But I didn’t know the address or even the location. All I remembered was a wooden house by railway tracks.” Thanks to a kindhearted doctor who treated him for free, Piyabut recovered and began looking for his family’s house. After searching for weeks with help from the foundation’s staff, he finally located it. “At first I didn’t recognise my father. He’s grown so old,” he says. “He didn’t recognise me, either. He thought I’d died. We both cried.” Piyabut now lives at home and often wonders how things could have been if he hadn’t run away. “I could have studied. My life could have been better,” he says. Ae concurs. “I tell runaways, ‘Go home if you can,’” he says. “‘Don’t live on the street. People will abuse and deceive you.’” - SCMP – You can follow BangkokJack on Instagram, Twitter & Reddit. Or join the free mailing list (top right) Please help us continue to bring the REAL NEWS - PayPal Read the full article

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chalsoj-blog · 6 years ago

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Driving back to the Central belt, trying to drink in and commit to memory the sights surrounding me. I’m going to miss the copper of the bracken, the reds, yellows, browns and greens of the October Highland trees. The reflections in the Highland lochs and the tumbling brooks on every heather-clad hillside…

Alvie House

We spent the October holidays at Alvie House, just outside Aviemore, in the Highlands of Scotland. This week we have ventured as far north as Urquhart Castle on the banks of Loch Ness, had family fun at Landmark Forest Adventure Park and learned about Highland life at the Highland Folk Museum. We saw polar bears, tigers, snow monkeys and wolves at the Highland Wildlife Park and enjoyed walks around Alvie Estate.

Alvie Estate

Alvie House is a stunning old house that has belonged to the Williamson family since 1927. As well as traditional estate activities such as forestry and agriculture the current Laird has expanded the estate activities to include tourism. There are a number of holiday cottages on the estate, stables, zip lines and other outdoor activities. We stayed in the top floor flat of the main house. A five bedroom, self-catering flat, still fabulously old fashioned but kept in excellent condition. From the windows, there are wonderful views of the surrounding countryside and the local red squirrels! It was a great base for our Highland Adventure!

The stone circle on Alvie Estate.

View from the top floor flat.

Top flat, master bedroom.

Landmark Forest Adventure Park

Landmark Forest Adventure Park is the perfect October family day out. All our kids loved it from the three year old to the eleven year old! In fact, much to their surprise, the parents and grandparents in our group thoroughly enjoyed themselves too! The October holidays seem like the perfect time to go as it wasn’t too cold or too busy. We had many, many gos on the water slides and rollercoaster! There was very little waiting around and the staff were happy and friendly. There is more than enough to fill a full day, the kids were sad to leave and can’t wait to go back!

Explore the park here.

Wild Water Coaster

Skydive, parachute jump simulation.

The Butterfly House

The Lost Labyrinth.

Floating tap!

Runaway Timber Train

RZSS Highland Wildlife Park

The Highland Wildlife Park is another great day out and it’s only a couple of miles from Alvie House. It is home of, not one but, four polar bears (two males, one female and Hamish the polar bear cub!). We were fascinated by the snow monkey babies playing on the ropes and nets and waited in great anticipation to see the big cats (tigers and snow leopards) being fed. We encountered a pack of wolves snoozing in Wolf Woods and saw red squirrels darting around the trees. The staff were full of interesting information and were more than happy to answer questions about the animals.

One of the male polar bears at the Highland Wildlife Park.

Urquhart Castle and Loch Ness

The furthest we travelled was to Urquhart Castle on the banks of Loch Ness, about an hours drive north east of Alvie House.

Urquhart Castle on the banks of Loch Ness.

The kids enjoyed running around the castle, up and down the towers and discovering what would have been beds and a toilet! The views of Loch Ness were stunning and there were even steps right down to the water.

Urquhart Castle

Loch Ness

Urquhart Castle

Looking for Nessie…

Urquhart Castle and Loch Ness

The ��Latrine” at Urquhart Castle.

Urquhart Castle

There is also a visitors centre and cafe which makes it easy to spend the whole afternoon here. On the day we visited Urquhart Castle, they were holding a workshop at the visitors centre where you could make your own Knight’s Jug.

A modern reconstruction of a knight’s jug from the 1300s

Making our own versions of knight’s jugs.

One of the kids’ knight’s jugs.

Highland Folk Museum and Coulters candy

Anyone who grew up in Scotland will be excited to hear that we found Coulters Candy in the old traditional sweetie shop at the Highland Folk Museum! As well as the sweet shop, the highlights for the kids were the 1930s school, the 1700s village featured in the TV adaptation of Diana Gabaldon’s “Outlander” and of course, the squirrel hunt!

Kirk’s Store, 1930s sweetie shop and post office.

1930’s sweetie shop.

Coulters Candy

The Highland Folk Museum is a mile long outdoor museum on the edge of Kingussie. From the late 1800s “Aultlarie croft” at one end to the 1700s “Baile Gean” township at the other with lots to see in between. It’s definitely a full day event, and it’s free! We would recommend buying the Visitors Guide when you first arrive as it’s full of the interesting histories of the buildings in the museum.

The day we were there, Baile Gean township was peopled with traditionally clad men and women. They were happy to chat about the chores they were carrying out, like dying and spinning wool and making tools.

One of my favourite finds was the Curling Club hut and pond in the Pinewoods.

1930s Knockbain School.

MacPherson’s 1930s Tailor’s shop.

Newtonmore Curling Club Hut

Making a belt buckle at Baile Gean Township.

1700s Baile Gean Township.

1700s village along with villagers, this lady was dying wool with nettles.

Apart from all the amazing activities, one of the best things about our week in the Highlands was being switched off from social media and the feeling of being far away from everyday life. Much as I love my daily life, it’s times like these that divide up the monotony of the routine that revolves around work and school. Without the memories made on holidays such as this, I fear the years would start to slip away with very little to distinguish one from the next…

Links and Further reading

You can see a few of the videos I took on this Chalso Instagram post (click the right arrow below):

View this post on Instagram

I’m back and the Chalso Etsy Shop is open again! Today I’ve spent mostly writing a blog about our October holiday adventure in the Highlands. Here are some of the highlights (ps. picture 10 is worth scrolling through for!): Pictures 1-3 Alvie Estate, just outside Aviemore. We stayed in the top floor flat of the main house! Pictures 4 & 5 The Highland Folk Museum including an old fashioned sweetie shop that actually sold Coulters Candy, a 1930s school and a 1700s village featured in “Outlander”! Picture 6 Urquhart Castle on the banks of Loch Ness (Video 7). Videos 8 & 9 Awesome family fun at Landmark Forest Adventure Park #landmarkmoments Picture 10 Polar Bear! At the Highland Wildlife Park. If you’ve read this far and would like the full story you can find the blog at Chalso.co.uk #Octoberholidays #visitscotland #familytime #glasgowblogger #TheHighlands #Scotland #AlvieHouse #AlvieEstate #HighlandFolkMuseum #UrquhartCastle #LochNess #landmarkforestadventurepark #polarbear #HighlandWildlifePark

A post shared by Chalso (@chalsojewellery) on Oct 22, 2018 at 12:30pm PDT

Alvie Estate

Landmark Forest Adventure Park

Highland Wildlife Park

Urquhart Castle

Highland Folk Museum

Visit Scotland

Previous blog posts that may be of interest:

Bonnie Scotland

Summer in Scotland

The Museum of Flight

A Highland Adventure Driving back to the Central belt, trying to drink in and commit to memory the sights surrounding me.

#days out in Scotland #family #family life #family time #inspiration #kids activities #October holidays #Scottish Highlands #travel #visit Scotland

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miniaturelovercollectionstuff · 7 years ago

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Myron Herbert Burgess

THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF MYRON HERBERT BURGESS

I was born on December 51, 1917 at Knightsville, Juab County, Utah. I was the second child and eldest son of Herbert Alfred and Della Whitby Burgess. My sister, Laura, had been born prematurely and died when she was about seventeen months old. During the influenza epidemic in 1918, both of my parents died. We were living at Tooele, Toole county, at the time. They died within twenty- four hours of each other. Auny Clara Stevens (mother's sister) offered to take me and raise me, but it was decided by my grandparents, George Edward and Emily Jeffery Burgess to raise me themselves. As this was the result, I moved to Alpine, Utah Co., Utah.

The Burgess family home was a mile south of town. Then skipping a couple of houses, I am told that we lived in. Then the one, I remember most was across the street from.ths Alpine Ward Church (straight across the street from the now Alpine City Hall). There are a few things I remember from my early childhood. I remember visiting my grandmother in the hospital at American Fork, Utah. (She died from cancer when I was six) I remember the Snow girls from Canada living with us one winter--of them teasing me and of throwing a tantrum and of Uncle Orion correcting me--of having the whooping cough and how sick I was---of going to Nevada with grandfather one winter and the rabbit hunt contest that the ward held--of attending third grade of school at Levan, Utah--living with Aunt Dora and Uncle Evan Shephard~~of telling Lois and Duane that there wasn't a real Santa Claus-—of shutting up real quick when I was told if there wasn't one, he wouldn't come to see me--of riding to American Fork on the train by myself when school let out, and of Uncle Edward coming to American Fork to get me. These and many more as I grew older which could not be of too much value to those who may read this--it is sufficient to say that I grew up as a normal boy, living sometimes with this uncle and aunt or that uncle and aunt but most of the time with my grandfather Burgess. I am sure I caused them much concern although I really wasn't a bad boy.

In October, 1929 or 1930, as I was getting ready for church, the church caught on fire and burned down. I can still remember the old wooden benches, the curtains that divided the building into classrooms--the big pot bellied stoves that heated the building.

Until the new church was finished, we held meetings and classes in the gymnasium at the grade school. This was for some time as this period of time was during the depression+-at this time you were blessed if you could find a job at all and wages were as low as fifty cents a day.

When I was twelve years of age, I received the Aaronic Priesthood--passed the sacrament each Sunday, was secretary and then president of the Deacons Quorum--then the teachers quorum and through the priests quorum. I was blessed that I had the guidance of Uncle Edward (the bishop) and Uncle John Whitby (2nd counselor) and Uncle Orion Burgess who was later a Bishop and then a stake patriarch, as well as Grandfather Burgess, Aunt Dora, Aunty Minnie Healey (mothers sister) and Aunt Jessie ‘grandfathers sister in law) and others.

As a boy scout I didn't do much (there wasn't much emphasis on the scouting program then) Although, at this writing, I have been connected as an adult scout leader an one capacity or another for most of the last twenty-six years.

I went to the first eight grades of school at the Alpine school (except the third grade in Levan)--for the ninth grade, I rode the school bus to American Fork. This was the top grade of Junior High School. We had a teacher by the name of E- Ray Gardiner, who taught Seminary--I guess I was the trial ofhis life, because I loved to sleep through his class. However, the course called "Balanced Wheels" left quite an impression on my life, and it sometimes helps to steady me in difficult times. I spent the 10th, 11th and 12th grades in American Fork High School, being somewhat of a mediocre student, I am afraid. We had an English teacher(a Miss Taylor) in the eleventh grade who managed to get me to extend myself a bit on one or two compositions--satire style and a Mr. Allen, the agricultural teacher--this class was probably my favorite class---upon graduation, each department in the high school picked a representative to speak at the commencement exercises and I was asked to represent the Agricultural Department. .I can remember even yet, almost forty years later, some of that speech. That fall I entered the Utah State Agricultural college at Logan, Utah, intending to working towards an agricultural degree. I spent one year in school, there changing from an agricultural oriented course to a mechanical one --ending up with machine shop--welding, auto mechanics and related courses. However, since I felt that I wasn't really applying myself, I discontinued college--bought a coal truck from Uncle Orion Burgess and proceeded to go to hauling coal. For the next two and one half years, I hauled and sold coal-but due to the wrecking of the coal truck while being driven by a school chum, I.went out of the coal business fast.

In looking around for what I should do for a living, it came to my attention, that there was a one time daytime plumbing class being taught as an adult vocation class at West High School in Salt Lake city, and while the class had already begun, I made application, took the vocation tests and was accepted to finish the course~~this was the only full time plumbing class that I know of, taught in this area and was discontinued owing to pressure from the plumbers or involved into an apprentice training program taught at nights andrestricted to apprentices. To my knowledge, only two of us in that class, ever followed the trade for any length of time.

I was ordained an elder in the Melchezidek Priesthood by Orion J. Burgess

I met Margaret Banks.of Lehi, Utah County, Utah, in August of 1938. We were married in the Salt Lake Temple on September 20, 1939. At that time, I was the President of the Elders Quorum of the Alpine Ward, Alpine Stake, which position, I held until about April, 1940, being released because of moving to Salt Lake city for school.

Chronologically, events of my life have been as follows since that time:

May, 1940-—graduation from plumbing daytime course-

July 4, 1940, Allan Karl Burgess was born.

Summer of 1940, worked for C. V. Stone in Salt Lake City, as an apprenctice plumber some six weeks or so. That same summer I worked for Mr. Johnson in American Fork as an apprentice plumber--some months--his son came home and took my place

Winter of 1940 to the summer of l942, I worked for Ray Zarbach as an apprentice. I was discharged due to material shortage due to the war.

0otober,26,-1942, Merril Myron Burgess was born.

I worked at Ironton blast furnace and highline the winter and spring of l942-43

September, 1943, went to work as journeyman plumber at Wendover, Utah——then at Geneva Steel Co. in Provo Utah---then for Harris Dudley Plumbing Co. in Salt Lake City as a repair plumber.

Inducted into the army on February 13, 1945, and served seventeen months -- basic training at Camp Roberts in California in the infantry, at North Fort Lewis, Washington, as an engineer and the balance of my time as military police stationed at Richland, Washington--where I was discharged as a T/4 (sergeant) cook in July, 1946. Yvonne was born on June 7, 1946 at Richland Washington (this made me eligible for discharge, as we had three children). I was discharged at Fort Lewis Washington.

I went back to work for Harris Dudley Plumbing Co. for six weeks, then W. A. Baddley for two years, then about five years for M. G. Ericson Plumbing Co--out of work for a couple of months than one day for Walsh Plumbing and then I took out a loan and in April, 1952, I started Burgess Plumbing and Heating.

In the fall of 1946, we bought a home at 124 Vidas Ave. where we resided until about August 1954-—when we moved to 3245 south 300 East, Salt Lake City.

The first year and a half in 1946-1947, we spent most of the weekends in Lehi as Mother Banks had been in an automobile accident and was in bed at first and then in a wheel chair.

In 1947, I was called to the Elders Quorum Presidency, as a counselor in the Central Park Ward where I served on one position or another and in the new North Central Park Ward Elders Quorum, when the ward was divided, until the summer of 1951, I was called as an assistant scout master over the eleven year old scouts.

Laura Jo Burgess was born on May 6, 1949.

Paul Leon Burgess was born on April 24, 1951.

Margaret, due to medical problems was in bed most of the time with Paul's pregnancy—so about the time he was born, I was released from the Elders President and became the eleven year old scout leader-—During the summer of 1954,the church phased out the eleven year old program as scouts. Merril being the last eleven year old to participate under the program. In North Central Park Ward, by that time I had been called as the scoutmaster and served there until we moved to Eldredge Ward.

We bought property at thirty-third South and three hundred East and had a house from Bachus (South of Magna) moved in--then I had to build a shop area on to it plus all the normal connections incident to moving a house – so it was about six weeks that I was sleeping there to protect the house before we actually moved in. During this time, I was visited by the bishopric and was called to be the M I A President, in which capacity, I served for about a year and one-half._

In 1955-57, I served as a stake missionary as the mission leader of then Granite Park Ward area--also as a president of the seventy’s Quorum, eventually becoming the senior president of the 197th Quorum of Seventy.

Upon release from that position, I was called to be the Sunday School Superintendant--then, I was released to work on the ward finance committee--then Aaronic Priesthood, General Secretary. When the emphasis came out for ward executive secretaries, I was called to that position and worked closely with Bishop Harold W. Schreiber and his counselors. In June, 1971, I was called to be first counselor to Bishop Harold W. Schreiber in the Eldredge Ward and on July 2nd that year I had a cerebral hemorrhage and went down like I had been hit in the head with an ax. They rushed me to the hospital where both the doctor and specialist they had called in told Margaret that there was no chance that I could live. I was administered to by Allan and Merril, our sons, and Allan has said that at that time he had the impression that I would not make it. The following is what I have been told! The evening before my cerebral hemorrhage, Bishop Schreiber and his family were ready to leave on a vacation--when Bishop Schreiber arrived home, he told Sister Schreiber and his children that they could not go that night on their vacation, and when he was asked why, he said he did not know—I imagine what a commotion this caused--anyway they did not leave and the next morning, he went to work as usual. I had my hemorrhage about eight A- M. and about nine A. M., the bishop called his wife and asked her what had happened in the ward—-When she told him, he left work and picked up J. Parley Heiner, the ward clerk, and came to the hospital. Going straight to my room, where I was barely conscious, he rebuked the evil spirits and then proceeded to anoint and to pronounce a priesthood blessing upon my head. Then after talking to Margaret they went home and the Schreibers left on their vacation. Two days later was a regular fast day, and as Allan fasted and prayed that day, he knew that I would get well.. At this point, I want to leave my testimony that this is the true work of the Lord--what we have and what we are, belongs to the Lord--I am especially living here on borrowed time (so as to speak)--that it is the power of the priesthood that I am here today--my time and my efforts should rightfully be the Lords--I therefore try to be more dilligent.

It is five years I have served in the bishopric of Eldredge Ward, having been called to serve as counselor when Bishop John A. Walkenhorst became bishop. Bishop Schreiber is now President Schreiber, the stake president of the Salt Lake Granite Park Stake. The biggest thrill of my church service is probably the opportunity I had to attend a Solemn Assembly in the upper rooms of the Salt Lake Temple—to be with eighteen hundred other Melchizedek Priesthood bearers in that particular session and listen to the prophet of the Lord in this day give us very detailed guidance and information--to tell us to take those things home and to study them out--to put our houses in order--to join with them in making the necessary changes in our lives. President Spencer W. Kimball said we all needed to, including himself, and we needed to get at it, that maybe we couldn't change the course of humanity or the world but that we could change our course and that of our families and friends--that we needed to make ourselves ready for company. It is impossible to write in a few short lines what the prophet said in four hours. It was a great privilege to have been able to attend such a gathering. President Kimball said we should keep a journal--that we should write of our attendance to the solemn assembly in it--that we might remember it and that others could think of it also--It seems that all our lives we work with crash programs. Here, after fifty-eight years, I'm writing a journal to cover fifty-eight years time from memory--I hope all others who see this, will do better.

I have been asked to include a few incidents of my life in growing up: One of the earliest, I seem to remember was a rabbit hunt in Nevada, in which the members of the ward were divided into teams and went rabbit hunting in bob sleighs. I remember them shooting rabbits along a fence line, and then racing through the snow to get to the rabbits first--the losers in the hunt had to give the winners a dinner.

When I was living with Uncle Edward, I became ill with ring worm in the groin area. The doctor had them paint the ring worm each night with colorless iodine. The war hoops I let out would put all Indians to shame. I wonder—Could that be why I am allergic to Iodine now?

I spent third grade living with Uncle Evan and Aunt Dora Shepherd on a chicken ranch in Levan, Utah--two or three years later, they moved to Alpine and I was again living with them or them with Grandfather and me. Anyway, we were on a Sunday drive when we passed a field that had some mares and some colts in it—Lois, because she had been raised on a chicken ranch referred to them as little biddie horseys and we promptly started to tease her about it. This went on and on and the next afternoon, I was at it again, when she picked up a rock and really crowned me with-it and I carried a scar on my head for a long time after that.

I spent the summer when I was eleven in Nevada--part of the time at Uncle Orion’s in McGill and part of the time at Uncle Ray's in Lund.

In the fall of 1949, along with Dad and Mother Banks, we left on a trip down to see Earl and Winifred and their family in Albuquerque, New Mexico. Dad said he not go if we took Laura Jo, who was a small baby, so we arranged for Gwen Davies, a neighbor girl to tend her--when we got to the other side of Moab about nine miles, the car turned over four times, rolling right down the highway. It broke Allan's upper arm, scraped Merril's back and face--knocked Yvonne unconscious, cut Margaret's hair and my hair and very severely hurt mother Banks--Cut Father Banks thumb. At the Moab hospital, they thought that Mother Banks was too far gone to do anything for her so they weren't even stopping the bleeding from a puncture wound until Margaret finally got up in arms--then they pushed gauze in the hole in her to stop the bleeding. She was transported by ambulance to the St. Marks Hospital in Salt Lake City—-Dad Banks accompanied her in the Lehi hearse(that was the ambulance used)-—Yvonne was brought to Salt Lake City by a California couple that saw the accident and left her with Gwen. Margaret and the boys went to her cousins home in Price to spend the night. I worked with the garageman and pressed the wheels back as near true as possible and drove the car back to Salt Lake city, stopping to pick up Margaret and Allan and Merril on the way—I ofttime wonder about this trip-the roof was bent all out of shape--no windshield in the car—I felt like I was facing the hole in a funnel from the amount of breeze I was getting--let alone the gravel from the other traffic. I probably scared most of the drivers to death when they saw us approaching--anyway, we got home--I put another body on the car but it wasn't too good of a car after the accident. The doctors had given up hope on Mother Banks living when the family held a day of fasting along with a prayer circle--again, the power of the priesthood was manifest--almost to the minute of when the prayer circle was held, Mother Banks started to recover, and while she was always somewhat restricted in what she could do, she recovered and did her own work until she eventually died of a stroke and cancer.

Qn March l7, 1976, Margaret and I were called to come into President Schreiber's office (the stake president). He called me to be a member of the High Council of the Salt Lake Granite Park Stake. On March 28, 1976, I was sustained a high counselor during the morning meeting and released as a counselor in the Eldredge Ward Bishopric in Sacrament Meeting the same day -as it was a planned program in both meetings, the sacrament meeting being the children's presentation, I did not need to speak at either meeting. I had very mixed emotions at this time-—I having been very busy in the Bishopric, doing quite a share of the first interviews in the ward and there were many as the ward consists of mostly apartments--I really missed the closeness to the ward members and also the meeting of so many new ward members--actually helping to shape their lives—-calling them to positions and setting them apart-at times there were as many as seven people set apart for positions on one Sunday. Also, I have done a pretty good job of dodging the speaking assignments and I guess the thoughts of being a principal speaker to a ward seven or eight times a year, scares me. I guess most ofus don't like changes. On April 1, 1976, I was set apart as a high counselor.

Sunday June 6, 1976 we held our first prayer meeting at the temple today. Elder Bruce R. McConkie of the council of twelve, directed and instructed us. It was an unforgettable experience. Our next one will be the fast day in August.

Sunday, June 20, 1976, it was my turn to rest from speaking this month. I am beginning to enjoy most of the High council assignments. I enjoy being in contact with the stake leaders and being the contact man for Grant lst Ward. They treat me well, and it is a fine ward and a fine bishopric. I have been to the beet field three times so far this year. As my arthritis won't let me hoe very much, I have been one of the row supervisors. It has been years since I could go to the field.

Friday, June 25, l976. Margaret and I spent Wednesday night to Saturday afternoon camping up at Granite Flats in American Fork Canyon with Laura Jo and Bruce. They had a group up from Granite School District and had a chicory Friday evening. It was a very congenial group—we enjoyed them. We spent Friday working on our car (new brakes) and Saturday working on Bruce's truck (broken rod clutch) I had to come down and get my welding outfit so that it could be fixed. Altogether we enjoyed it. Margaret fell and got a bad bump on her leg on the way home.

Thursday, April 1, 1976 - set apart as a high council member of the Salt Lake Granite Park Stake by President Harold W. Schreiber. Margaret was seated beside me and I held her hand (on instructions of the stake president) they stated through me, she would participate in the blessing of the priesthood. It was a very spiritual experience.

Sunday April 11, 1976- -I met as a member of the stake high council for the first time and received my assignments, which are: 1. The Indian Placement Program, 2. The baptisms, 3. High council representative to Grant 1st ward. Also an assignment to speak at Miller Ward next Sunday, the topic to be taken from the "Great Prologue", a history of America. I am to accompany President Charles Queery, 2nd counselor in the stake presidency on this assignment. About eighteen years ago, I spoke in this same ward house along with Victor Bess, then a high councilman. It was the one and only time that I have represented the stake in such a capacity. I was then the Sr. President of the Seventy's Quroum.

Sunday, April 23, we met at 6 A. M. in the Stake executive meeting--busy Sunday--6 A. M. high council.meeting, 7 A. M., High Priests meeting, 8 A. M.General Priesthood meeting. I took care of my assignments to Grant 1st Ward between priesthood meetings. Sacrament meeting at Miller Ward at 4:00 P. M. I was the supporting speaker to Miller ward-I managed to speak right on the dot of twenty-five minutes (my assigned time), however, I probably wasn't so effective to the audience as I was to the time. I‘ve spent the remainder of the week trying to catch up on loose ends, home teaching, trip to the Provo Temple, etc.

Sunday, April l8, I spoke in Miller ward today, I accompanied President Querry. It has been about nineteen years ago that I spoke in that ward house while on my stake mission. The speaking assignments are a real challenge to me.

Tuesday, April 26, I attended my first meeting on the Lamanite program. It was held at 19 west South Temple--there were probably a hundred or so high councilman and social workers present. I find that we are way behind in our stake with this program; it should have started in January but due to the change of high councilman we will have to work fast now. We need three new homes for Lamanite students in our stake.

Sunday May 2 1976, we were scheduled to start holding a prayer meeting on the third floor of the temple this morning. It is to be held on fast day every third month and is patterned after the one the church presidency and twelve hold each week. This one was postponed one month as it is necessary for a member of the council of the twelve to come in the first time and instruct us and they were on other assignments today.

Sunday, May 16, 1976, I spoke at Southgate Ward today, It was the first time that I have been the main speaker. Two returned missionaries accompanied me.

Sunday, October 51, 1976, It has been several months since I did any writing in my journal. It has been a busy summer. We made a trip to Lake Powell (Bullfrog Basin) in or around May with James and LeVerne Downward. We stopped at Paul and Barbara's at Richfield on the way back. They certainly treated us well, we came back on a wing and a prayer, so to speak, as we had two blowouts on the trailor that trip.

In July, Merril had a bad accident on his motorcycle. It blew a rear tire and really tore him up and burned him so I stayed close to the business, then on August 2nd, Margaret went into the hospital for tests as she had a severe pain in her stomach for some time. Due to an allergy to one of the tests, she had a cardiac arrest and it was only through the help of the Lord and a blessing from the bishop that she pulled through. While in the cardiac arrest, a blood clot moved from her leg to her lung and lodged there.

Shortly after Margaret's leaving the hospital, we went camping with Merril and his family up by Flaming Gorge. We took the oxygen bottle along to help Margaret. We had an enjoyable trip, had Sunday School in our camp and we caught four or five fish as a side benefit. However, the altitude was too high for Margaret and we had to hurry home. I called Salt Lake City from Manila, Utah and got a new bottle of oxygen delivered for Margaret. When she came out of the hospital, I got a conversion kit and put on my oxygen breathing machine for her. She is still using some oxygen to help her from time to time, however, she doesn‘t use it very much now. Due to Merril’s accident, Margaret's illness and various church assignments, it seems like I haven’t been fishing hardly at all this year -oh well--we'll give it a try next year.

As for church work--I've been busy in the hight council work--I'm getting to like it mere and getting more used to it. The first Sunday of June, we had the opportunity as a stake presidency and high council of meeting in the temple in a prayer circle. It follows the general outline that of the first presidency and council of the twelve meet in each week. We alre allowed to hold one every three months on Fast Sunday. Elder Bruce R. McConkie of the council of the twelve gave us the format, and helped us with the first one (It is necessary that on the first one that a member of the twelve be there and do this) It is a very reverent blessing to be included in a prayer circle like this. I thank the Lord for the opportunity.

In August, they did some rescheduling of assignments in the high council. In addition to what I had , I also received the assignment of stake magazine director and director of stake ushering and conference preparation. I feel that I am not quite caught up on any of them at any one time. However, it is good to be busy.

I'm getting a littler more used to these speaking assignments. I've spoken in five of the wards, the last one was Granite Park Ward and I accompanied President Schreiber. In November, I speak in Grant 1st Ward. I'm still assigned there as their high councilman to their bishopric, and I am really enjoying it.

We have a ward conference at Southgate Ward today, so I will be attending Sacrament meeting there.

Written to November, 1976

April 5, 1981

Time does Fly! It has been some maybe 5 years since I wrote in my journal. Sandy and Merril gave me a journal for Christmas so maybe I can keep it better now.

So much has happened and a person’s feelings and the details lose so much if not recorded more often. I am ashamed to have let so much time pass without writing. It is so easy to put it off.

At April 1978 conference I was released from the High Council and installed as High Priests Group Leader. For three months I had been carrying both positions with the exception that the Stake President released me from being a adviser to the Grant 1St Ward.

I chose as one of my counselors, Roger Price, whom I had been instrumental in reactivating after he had been inactive for fifty years. It took me eight years as the home teacher to that house. In the course of which I had the dubious honor of conducting the funeral for and of speaking at his wife's funeral. She had a stroke and was unable to move by herself for the last five years of her life. Roger retired and sold out his partnership in his business so that he would be able to take care of her. Later I was to partially go through some of what he went through so I learned to understand more about that.

In May, 1979 the stake and the wards were revised. The Granite Park Stake was done away with and the wards were all placed back into the original So. Salt Lake Stake with the name of the stake changed from Salt Lake Stake South to South Salt Lake. Wards were analyzed and changed and names were changed around.- We ended up with about four times the area and probably about 1/5 more people in our ward. President Schreiber was released as Stake President and called te be a mission president in Germany. The new Stake President is President Dios. He had been Stake President of Salt Lake South Stake. His counselors were from the former Granite Park Stake. Eyerybody was released and they started by holding a special sacrament meet meeting in each of the 8 wards and installing 8 Bishoprics. What a day it must have been for them. It was six weeks before they got to reorganizing our High Priest Group Leadership,so for that time each Sunday I turned out to be the temporary, unofficial group leader. They reorganized it with Roger Price as the new group leader. I’ve always maintained since then that if you want to be released from a position is you pick a member that has been inactive for 50 years, activate them, train them to take your place, and then you can retire.

It was about three months later that they finally got around to calling me to a position… that of 2nd counselor in the Sunday School. A little later I became 1st counselor. For about a year we operated under the old church meeting system of meetings all through the day. Since we went to the block system of meeting with no opening exercises there hasn’t been very much to do in that position.

My arthritis had been getting worse all during this time and my knees were getting worse. The day before Thanksgiving 1979 they finally gave out. From then until about the 28th of April I was unable to do very much work. On that day my right knee was replaced by what they call a complete knee. I was in the hospital for about two weeks.. Then Margaret and I went out to Grantsville to Allan and Jeani's for a period of time. Upon returning we loaded up the trailer and went down to Paul and Barbara's at Richfield. I spent my time recouperating until July when I had my left knee replaced. I had a fall in June 1980 and evidently cracked my right knee cap. It is still giving me some pain and trouble however, they are both much better than they were. My biggest problem is being I need to lose at least 30 lbs.

April 21, 1981

Since Margaret’s graduation to our next sphere, I have had many adjustments to make. Work has been the thing that has kept me going. Has kept me from the time to dwell too much on being a one person family.

The Singles organization took me in fast and took me to a musical with them.

I’ve been getting rid of the yarn stock Margaret had and the other special equipment.

Paul and Barbara helped me for two days after the funeral. Margaret‘s clothes were taken to the D.1 We remodeled the inside of the car, re-installed the original seat instead of the bed. The front-room was rearranged and the hospital equipment was moved so things are now back to a normal arrangement.

With the exception or some tension and a somewhat lost feeling I am doing good. I've been to Laura Jo's, to Merril's and I am at Allans now. All the children have asked me to come and stay but I want to still be independent as long as I can and busy as long as I can.

#Myron Herbert Burgess #Margaret Banks #Herbert Alfred Burgess #Della Whitby #Allan Karl Burgess #Merril Myron Burgess #Paul Leon Burgess #Laura Jo Burgess #Yvonne Burgss #History #Autobiography

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timracek · 8 years ago

Text

Oma

I’ve pretended to be a writer since I was fourteen years old and never, in the last eleven years, has anything been as difficult to write than this. There is no one I’ve met in my life more deserving of being remembered than Oma, and I feel completely overwhelmed because I will not come close to capturing what she meant to me and and our family, but I am obligated to try. This is by no means meant to be anything close to a definitive story, just my own observations and what she talked to me about.

***

Dorothea Aleith was born on July 1st, 1929 in Helmstedt, Germany. She didn’t know much about her parents early years. From the best that we could figure, her father, Hermann’s family came from Helmstedt and her mother Gerturd’s from somewhere farther east. Her Father had fought in the first world war as a teenager. He spent most of the war in a prison camp. He was a jack of all trades, working at various points as a coal miner, an airplane mechanic, a groomsman at the city stables, an air raid warden, a baker, and a gardner. She still had a postcard he sent to his parents from the front lines in 1915.

(Her father, the X on the right and his brother.)

The closest I’ve ever seen Oma come to bragging was when she talked about her father. She liked to talk about how he could take apart and reassemble an engine without assistance. How, when he worked at the stables, he would bring her and sisters to ride on the horses once a week when he exercised them. How much bread he could smuggle home in specially stitched pockets in his coat. How big he could grow fruits and vegetables in their garden (gooseberries the size of large marbles, strawberries the size of a man’s fist.) He was a chess master and always carried a portable game with him. He would easily beat her husband the few times they played.

Her parents sang opera together in the parlor.

We didn’t talk much about her mother, but when I was a kid she took me with her to leave flowers on her grave.

(Gertrud with her new Daughters)

***

One of her favorite stories to tell was about her own birth: How her parents had picked a name out for their first child, her twin sister Herte, but were unprepared when they found out there was another baby still to come, which sent her father sprinting across town to find the doctor. They were at a loss as to what to call this surprise child.

Their Grandmother, Dorothea, had a suggestion.

(Twins, with their Aunt and Uncle and Grandparents, including Dorothea.)

When they were growing up, Oma baby sat neighborhood children. Many of whom were still writing her. One of them sent his own son, Alex, to live with her for a summer.

She liked to swim in a local pond in the springs.

During the war, She would listen to the BBC on a radio they hid in the house somewhere. She loved when they played her favorite, the Glenn Miller band.

Oma spent most of her life living like someone on borrowed time. She and her sisters had health problems their whole lives. Oma was born with a bad heart valve, she had tonsilitis at a time when that wasn’t a simple procedure, and when she was a teenager she almost died of diptheria. She was told that she couldn’t have children or she would die. At age 32 she had her fifth and final child, my mother.

***

Oma had the kind of life that, to figure out what year a certain story took place in depended on whether or not her train was strafed by fighter planes.

When they were fourteen, Oma and her sister were sent to work as maids, in a town nearly 400 miles away. Oma was given to a family of four, the father was school teacher. Herte was given to a farm, she had a learn how to milk cows. Oma thought she had the better deal, until her family accused her of stealing a watch and the school teacher father arrived in his full nazi officer uniform to interrogate her. They eventually found the watch in one of his other suits.

That March, Oma was bedridden with tonsillitis. The mother of the family would crack the door open once a day to check if she was still alive and slide a sandwich in for her only meal. Once Herte found this out, she came and told the family she was taking her sister home. They agreed, but stipulated that if they didn’t return soon they’d send the police after them. It was on the train ride home they had to evacuate several time into ditches alongside the tracks because the train was being strafed by fighter planes.

When they returned home, Oma described this great image, of her with a crazy high fever, and her sister walking down the streets of Helmstedt on an unseasonably warm day, both of them wearing fur coats, and happening to bump into their parents on mainstreet.

Their parents would not allow them to go back.

(Oma with her sisters, Lisa and Herte)

***

During the war, Oma got so many love letters from local boys who were away fighting that she made Herte answer some of them for her.

They called her the ‘Shirley Temple of Helmstedt.

My grandfather was one of 30 Americans stationed in Helmstedt. The first time he saw her walking in town, he told one of his friends he was going to marry her.

The first time Gerturd really believed he was serious about marrying her daughter was when he showed up outside their house with a diamond ring and called into the open window: ‘Mama, do you think I mean business now?’ It was the first time they had ever seen the diamond, and Oma said it caught the light and flashed at them in an impossibly cliched movie moment. They became the talk of the town. ‘Oh look, she has a diamond.’

After the second world war, her father was sent away to a temporary camp for political prisoners. There he could only correspond with his family on postcards, in 25 words or less.

It was in 25 words or less that Oma explained she had met a GI and he had proposed and whether she should marry him.

He wrote back that she should.

She made her own wedding dress from a parachute my grandfather somehow got a hold of.

My grandparents had to marry three times. Once for the government, once for the Army, and once in a church. The church wedding was last, and it was moments before that wedding that her father returned home.

She never saw him again.

She also received a necklace and a poem from her namesake grandmother. The last line of the poem was ‘We will never meet again.”

***

(Meeting the in-laws.)

Her first impression of the United States was shock that cars came in colors other than black.

Their first license plate number was ‘86’

She couldn’t believe that her father-in-law’s house didn’t have a bathroom, but an outhouse, and to battle the heat they had an electric fan blowing over a block of ice.

She told me that her father-in-law couldn’t believe how pretty she was, and how lucky my grandfather was.

She thought my grandfather’s brother, Douglas, was a brat.

(Oma in St. Louis in a dress she made herself.)

***

My grandfather was in the Military for 22 years. Together they lived in Monmouth, Alaska, Missouri, New Mexico, Almost Maine and finally back to New Jersey.

She hated Missouri, she refused to live there alone while my Grandfather was deployed in Korea.

She wouldn’t even get out of the car in Maine, where my Grandfather had bought a 100 acre farm, sight unseen. He sold it shortly thereafter.

***

In 1975 they bought five acres in Howell. This is where I grew up. Where I spent every day of my life from birth until I turned five, and as often as I could after that.

Oma told me that if she had wanted my first language to be German, it would be German.

My Grandfather often referred to their swimming pool as ‘The best twenty thousand dollars I ever spent.’

That place was eden to me. When I was growing up, at my own house if my dad asked me to mow the lawn I’d rather set myself on fire. At Oma’s it was a privilege. I was never happier than when I was raking leaves there, or cutting wood, or mowing the back acres.

She made the best pancakes and bacon. And cheesecake. She would always make me a cheesecake at Thanksgiving and Christmas. She made the most incredible soup. When I told her she had to teach me how she would shrug and say ‘Eh, I just threw it together.’

When I was growing up, every Wednesday she’d come to our house to clean and do laundry. Because I guess she needed more work to do?

Wednesdays are still inexplicably my favorite day of the week.

Every holiday memory I have growing up is with Oma at Oma’s, Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter, Memorial Day, 4th of July. It was always at Oma’s.

She was never unhappy to see you. Even when you brought all the toys out of the basement and left them scattered across the house. Even after I almost blew everyone up on the 4th of July, 2007.

I loved sleeping over there. I loved staying there so much, I would even though she made me go to church on Sundays, which I did not love.

Her favorite TV show was ‘Keeping Up Appearances,’ But she always made time to watch Antique Roadshow.

When I see pictures of her now, there’s something off about her. To me, they’re missing some part of her, something you can’t capture on film. Some kind of spark that was there always. Her drive I guess. She was always busy, always doing things. After she turned 70 she went to hike in Yellowstone National Park in Wyoming and Glacier National Park in Alaska, spelunking in crazy caves, whitewater rafting.

The only time I met her sister Lisa was after they had spent the day riding roller coasters at Great Adventure. I was jealous she didn’t take me too. This last Christmas, she complained that she never thought she would be in bed doing nothing all day. She was 87.

She died on her father's 121st birthday.

The first time it hit me was when I was going through my notebooks where I had written down as many of the stories she told me as I could. I frequently noted ‘Find out more,’ or ‘Ask about this.’

Now I can’t.

***

I found a letter my Mom wrote to her during her Sophomore year of college, which Oma had saved, and I’m putting it here without her permission because it’s too perfect not to.

“ Dear Mom,

I just wanted to write to you and thank you for all the things you’ve one for me. You really are a real mom. I’m sorry I didn’t get you anything for your birthday. I like giving you things, but there is always Christmas. I hope you don’t mind!

I’m eating the bread - It just came out of the oven & it’s perfect. (How else could it be with you mixing and me baking.)

Thank you Mom. For everything.

I love you,

Nancy. “

Ich liebe dich, Oma.

I’ll miss you. Tell Poppop I said Hi.