Mothers Protect Their Young

My mother was a force to be reckoned with!  You just didn't mess with mom - or one of her babies.

One night, she and I were on our way home from church, where I had attended my weekly youth meeting.  I needed some notebook paper, and we didn't have Walmarts or anything like that in those days.  We did have a little corner grocery store, where one could buy penny candy, shoelaces, etc.

She happened to miss the driveway, but it didn't matter, for the next drive also connected to the little store.  There was a bit of a grassy field between the parking lot and the store.  I walked through the little field and headed for the front door.

Before reaching the door, there was a wall of decorative concrete block.  As I rounded that wall, I happened upon 3-4 teenage boys who were circling around on their bikes.  I squared up, went through them, went into the store and bought my paper.

When I came back out, those boys were still there.  They were off their bikes, and now they circled around me, calling me names and poking me in the chest.  I was mortified, for I was sure they were going to do terrible things to me.  I was also sure mom couldn't see me because of the decorative wall.

In the blink of an eye, I heard something akin to a bull crashing through the field and headed toward me.  It was my mom!  Smoke was coming from her nostrils and her ears, and her boobs were swinging back and forth something fierce with her arms pumping away.  (You get the picture!)  When those boys turned around to see what it was, they saw the look on her face and knew they were dead meat if they didn't get out of there quick.  Mom grew up being the oldest of a family that had SIX BOYS, plus a little sister that died at 3 years old.  To mom, taking on these boys were nothing compared to what she had grown up with.

I was never so relieved to see my mom in my whole life.  I don't know what those boys would have done.  But, as long as my mom was nearby, those boys were close to being ground down into a greasy spot!

Once A Kid, Always A Kid

You just never stop being a kid when you're around your parents.

A few years before he died, my dad lived in our home.  I set up the first floor bedroom just for him.  It had his bed, a recliner, his desk, a television, his clothing, etc.  Everything he could possibly need was in that room.  His big oxygen unit was around the corner in the living room, and its long lead could stretch all the way into the kitchen and throughout the house.

Peter was on his mission, so we only had the three younger children at home. 

Dad could and did prepare his own lunches, but I made sure he had a good breakfast (usually cracked wheat fixed in the crock pot and cooked overnight), and a good dinner.  It was a challenge blending a young family and an older man, but we did the best we could.  He was usually ready for bed about 8:30 pm and watched television until he fell asleep just after 9:00 pm.

One evening, all of our kids were out somewhere.  Between marching band, working, etc., they all had somewhere to go.  So, Kerry and I decided to go out for a bit and see a movie.  Everything in the house was taken care of, including dad.  He had no problem being left alone, so it was a perfect night.  We got ready to go, and I went in to tell him we'd be gone for awhile.

He asked me how long we would be gone.  I told him the movie was over just before 11:pm. so it would be after that.

He replied, "Don't you think that's a little bit too late for you two to be out?"

I was stunned.  I said, "Dad, I'm a big girl now.  I'm 45 years old.  It's okay."

Again, he said, "Well, you just both be careful and don't stay out too late."

Kerry and I both smiled and talked about it on the way to the theater. 

But, when we got home at 11:30 pm, there was dad sitting up in his recliner, waiting for us to come home.  He didn't say anything.  He just looked at his watch, looked at us, and made preparations for bed.

Dad.  You never stop being a parent.  And, you never stop being a kid...

Peggy and Her Piano

For as long as I can remember, I have played the piano.  Music was always part of my home. My dad played records that contained beautiful music all the time.  I believe my talent comes through my dad.  My poor mom had no rhythm and couldn't really sing very well at all.  But that didn't matter - she sang anyway.

Dad could always keep time very well.  His dream was to have been a conductor in a symphony - but that wasn't to be.  Perhaps if he'd had musical training, he would have enjoyed it even more. 

My sisters were/are all musical.  But, when they were growing up in the hills of Kentucky and the hollers of West Virginia, mom and dad just didn't have the money for any musical lessons for them.  None of them can  play any musical instrument at all.  But when the four of us sing, we blend perfectly in several harmonies.

My parents got me a little piano for Christmas when I was four years old.  That year, I was pounding out "Joy to the World".  My mom often said that was the only Christmas music we had that year.  Through the years, I learned how to play a few more songs on that little piano.  I still have it to this day.

Ready to Ignite!

One time, long ago, I felt like my grandmother was beating me to death.

During my early teenage years, my dad built a beautiful addition onto our house.  He truly was an engineer that was never trained as one.  It comes through his genes, for his grandfather Ambrose was renown for being able to build a house just like someone wanted with barely a splinter left over.

When my grandmother was living as a widow in rural Kentucky, my mom always worried about her going out to get the coal for the stove during the wintertime.  She could easily have fallen on icy steps, snow, etc. and it may have been awhile before anyone found her.  So, each October we would make the trip to eastern Kentucky to bring her to Ohio so she could spend the winter until "plantin' time" in March.

She loved sitting by the fireplace in the room my dad built.  The fire helped to warm her knees, which were extremely arthritic.  I will always have memories of her sitting by that fire in her special chair with her rusty green bean can that she spit her tobacco juice in.

One evening, I had taken a bath, washed my hair and put on my flannel nightgown to get ready to warm myself and dry my hair by the fire.  Mama (MawMaw) loved to watch me brush my long hair by the fire.  Hers was long, too - but she always wore it in a bun.

I was standing in front of the fire talking to her and just loving the warm fire when all of a sudden she flew out of her chair (arthritic knees and all!), knocked me to the floor, and began beating me with the little broom we always kept on the hearth to sweep up with.  I was so astounded!  I didn't know what I'd said to offend her, but I was trying to think of it so I wouldn't say it again!

Actually, she had seen my nightgown smoldering and ready to ignite.  It was flannel, and it wouldn't have taken much to set it on fire. 

I have her to thank for the quick reaction to an inevitable tragedy that could have meant the end of me.  Many women of her era saw terrible things happen to their children, their friends, their loved ones and themselves because of open fireplaces, cookstoves, etc.  She knew what she saw, and she took care of it rapidly.

The house where she lived in eastern Kentucky.  It was built by my grandfather and still stands.  My uncle, Dick Stevens and wife Betty live there today.

My grandmother, Bertha Agnes Gearheart Stevens

A Patchwork Christmas

As a child, I have vivid memories of my mother, Ida Stevens Clemens, and her mother, Bertha Agnes Gearheart Stevens as they pieced squares and triangles together making quilt tops.  I believe the fabrics were those that had been worn as clothing and still had a bit of a life in them.

Mawmaw would live with us every winter.  My parents and I would make the trip from Ohio to Kentucky in October to pick her up and bring her up north.  Mom was always afraid that her mother would take a tumble while going out to pick a bucket of coal for the stove.  One year she did fall, and broke her arm in the process.  But, as soon as the weather would be clear enough to go back home, we took her.  She was anxious to get back for “plantin’ time”.

Mawmaw passed one.  Then, my mother passed on.  One day, while at my father’s home, we were going through an old steamer trunk that had been in the family for years.  I pulled out quilt after quilt, as well as four quilt tops.  I mentioned to dad that I would be happy to take them home and repair, clean and preserve them.  He thought about it, but said my three sisters would probably be jealous.  I did talk him into letting me take the four quilt tops, promising that I would someday make them into quilts for my sisters and myself.

Just two months later, my dad went to Kentucky to visit relatives.  When he came home, the only thing standing was his front door and the front wall of his home.  Lightning had struck the house and burned it to the ground while he was gone.  My sisters and I helped him go through the rubble, trying to salvage anything we could.  The only thing that remained intact was the genealogy, the pictures, and a drawer with his underwear in it.  Those items smelled of smoke and had a bit of water damage, but were mostly in good condition.

Through years of raising my own family, the quilt tops were forgotten.  They remained in a black garbage back in my attic.  But, one year I rediscovered them and decided it was time to make them into what they were intended to be – beautiful quilts.

The fabrics were old and mismatched, but through the help of a friend and her quilting machine, we began to work on them to get them quilted.  I thought of how each one was so different and decided which of my sisters would get the finished one. 

All except for one.  I couldn’t find it anywhere!

I tore the house apart.  I promised a reward to any of my children that could find it.  I cried.  I prayed.  I was desperate. 

The impression came to look in the back of my van, for I had loaded up a number of items to take to the thrift shop.  Sure enough, as I reached through the clothes to the bottom of the bag, I could feel the familiar stitches my mother and grandmother had made some forty years before on material that was even older than that. 

The quilts were finished and given to my sisters for Christmas that year.  They were absolutely dumbfounded, for they had all assumed that everything had been destroyed in the fire.  I can still remember their voices as they exclaimed over the fabrics, remembering a dress, or a tie, or an apron, etc. that brought back a flood of memories.

I am saddened for the quilts that were lost in the fire, but am so grateful for the quilt tops that I brought home that enabled me to give one final present from Mom and Mawmaw to each of us granddaughters.

Kerry and Peggy Fall in Love

I never expected to ever get married.

As a young girl, I was always heavy.  Heavy girls are usually poked fun at, laughed at, have horrible sounds made when they pass by.  It can do a lot of damage to one's self-image and self-esteem.  Hence, I not only had low self-esteem as a youth, I had no self-esteem. 

The Washington Temple was nearing its completion, and my parents and I were excited for the open house that would take place in the summer of 1974.  I had never been near a temple before, and I fell in love with it immediately.  It was so peaceful and serene there - I didn't want to leave.  I went through on the tour at least twelve times. 

Later that day, we drove on into Virginia.  We stayed at a beautiful campground.  My parents and I were discussing where we should go the next day.  I immediately piped up and said I wanted to go back and tour the temple again.  We did, and I went on 13 more tours. 

I couldn't get enough.

My parents moved to work in the Washington Temple in Oct 1976.  I was in awe as I watched them prepare to sell their home and make a new one in the Washington area.  I wanted to be like them so much.

In March of 1977, I was invited to also work in the Washington Temple.  I couldn't believe it, for I thought you had to be really special to work there.  I made a special trip for an interview and was told that I was hired. 

Little did I know that my path had already crossed with Mr. Kerry's path several times.  He was on security during the open house.  He was there to check cars at the gatehouse when my friend, Janet and I drove there for my interview.

I moved there April 14.  I went through the temple April 15.  I met Kerry April 16. 

Kerry and I met while I was greeting another friend of mine in the temple cafeteria.  I didn't think too much about him.  But, apparently he saw something in me that peaked his interest.  He called around and found out who I was, where I lived, and made contact with me.  I didn't even remember him.  He asked me out on a date, and since he worked at the temple, I said yes - even if I didn't remember him, I figure he's probably be safe.

Our first date was April 30.  We went to a movie (Freaky Friday), had dinner, and went to a Baltimore Oriole's baseball game.  I had a nice time, but I really wasn't that impressed with him.  He greased his hair down and reminded me of Bowser from Sha-na-na.

He continued to ask me out.  I agreed, but kept saying to myself that I probably wouldn't go out with him any more.  But, I kept saying yes.  I didn't want to hurt his feelings.

Toward the end of June, we were watching "Rich Man, Poor Man" at my parents' apartment.  They had gone to bed.  Kerry kept hanging on and on and not leaving.  I was tired.  I was bored.  I was waiting for him to leave.  I would lean on my hand and leave one eye open while the other slept for awhile.  Then I would switch hands and switch eyes so the other eye slept for awhile. 

Finally, I got up to use the bathroom, thinking he would get the message and leave.  When I came back into the living room, he was kneeling on the floor praying.  I didn't know what to think.  When he finished, I sat down and waited some more.  He remained on the floor.

In the next few minutes, he quietly asked me if I would be his wife for eternity.  Good grief!  I had to hold my face together to keep from laughing.  I told him I would let him know before long.

A week went by.  Sisters Fern and Jean and nephews Dave and Steve had come for a visit, and they all seemed to like him.  Fern got his head down in the kitchen sink and washed his hair.  I'm not sure if she used something like a Brillo pad or not, for his hair seemed to have a lot of grease on it.  She blew it dry and he looked great!

One day, my dad asked me if I had given that young man an answer yet.  I said no.  He wondered why not!  It wasn't fair to keep him hanging on.  Was I waiting on God to straight out tell me?

I pretty much said that I was.  He wagged his head and said I should know how to get an answer to a prayer.  I needed to make my decision, then take it to the Lord for confirmation.  I knew that - I just needed to be reminded.

I listed the pros and cons of Mr. Kerry.  There were far more pros than there were cons.  He was a good young man, he was worthy in every way to enter the temple every day, he held the priesthood, he was active in our religions, he cleaned up real good, etc.

But, I didn't love him.

My dad - my own father - reminded me to consider just how many people would be willing to live with me.  Both my parents really liked him.

I made the decision to tell him yes.  I wrote my answer on a card and quoted a verse from the book of Ruth - "Entreat me not to leave thee or refrain from following after thee.  For whither though goest I will go.  And whither thou lodgest I will lodge.  Thy people will be my people and thy god my god."

Little did I know that at the same time I was in the temple praying earnestly about this, he was outside near some trees praying, as well.

He flipped out.  We told my parents.  He called his parents.  We told temple workers.  Every one was thrilled!!

Except me.  I didn't love him.

He gave me my ring on my birthday.  We flew to Utah in August so I could meet his parents and family.  Things were in motion as we set our date for December 1.

But, I didn't love him.

The date was getting closer.  One day in October, we were walking to my parents' apartment from the temple through a beautiful neighborhood.  Soon, we heard a car turn onto the street we were walking on with some boys loudly shouting.  We both bristled as we heard what could have been a gunshot or the car backfiring.  In the Washington suburbs, it could be either one. 

The car approached us with the boys yelling and the loud sound that scared us.  As that "shot" came very close to us, Kerry immediately pushed me to the ground and covered my body with his.  The car drove on past.  When they were quite a distance away, Kerry helped me to my feet and made sure I was okay. 

I looked at him a little bit differently beginning at that very moment.  He was ready to protect my body with his at the risk of being injured!  It was truly a turning point for me, for I had always wondered what would happen if I married him and somebody better came along.

I have grown to accept the fact that it would never happen.  Nobody could ever come along.  As I look back on the 33 years we've been married, I now realize how much the hand of the Lord took part in all of this.  Kerry was born in California, at 16 he moved to Utah, served his mission in the Delaware/Maryland mission, returned there after his mission to work in the temple.  I'm from Ohio - and yet we meet in the Washington area.

This was not by happenstance.

He is truly the best person I have ever known in my life.  He makes me laugh.  He adores me and has never said one bad thing about my cooking.  He still opens doors for me and pouts if I jump out before letting him. 

He's the man of my dream!

Happy Anniversary, dear Kerry!  I love you so

Batter Up!

As a young girl, I collected baseball cards.  Well, I guess I did.  I don't really remember collecting them, but as you'll see, there's evidence that I did...

In 1976, my parents were called to work in the Washington DC temple.  This was a very humbling experience for both them and their daughters.  They were prepared to spend the rest of their lives working there, and made the necessary arrangements to sell their home and its contents.  Some things were sold at garage sales and some things were stored at my sister, Betty's home.

Betty had a huge attic that was about the size of their home they were selling.

Fast forward several years.  My mother had passed away.  My dad had returned to Washington to work as long as he was able. 

Kerry and I had moved to our current home and were raising our children.  Money was tight on several occasions, but we always seemed to make it through with lots of prayers and hanging on with faith.

But one day, things got serious.

I had made Cream of Wheat for breakfast for the kids before they left for school.  Instead of doing the breakfast dishes right away, I decided to wait until later. 

Big mistake.

I noticed that the water in the toilets seemed a bit oily, but I didn't think too much about it and left to run some errands.  When I returned, I began to do the dishes, but the water came out of the spigot with an oily film.  Then...there was no water at all.

Our water pump had gone out.

I called the people that had installed the original pump and they came to our house to confirm it and give us an estimate.  It would be approximately $2500.  Oh, my goodness!  How in the world would we ever have enough money for that???

But, for some reason, we felt we should tell him to go ahead and install the new one.  I was a bit apprehensive, but Kerry felt good about it.

The Cream of Wheat on the dishes had turned to concrete.  I took everything out to the deck and let the rainwater fill do the job of softening it up.  As I stood out there arranging the dishes, my tears matched the number of raindrops.  We went into emergency mode and used paper/plastic plates and utensils, took "spit baths" with water storage, and made do.

They came to replace the pump the next morning, giving us ten days to pay for it.

As I watched them, I just didn't know how it was all going to work out.  Meanwhile, my sisters became aware of the dilemma.  Sister Betty told me to hang on and not ask for any loans.  I told her we would probably have top - but she was adamant that we not do that.

She had noticed something in the attic where my parents' belongings were stored.  She went back to look for it, and took it to a friends' business.

It was an entire shoebox full of baseball cards from the 1960's - the kind you get a big stick of gum with.  She took the box to her friend, and was given an estimate.

The estimated value of the pump was $2500.  The value of the baseball cards was $2498!  We would have enough - with $2 left over!!

I don't have any memory at all of collecting those baseball cards - yet they were mine.  They were saved all of these many years.  Mom and dad could have easily thrown them out. 

But, the Lord knows the end from the beginning.  He knew that someday down the road, Miss Peggy and her little family would have need for those cards, and that they would have value.  And because of that, the pump was installed, water was restored, there was no debt incurred, and our faith was strengthened.

He does look out for us!

Little Jordan’s Prayer

Jordan, our third child, was an absolute doll.  He was cuddly, bright, charming, and could worm his way into just about anyone's heart.  To see him was to love him.

One of the things I remember took place around our dinner table.  It was a place of a lot of festivity and talking.  We would ask about each other's day, about the best part of their day, Kerry would ask questions about US History, the Gospel, give them math problems, etc.

But, each meal began with a prayer - asking the Lord's blessing on the food and showing our gratitude for it.

One day, it was Jordan's turn to say the blessing on the food.  Like many little children are prone to do, he folded his arms on the table, plopped his head down on them, and proceeded to pray.  The problem was that his mouth and voice were pointed toward the floor.

No one could hear or understand anything.

At the end of it, he raised his head up and looked around.  I had one eye open, so I knew the prayer was over.  Everyone said "Amen" except me.

I told him, "Jordan, I'm not going to say amen because I didn't hear a word you said."

He looked at me and said, "I wasn't talking to you!"

Jordan.  You gotta love him...

Lost in a Sea of Faces!

I was six years old, and I was lost.

Quite often, my parents and sometimes my sisters would travel to Palmyra, New York to view the Hill Cumorah Pageant.  It is the one of the largest outdoor pageants in America, and quite possibly the world, with a cast of 700.  Nightly attendance averages 10,000 and more.  Our family had the opportunity to be in the cast on several occasions.  It was one of the highlights of our lives.

When I was about six, my parents and I were there with sister Ferne.  I can't remember if any other of my sisters were there or not.  I just know that we had been sitting in our seats for a long time and were waiting for the time when the pageant would begin. 

Since I was young and a bit squirrelly, I was hopping up and down and trying to convince my mom that I needed to go to the bathroom.  She was hesitant, for she really didn't want to leave her seat.  Ferne said to just go ahead and let me go, and told me the exact route to take up through all of the people to get to the restrooms.  It really wasn't very complicated.  But, I was six.

I came back out, looked around and couldn't remember the route.  It was really just a straight walk down an aisle, but I was six.

I began to cry.  There was a light rain that was threatening us.  I had on a blue and red plaid raincoat.  As more time went by, I began to get terrified.  I saw a sea of faces and knew I'd never see my mom again! 

I cried more.  Soon, a man picked me up and dried my eyes and helped me blow my nose.  He had me stand on one of the benches and helped me look out over the crowd.

I soon spotted my mom!!!  She had begun to worry and was going up and down the aisles looking for me.  When she saw me standing on that bench, she pushed through the crowd, thanked the man, and held my hand tightly back to our seats.

I felt so safe and secure.  Relief just swept over me.  Mom later told me I looked so forlorn when she saw me - and I was just as cold and blue as the blue in my raincoat.

Precious Gifts

The year that Miss Harmony was born was a tender year for us.  She had played baby Jesus in the Christmas play and sneezed in Mary's face. 

She refused to nurse.

She had quite the willful spirit that was evident even before she was born.

But, there was one night Kerry and I will never forget.

I had fed her and bundled her up at the end of the day.  She was full.  She was dry.  She was swaddled.  I laid her on a blanket under the Christmas tree, where she continued to coo and look up at the twinkling lights.

Soon, Peter (age 2 1/2) came over and laid beside her.  He rubbed her tummy, her arms and her face and talked to her, telling her all about Christmas.  Then, they both were laying side by side looking up at the lights.

Kerry and I sat there with tears in our eyes.  We didn't have much money.  There weren't many presents under the tree.  But, we felt like the richest people on earth with the two best presents we could have that year.

Yes, my little family has been my greatest treasure...