memories of Marty Bagley Halverson
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| Dee took this picture |
We knew we would
arrive home to $00.00 so the timing was yet to be decided, and I knew that
until he gave me a ring, he wouldn't consider us engaged. I had considered us
engaged since his first "I love you," but thought it wiser not to announce it, even to him.
We went on a
chaste group honeymoon to Budapest on April 30 to celebrate. Hungary was behind
the Iron Curtain, and we had to have visas and official guides to go. We were
told that the border was strictly guarded and we were not permitted under any circumstances to take photos as we crossed.
The guard towers
were all around us, and soldiers with machine guns were watching every vehicle
carefully. As we passed one of them, Dee took a picture out the window of the bus. I was shocked at his
blatant indifference to the rules; I've since discovered that Dee never thinks
rules apply to him. A few minutes later some soldiers on motorcycles pulled up
next to us and waved us over. We stopped and the officers boarded our bus.
The driver was
Czech and the communication was awkward between our German and English, and
these new foreign tongues. Of course it didn't take a linguist to figure out
what they wanted. They had seen someone on our bus take a picture and they
wanted to confiscate all our cameras.
Dee, realizing it
was time to step up, volunteered that he was the criminal and they didn't need
to take everyone's camera; they could have his. After a little negotiation, the
soldiers said he could just give up his film.
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| MAY Day Parade |
May Day had
special significance because there was a giant Communist Parade. I was clueless, and pictured floats and costumes. It
turned out to be thousands of factory workers carrying Communist flags,
marching past the government officials. Dee said he wanted to take a picture
and left me in the stands. He didn't come back. After the events of the day
before, I was worried that he'd been arrested and sent to a concentration camp.
The atmosphere at the parade was not comfortable for us Americans, and I could
feel the oppression of the people.
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| Dee with FLAG and friends |
I could hardly wait to get out of this country!
That night we went
to a quaint restaurant, decorated with brightly colored embroidered linens and
hand painted pottery. There were gypsy musicians wearing tall, black hats,
puffy shirts and baggy pants tucked into boots. Playing their violins, they
wandered from table to table while we ate Chicken Paprikas and Palatshinken. As
we were eating, some girls at the next table began
talking about candle
passings.
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| Add caption |
Back in the dorms
there would frequently be a sign on the door announcing a special ceremony that
night.
Everyone would
gather in anticipation, wondering who. Standing in a circle, with crossed arms,
holding hands, we sang love songs while a candle decorated with flowers and
ribbons was passed from girl to girl.
Sitting on the candle was a diamond engagement
ring. There were sighs, and whispers and a few warbles.
♫
They say there's a tree in the meadow,
a tree that will give you a sign . . .
♫ Come along with me, to the Sweetheart Tree,
♫ Come and carve your name next to mine . . . ♫
a tree that will give you a sign . . .
♫ Come along with me, to the Sweetheart Tree,
♫ Come and carve your name next to mine . . . ♫
After the candle
had gone around the circle once, (or twice to add to the suspense,) the lucky
girl blew out the candle and put her ring on. Squeals, hugs and tears would
follow.
That night in
Budapest someone started passing a candle. It went around one table and then
another before it came to our table.
I was sitting next
to my true love, the gypsies were playing, everyone was watching, and when it
came to me, I blew out the candle.
Our
engagement was official.
It
must have been a trick candle,
because after forty-eight years, the light is still bright.
because after forty-eight years, the light is still bright.
Marty’s Love Story
Chapter
3: February 14, 1969
It was barely
light when I peeked outside that morning. The aroma of fresh bread and hot
chocolate warmed my chilly room and I followed it downstairs for Früstuck.
Salzburg breakfasts are worth getting up for. Baskets of crusty Semmeln (rolls)
chewy and soft, frosted with unsalted butter and raspberry jam; white teapots
filled with cocoa—sleepy students perked up, and the dining room awakened to
quiet chatter.
Valentine's Day,
1969, started as usual. After breakfast I skipped upstairs to get ready for
class, and there on my table was a little bouquet of daffodils. A blue piece of
airmail stationery was folded and propped up with a note that said
"Zu die Marty
für Valentine's." I remembered my solicitation for flowers and knew Dee
was the delivery boy.
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| Valentine's Day |
My roommates came
in and the news traveled quickly around the hotel. I was a celebrity . . . a
very minor celebrity, but we didn't have any others that day, so it was
exciting.
Dee met me on the
stairs, and I asked quietly, "Was it you?" He nodded, I gushed and
blushed and we walked to class. At lunchtime there was an incident. A guy in
our group, (who wore bright turquoise Levis, by the way) was offended that
someone had singled me out. He said we should be careful not to pair off; we
should just be a big, happy family during our semester abroad. He didn't want
anyone to feel left out, so he had a big bouquet of flowers with a card that
said, "To all the girls, from all the boys." There may have been a
few who were touched by this gesture, but I privately thought it was lame.
Besides, I liked being singled out.
That night at
dinner I looked around anxiously, having planned all day how I would casually
sit down by Dee and flirt a little. He didn't come. Maybe he was embarrassed by
all the notoriety.
The next day was
Saturday and I went with my friends to tour Salzburg. We walked up
Getreidegässe and bought gloves, scarves and hats, took pictures of the horse
baths, and looked inside a few churches. I was distracted—shivery, weary and
queasy. I hadn't received any mail from home yet, and suddenly six months
seemed like forever. The novelty was past, washing my clothes in the basin was
a pain, my bed was lumpy and I wanted my mom. Homesickness was new to me and it
was awful. My heart started racing, I felt dizzy and like I was going to throw
up.
Looking back, I
think I had a panic attack. Realizing that I couldn't call, or get in touch
with anyone I loved, thinking that someone could die while I was gone . . . all
the emotions of being far from home for the first time overwhelmed me. Plus, I
figured I'd blown the whole daffodil surprise completely out of proportion.
Obviously Dee wasn't even going to talk to me again. It was a pretty miserable
day.
Dee was having his
own miserable day. Anxious to go skiing in the Austrian alps (but unable to
afford it) he'd put together a ski trip for 25 of our students, arranged for
ski rentals, buses, and lift passes, all so he could get a discount on his own.
He acted as the translator while all the girls got their boots fitted (the
clerk couldn't get over how big the American girls' feet were!) and finally
they left for Kleinarl.
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| Austrian Alps |
After they got to
the ski area, Dee made sure everyone could get along OK, and then took his
first ride up the lift. At the top he saw our buddy (the turquoise Levi boy)
laying in the snow, bleeding profusely. Getting off the ski lift, he'd stabbed
himself in the leg with his ski pole.
Dee got the ski
patrol and then stayed to translate, skiing down with the stretcher. He ended
up riding in the ambulance back to Salzburg. It was his only experience on
mountain curves at high speeds—his ski day was over.
The next
afternoon, I was studying when Dee knocked on my door. He suggested walking
down the hall to a little office. When we got there, he said he'd been anxious
to apologize to me. He was afraid the daffodils had offended me! I quickly assured
him that I was thrilled to get them, and we started talking. I told him about
being homesick, and how I missed my family, and all about them. I thought later
what a great conversationalist he was . . . he just listened and let me talk
about myself for two hours! How cool can a guy be?
There was a poem
on a calendar on the wall, and I asked Dee to translate it.
"You
are mine, I am thine. This must you
always remember. You are locked inside my heart, and the tiny key is lost. You
must stay inside forever."
Our hearts were
opening to each other. We were getting ready to invite each other in, and we
were completely unaware of what that would mean . . . forever.
Marty’s
Love Story Chapter 10:
"Bis
aufs Wiedersehn." Salzburg, 1969
It was time to
wake up: the Salzburg Dream was over. Our semester abroad ended, the 14 final
days touring Europe rolled into each other, and we flew home June 12th. Towards
the end of our long flight, all 65 girls changed into our new dirndls, so we
could greet our parents looking like a giant von Trapp Family. (The boys kept their dignity, with normal attire.)
When the wheels of the plane touched down, the whole group cheered and some of
us cried. We arrived very late, after midnight, and our families had been
waiting for several hours. Dee's parents had already gone home to Provo.
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| Marty & Dee--von Trapp family |
His mother had
received a diagnosis of MS earlier that day, which must have been extremely
upsetting. I can't remember who gave us that information, but we'd heard it by
the time we found my parents. I assured Dee he could stay with us.
I had feared the
big meeting with Dee and my parents, since our airmail correspondence had been
so negative. I was excited to be home, and anxious for everyone to like each
other.
I flew into my
dad's arms, and hugged my mom, and then introduced them to Dee. It was cordial,
but stiff. Then I informed them that I had invited Dee to stay at our house
since his folks had left. Their polite faces started slipping, and I suddenly
felt defensive. In later years my mother would become very hospitable in this
kind of situation, but it was the first time a stranger (to her) had ever
stayed overnight. It was also the first time I had announced such an intention
without asking first. We hadn't interacted like this before. Since I was the
oldest child, it was new for our family, and a little awkward. I felt like I
was walking into a stiff wind, but it worked out OK. It was great to see my
family and sleep in my own bed.
Dee slept on the
family room floor.
Did you see Father
of the Bride? It was so reminiscent of our experience. My dad was very
suspicious of the new man in my life, and my mom was restrained. Emotionally, I
had become a woman and they still saw me as a little girl. (It had only been 6
months ... ) I'm sure they assumed I would come home and everything would be
the same, that I would be the same. I wasn't. I had allowed an intruder to
become the biggest part of my life, leaving my family on the sidelines. None of
us knew how to interact.
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| Add caption |
This was a side of
him I hadn't seen before and it made me nervous. My parents were not showing
off very well, either, and I felt extremely tense and uncomfortable. Halfway
through dinner something happened that I have never forgotten.
My Grama leaned
over the table and whispered (in a Grama whisper that everyone could hear) "Marty, he's
real quality." I appreciated her
so much at that moment! I needed approval and encouragement from someone I
loved, and she had given the thumbs up.
So now reality set
in. Although Dee lived only an hour away, it was as if we were on different
planets. We were back in our parent's homes, without a car between us.
Telephoning long distance was expensive and reserved for emergency 3-minute
calls, so we had to write letters. After spending all day, every day, together,
this was a shock and we were miserable. We had no income, work, or savings, and
according to my dad, no future. My folks figured if they ignored the situation,
it would go away. I had no one to talk to, or dream with. It felt like our
whole romance had been imagined.
Dee immediately
got 2 jobs, and I went back to work in my dad's Optometrist's office. Two weeks
later, Dee surprised me at work, arriving in his
New (used '67) light blue VW bug. He asked if
I wanted to go for a walk. I got very grudging permission from my boss, and we
strolled around downtown SLC to the Assembly Hall. It was the middle of the
afternoon, we were all alone in a beautiful room, and Dee told me he hated for
us to be apart. He thought he had a solution to our difficult situation. He
pulled a box from his pocket and there was a beautiful, antiqued diamond
engagement ring. He figured we could get married in 2 months. "By then
we'll be rich." (We've been using this line now for 48 years ... it's a
good line.) I was overjoyed! It was for real.
We went back to my
dad's office, but he'd left for the golf course. Dee drove me home and we just
happened to pass my Grampa driving on the freeway! We pulled up close to him,
honked and waved and I pointed to my new ring. He honked back, making cheering
signs, grinning from ear to ear.
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| Add caption |
We got to my
house, anxious to announce our news. Nobody was home. We talked and planned and
waited. Finally, I heard my dad getting out of the neighbor's car. I ran out,
flashing my diamond, squealing with delight. Dad took a look, opened the trunk
to get out his clubs and went into the garage without a word. Mr. Glazier
hugged me, shook Dee's hand, and congratulated us with exuberance. Dad walked
into the house and got in the shower.
When Mom came
home, she reacted with surprise and reluctant acceptance. Over the next few
days she got excited about planning a wedding with all the trimmings. That was
ironic, because I didn't want a wedding. I wanted a small dinner. I had always
thought it would be silly to spend the biggest night of my life shaking hands
with my mom's friends, and my dad's business associates. But, whatever ... I was
getting married!! Let mom plan her
wedding and invite her friends. I was getting married!!!
Dad wouldn't talk
about it for 3 days, and then he started suggesting that we wait a year, or at
least until December. He said he couldn't afford a wedding so soon. (Why wasn't
anyone listening to me??) By then, mom was talking dresses and florists,
photographers and invitations, and eventually Dad realized it was happening
with or without his approval. It actually took another year and the birth of
our first baby for Dad to accept my marriage.
For the first several months when we visited
my folks, Dee sat downstairs and read National Geographic because nobody would talk
to him!
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| Add caption |
We went to a movie
afterwards, and as cheesy as it sounds,
the movie was Sound of Music!
Our obsession and
loyalty to all things Austrian can be traced to our beginnings. Our semester
abroad in Salzburg was more than either of us had expected. While living in
central Germany for 2 years, Dee had planned to return to Bavaria to study. As
a sophomore in high school, I had a student teacher who introduced the idea of
going to school in Salzburg. In our separate worlds we had both worked and
saved until the perfect time and opportunity presented itself.
It started as a
dream and it became a dream come true.
Marty
Celebrating Dee-Day!
Dee is a War Baby,
born 9 months (plus a few hours) after his WWII soldier dad returned to his
waiting wife, 71 years ago today. A true Boomer.
You could not meet
a more interesting guy. That's a direct result of the fact that he's interested
. . . in EVERYTHING. By the time I met Dee when he was 22 he was already an
expert in European History, World Geography, the British Military, photography,
German philosophy, politics and US current events. He collected coins and
stamps, knew diverse things about music, Rommel, Hubert Humphrey and art. I was
fascinated.
He'd worked in a
pizza place, hoed sugar beets, stocked fabric bolts, and managed a pro-shop at
a golf course, saving for college from the time he was 13. He'd lived in
Germany, met Bobby Kennedy, been a boy scout, worked at Grand Canyon,
skinny-dipped in the river, hunted pheasants, and made fires to roast
grasshoppers for a picnic. He'd tracked trains, then put nails and coins on the
tracks to watch them get flattened. He had a Tom Sawyer type childhood, a
hard-working, studious youth, and was smarter than anyone I'd ever met.
After receiving a
triple degree in German, European Studies and History from BYU, Dee had planned
to go into Foreign Service, the CIA or the Intelligence field. But with the
reality of a wife and two kids already, he found a job in real estate as a
developer and builder. He built about 50 homes, a subdivision, some condos, office
buildings and a business park and was involved in the politics of water rights,
irrigation feuds, and building permits. He arbitrated, negotiated, and
stagnated. It was time to move on.
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| Add caption |
After reinventing
himself with a year at The King's Manor in York, England he received another
degree in Architectural History and Preservation. Dee's first business venture
after returning home was to sponsor a three-day, world-wide conference on
retro-fitting historic buildings with hydraulic springs to prevent damage
during an earthquake. The SL City and County Building was the first building to
benefit from the new technology. The conference was well-attended by architects
from all over the world who wanted to observe and learn firsthand.
He began writing
books on historic buildings, and architectural styles and features, which led
to books about towns, individuals, businesses and families. He's now written
over 75 books. He becomes an expert on each new topic, spending months, even
years, studying the various subjects.
It's fun to watch
Dee immerse himself in a new interest. When he wrote a book about a Jewish
Rabbi in Seattle, it led him to 1860's silver mines in Colorado and the
beginnings of a rabbinical school in Cincinnati. The story of a San Francisco
bridge building company took us to an ancestral winery in Germany, as well as a
study of the construction of the Chunnel.
Early logging in
Ontario's rivers, and the establishment of Quaker Meetings in Pennsylvania,
pirates settling Newfoundland and ghost towns in Southern Utah have become a
few areas of expertise for Dee.
Dee has an
incredible memory for dates and places involving anyone else, and when he gets
going on a little historic recitation he's thorough to the point of, well . . .
thoroughness. Right now he's writing his own history, which is a great thing.
Looking back on life is a wonderful way to count your blessings!
Some memories get
lost in the giant library of his mind.
We got married 48
years ago, in September, and a few weeks later on his birthday I baked him a
cake. He came home from school, saw it on the table and was overcome. "I've never
had a birthday cake before," he
told me emotionally. He hadn't??? Where was his mother??? What kind of deprived
childhood had he come from??? I vowed to make it all up to him. I'd give him
memorable celebrations that would overwhelm his past disappointments.
The next year,
true to my promise, I baked him a triple decker. When he walked in, his eyes
misted over and he whispered tremulously,
"Oh, my gosh,
Dear. I've never had a birthday cake before."
Like I said, he's
an interesting guy. The best part is that he's interested in me!
Happy Birthday,
Dear!
Ich hab dich immer
noch ganz Lieb! (I still love you!)
"Just send us
to Switzerland and perch us on an alp with a drop-dead view. You don't have to
visit us or worry about us. We'll be supremely happy and when it's time we'll
just keel over into eternal bliss."
Nobody has taken
us seriously. By that I mean nobody has bought us tickets yet. But we didn't
count on God overhearing our request. When God overhears a request, He always
grants it, but with His own little twist. "You want to spend your last
years on a mountain top?? Great idea! I'll help you get there!!"
The past two weeks
we've been on a rocky road. Dee had a hip replacement, which turned into a
fractured femur, which turned into a short miserable stint in rehab before he
was sent back for a long miserable stint in the hospital. It has seemed like we
wouldn't have the option of a mountain view. But good nurses, doctors, aides,
physical therapists, friends, family, and the good Lord blessed Dee in a
variety of ways and yesterday a big strong man took hold of Dee, placed him in
a wheelchair and took him off to Rocky Mountain rehab. I watched Dee turn the
corner. It was awesome!
Then we saw what
was around the corner. The mountain! Heavenly Father must have smiled when He
thought, "I'll give them their drop-dead view. But they have to want it
enough to make the climb!"
So now we're at
the trailhead, lots of experienced climbers all around with good advice, ropes,
pulleys, and encouragement. Plenty of time to get to the top, and assurances
that the climb itself will be a great adventure with fabulous views and lots of
good company. Except its very scary for me, knowing either of us could fall or
get discouraged and just sit down and wait to keel over. But why would Heavenly
Father promise such a glorious view if He isn't going to help us get there? I
know we can get there. I've learned some things since that first discussion
about our demise, and one of them is there's not much to discuss.
We're not in charge. Deciding how our life will be at 70, when we're 40, is like deciding how our life will be at 40 when we're 10. We just don't know! Life will surprise us. Assuming we'll know how and when we'll want "to go" is a folly of youthful thinking. Our definitions of "a full life" and "quality of life" and "reason for life" change and surprise us. We grieve, then adjust to changes in our physical abilities, and rejoice in the changes in our spiritual abilities. We have gained more precious ground than we've lost in these so-called declining years. Getting old is full of unexpected blessings!
Dee used to say,
"When it's hopeless, just pull my plug." Well, there is no plug.
Which is lucky because there are a lot of times when it seems hopeless, but
hope is just around the corner. With mountains to climb.
Feeling scared,
with all their eyes upon me, reminds me why I have to be brave! Twenty-four
sets of eyes unknowingly watch an example of how we react in tough times. They
are my incentive to dig deep until I strike courage. The example the grandkids
give me is "Live with Joy." I can do that!
Sixty-eight years
ago today my mom and dad got married. At the wedding breakfast my grampa gave a
tribute to his new daughter-in-law. He said he had a special wedding present
for her, something that had been in the family for years
a diamond clip.
Then he gave her a
black velvet box and when she opened it she found ...
a dime and clip.
Funny things
happen on April Fool's Day!
Marty
Bagley Halverson’s MOM story
My biggest fear as
a little girl was that I'd die before I had kids—I could hardly wait to be a
mom. My dream came true July 11, 1970.
Gabi was whisked
away to an incubator right after she was born (breach) and I didn't get to see
her until she was four hours old. When the nurse’s wheeled six infants into the
hospital ward (babies stayed in the nursery in those days) mine was the only
one crying. The other five mothers were skilled at cuddling and nursing, and I
imagined their criticism as I tried to quiet my newborn's wails. It was
stressful, feeding did not go well, and I was exhausted and relieved when they
took her away.
Nowadays new moms
jump out of bed and go home hours after delivery, but forty-seven years ago we
were wimps. We stayed in the hospital three or four days, and a nurse had to
walk us to the bathroom or the sitzbath down the hall. Every four hours they
brought my hysterical child; I began to dread it. Motherhood was much harder
than I'd imagined. Then we had to go home.
On my own, I
panicked. I wondered why anyone thought I could be left alone with a baby—I
didn't know what to do! Wasn't inexperience a form of child abuse? Gabi cried
all the time and so did I. When she was a week old I realized I'd never even
said a prayer to be thankful for her, and (I'll admit it now) I wasn't sure I
was. The whole thing was so overwhelming, so demanding and so constant.
When I told this story
to a friend years later, she asked, "How old were you?"
"Twenty," I said. "No wonder," she said. "I felt the
same way and I was almost thirty." She went on, "I should have waited
a few more years. I just wasn't ready."
I'm so glad I
didn't wait until I was ready! How would I get ready anyway? It would be like
taking swimming lessons without any water: treading water was just a concept
until the day I was in the pool and couldn't touch the bottom. Panic was my
first reaction, and I floundered and went under. But then I came back up and
discovered I could stay afloat. I learned to relax, and little by little the
constant movement of my arms and legs felt natural and routine. That's how
motherhood happened for me, too. I needed to be in the experience.
Even as it was
happening, I could see that Gabi was teaching me how to be a mother. Now, in
retrospect, I am convinced that's the way it was meant to happen. If I'd waited
until I was ready, I'd still be waiting. Happily, it didn't occur to me to wait
for anybody, in fact I could hardly wait for them to arrive. They were already
my life's work.
I chose motherhood
as my career. It was never something I fit in around the edges of my life—it
was my life. Like with any career, my early days on the job were daunting, and
I wondered if I could really do it. Like with any career, there were times when
I felt overworked and undervalued. I got tired of the uniform, the cafeteria
and the people I worked with. Who doesn't? But thirty years later I retired
with competence, experience and full benefits.
My life now is
full of benefits—I have fun times with 38 kids and grandkids, and appreciate
their love and encouragement more than ever before. Dee supported my career
choice, worked hard to make it possible and buoyed me up in sinking moments.
This is what I
believe: I believe I knew this group in heaven before I was born and had to
leave them behind when I came to earth. The yearning I felt to be a mom was
because I missed being with them, so I was compelled to get them all here as
fast as I could. In that respect, I was totally ready.
I'm offering a
prayer of thanksgiving now. I'm so thankful to be a mother!
Marty’s Happiness Project
Forty-eight years
ago we started an experiment in happiness. A family is the perfect laboratory
for testing philosophies on religion, education, health, relationships,
finances . . . actually every philosophy is tested in a family. Living right in
the Mother 'hood, I could observe, analyze and evaluate what creates joy.
My first
discovery: being married is much more than getting married. There were lots of
crazy ideas about love floating around in 1969. "Love means never having
to say you're sorry" turned out to be a bad one. I thought love meant
being patient with Dee until he realized I was right. That wasn't any good
either. My experiment in happiness has taught me about marriage.
I think sex keeps
a newly married couple in a state of frenzy long enough for them to start
developing some relationship skills (communication, empathy, understanding, and
patience) to add to the romance of it all. It takes some humility to realize
you need those qualities, and some effort to gain them.
With practice,
good relationship skills can mature into dependability, responsibility, trust
and commitment; eventually the goal is charity, or pure love. The miracle is
not falling in love, it's staying in love. Like Neil Diamond sings, "Love
is not about you, it's not about me. Love is all about we."
Psychiatrists,
therapists, ministers, teachers—think of all the experts who are trying to
figure out marriage. A blessing of my happiness project is that I have studied
it in depth and I'm beginning to get it.
Kids were the
natural result of the frenzied years. We wanted them, but we weren't sure why.
They turned out to be a combination of adorable, frustrating, entertaining,
challenging and always there. That was the hardest part of living in the 'hood:
the constancy. Love took on a whole new dimension, with no place to hide from
anxiety, worry and stress. Crisis management and split-second decisions became
daily events. There was no escaping it, so I learned to cope.
Again, think of
all the seminars, discussion groups and drills designed to prepare folks to
deal with emergencies. I gained those skills on the job. I can think fast,
multi-task, create calm from chaos, and take charge. It's a blessing to know I
would be a leader in difficult circumstances.
The blessing I
cherish most is the relationship with our kids. Besides loving them, I like
them. They're funny, smart, kind, caring, helpful, creative . . . they're my
best friends.
People ask what we did to raise such a great group. I always
answer that they came good. But there was some work involved: I read a zillion
books on kids and tried all the trendy theories.
In the end,
though, we subscribed to the best child-raising philosophy around.
The scriptures say:
"And it came
to pass that we lived after the manner of happiness."
Nephi 5:27 (Book
of Mormon)
So we looked into
it. King Benjamin's advice became our standard:
"And ye will
not suffer your children that they go hungry, or naked; neither will ye suffer
that they fight and quarrel one with another . . . But ye will teach them to
walk in the ways of truth and soberness; ye will teach them to love one
another, and to serve one another."
—Mosiah 4:14-15
Our other motto
was:
"And they
shall also teach their children to pray, and to walk uprightly before the
Lord."
—Doctrine and
Covenants 68:28
I've had a
lifelong Happiness Project.
And, I have to
say, it's worked.
Got
the job ... got the dress ... got the shoes ... got the boss.
He was my dad. I'm
sure I was hired mainly to give my mother a break. I was 13, and I was dang
good at it: I argued, I burst into tears, I swore, I slammed my bedroom door.
It was time for Dad to take over and teach me what life was all about.
On the first day
of summer, at 8:15 am, we were out the door. Dad had fixed me his standard breakfast—
an eggnog. He poured milk and orange juice into the blender, added a little
sugar, vanilla, a couple of raw eggs and some ice, and whipped it into a froth
that was delicious. (Years later Orange Julius became famous for the same
concoction.)
My hair was still
wet; I put it up in curlers and hung my head out the window as we drove
downtown so it would be dry and poufy. Using the rear-view mirror, I lined my
eyes with a black pencil, fluffed on some turquoise eyeshadow and perfected my
pout with white, frosty lipstick. I had to look professional.
Dad was an
optometrist. He had an office and appointments, with real patients paying good
money for glasses and contact lenses. It took several weeks for that to sink
in. Although my job was to dust the frame display cases, change the toilet
paper roll and straighten the magazines in the waiting room, I was usually on
line 3, chatting with Sherrie.
Apparently my boss
found that inappropriate. We had a few discussions about it in the back room.
There was no Human Resource Department where either of us could lodge our
complaints, so in the end he gave me a written job description that hung on the
bathroom door. Soon I got into the morning routine of emptying the waste
baskets, and cleaning the toilet. Dad taught me how to vacuum (the wheel
follows the inside path of the last vacuum track so there aren't small areas
that never get cleaned. And did you know it's supposed to take two hours to
thoroughly vacuum an office?)
Running errands
was the duty I enjoyed most. My white-soled nurse's shoes skipped along the
sparkly, granite sidewalk as I ran to the bank, the post-office, the pharmacy
and the laundry. Twice a day I went up the street to the Stock Exchange where
there was a soft-drink machine that sold little green bottles of icy-cold Coca
Cola. I would love to visit a summer afternoon when we took a break, chugged
our cokes and chatted like friends, while Dad laughed and teased, and taught
me.
Gradually I got
promotions. I learned to file, answer the phone, make appointments, write
checks and balance the check book. Oh, there were still days when the boss
caught me reading Ingenue or painting my nails. (Why hasn't someone invented
odorless fingernail polish?) When he left early, the vacuum tracks were very
far apart and the task took me less than five minutes. But I kept my job for
several years. I even got regular raises.
Isn't that just
like a dad? He paid me to learn what only he could teach. I thought I'd learned
it all, so I grew up. Over the years, as I spouted all my wisdom and
inspiration to my own kids, I vaguely recognized my expressions. They were the
same ones I'd heard my boss use all those summers ago.
Vacuuming,
organizing, balancing a check book and chugging a coke were important life
skills to acquire. I also learned to laugh, hope, love and work from my first
boss. He's been gone for eighteen years, but those lessons and memories are
forever in my heart.
My father had a
great deal of trouble with me. But I think he enjoyed it.
---paraphrased
from Mark Twain
Back in the day
when babies chose their own birthday, the doctor told my mom to expect me
August 9th. I waited for September. For 68 years now I’ve been waiting for
September. It’s the quintessential month. Even more than January for me, it’s a
time to begin again. Maybe it’s because that’s when I first began. I love
September!
September has a
personality; still colorful, it’s muted. No longer lime, aquamarine,
firecracker red, the world looks loden, navy and crimson. Autumn moves us from
glaring to glowing, a bit of subtlety that’s calming. The air is even
different, like a luxurious perfume after the vibrant top notes have worn off,
and there’s a deeper, richer fragrance to revel in.
Being a September
child has influenced me. There are only 30 days in September and I always need
31. I plan and organize my schedule to the nth degree; I use every second right
up until the last second, and then realize I’ve overdone it, so I’m almost
always late. Not too late: just enough that I tumble in a minute or two after
things are under way, embarrassed to look slapdash when I was so structured an
hour before.
School starts for
me every September. After high school I went to BYU for a couple of years
before I decided on a full-time career as an Intentional Mother. (That’s my own
name for myself, rather than Just a Mother. It was 1970, and I often had to
defend my choice to stay home and have babies.) Before my first baby was born I
read a book called How to Give Your Child a Superior Mind. (I just looked and
it’s on Amazon for $299.99!) I created a curriculum and when Gabi was two
months old I was deep into home-schooling. I tied helium balloons to her feet
so she’d watch them as she kicked, I blew colored bubbles on the floor to guide
where she crawled, we finger painted with pudding and I talked to her in rhyme.
She was born with a superior mind, but these exercises taught me a ton about
how babies develop. Without realizing it, I’d started a self-education program,
studying parenting, child psychology, early childhood education ... I listed
topics I wanted to explore in my journal, and consistently acquired
information. Over the years I studied a
lot of history and geography; I’ve got five bookshelves dedicated to books on
writing! I retired from full-time motherhood after thirty-one years in 2001,
and for the first time my year didn’t start in September and end in May. But I
followed the habits of a lifetime, and every August I still list subjects I
want to study, and outline assignments for myself. Right now I’m focused on
ukulele, photo editing, teaching skills and religion. In September I love to
jump-start learning.
My climate, like
September, is mostly mild. I can get heated and very occasionally frosty, but
my temperature is usually warm, sunny and comfortable. My temperament is fairly
consistent and tranquil. Because September and remember sit together in my
vocabulary list, I’m scrupulously sentimental. Saving memories for my old age
has been a lifelong hobby and I love rummaging through the drawers of my mind
and reframing pictures of people and places. Sifting through things I learned
back then and inserting them into the outline of things I’m learning now is my
ideal study guide.
Yes, I love to
remember Septembers. I got married in September, had two of my babies in
September, three precious grandkids were born in September. It’s a month of
joy, and happily here we are again! All year I wait for September!
Marty
and Dee Halverson’s homework assignment today.
I
loved his reply.
Dear
Opa,
Can you describe
what it means to be living in America? This story can be a past or present
story but one that represents the different stories/perspectives of people
living in America.
If you can't do an
Audio recording my teacher will probably be alright.
Thanks,
Jake
Dear
Jake,
Thanks for the
opportunity to help with your school project. When I read the topic of what it
means to live in America, four distinct thoughts came to mind.
1) I pictured my
ancestors leaving their Danish and British homelands to come to America to
enjoy more freedom. I know that they must have been inspired by the poetic
words of Emma Lazarus written on the base of the Statue of Liberty:
“Give me your
tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free. The wretched
refuse of your teeming short. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me. I
lift my lamp beside the golden door.”
I admire the
courage and determination of these forefathers who sacrificed much to make
freedom more available to their posterity.
2) When I was 19
years old, I traveled to Germany where I lived for two years. It had only been
twenty years since the end of World War II, and the German people were still
struggling to recover from the massive devastation that war had brought upon
them. As I talked to the people, I was amazed at the terrible cost they
suffered under the totalitarian Nazi dictatorship. I soon realized what it was
like for them to live without any personal freedom. It made me appreciate the
freedoms that I had taken for granted as an American.
Freedom to vote in
free elections, choose from among many education options, and choose my own
career-path took on a whole new meaning to me.
3) As a college
student living in Europe, I had an opportunity to visit the Communist country
of Hungary. During my stay I experienced the propaganda and pageantry of their
May Day parade. This was their most attended celebration, since the government
dictated that everyone in the city of Budapest would attend to show the world
how happy and prosperous they were under the Communist dictatorship.
After the parade
was over we met with a group of Hungarian students, who explained to us in
perfect English the merits of Marx and Lenin. As we got to know them a little
more, they were dying to know about the freedoms of expression, music, and
clothing style they had heard about in the West.
I was impressed
that these students were just like me in so many ways in terms of their hopes
and dreams for the future. Sadly, they lived in a totalitarian state where
their choices were extremely limited, and where their own personal freedoms
were non-existent.
I then realized
how fortunate I was, despite my mental readiness at age 14, to have
opportunities to get as much education as I wanted. The freedom to choose my
own career path was a great lesson that I do not take for granted.
Jake, is it any
wonder that even today waves of immigrants want to come to America to enjoy
these freedoms? We are a nation of immigrants and are strengthened by their own
courage and determination.
Love,
OPA
Watching the stars come out on my porch
tonight
I found myself in a favorite memory
Marty Bagley Halverson
"Sing The
Teddy Bear Song!" we coaxed Dad and Uncle Mel.
It was a warm
summer night, and the moon was out. I was about nine, lazing on one of grama's
quilts with all my little cousins around me, looking up at the stars, while
Aunt Ree strummed her ukulele, and the moths buzzed around the porch light.
Family picnics always ended this way.
Grampa's fresh
peaches had been cranked into ice-cream. In the cellar under the back porch,
the freezer with the rock salt and ice were covered with newspapers and left to
finish the process. Corn-on-the-cob dripped with butter, cucumbers brined in
vinegar, and sweet onions scented the air. Raspberries were eaten right off the
bushes, and very sour, green apples begged for salt.
There was a big
brick stove at the back of the yard where hamburgers sizzled, waiting to be
dressed with homegrown tomatoes. Watermelon rind pickles, and chili sauce were
on the table along with an empty dish of olives. We kids scampered around the
yard, with a black olive stuck on every finger. We almost fell into the
goldfish pond, hid behind the hollyhock bushes, and rolled down the sloping
lawn, while our moms hustled the food outside and in, and our dads re-hashed
the ballgame. Almost heaven.
The best part was
after it started to get dark. Grama and Grampa harmonized as they sang Shine on
Harvest Moon, and we all joined in on Are You From Dixie (for some reason I
thought I was from Dixie when we sang that song!) Our sing-a-long was a crazy
variety, including Little Grass Shack, Edelweiss, When the Saints Go Marching
In, and Bill Groggan's Goat.
The favorites,
however, were totally ours. My dad and his brother used to combine lines from
lots of songs and create medleys. The Teddy-Bear Song started out with
"Honey won't you look into your baby's eyes..." rolled into
"Sweet Adeline was singing down in Dixieland..."
and somewhere in the middle ran into this
ditty:
"Well, I had a little teddy bear that
had no tail,
Just a little patch of hair.
The sun came out and burnt the hair away,
And left the little teddy bear."
"Mister Mo-on, bright and shiny moon,
Please shine down on,
Talk
about your shinin',
Please shine down on me."
Babies and
toddlers fell asleep as we crooned to that moon. As the oldest grandchild I
prided myself on staying awake 'til the very last song. I even knew all the
words.
Nothing calms my
soul like counting blessings under the stars on a summer night.
Marty Bagley Halverson
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth ...
... I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
—Robert Frost
Marty Bagley Halverson
There
are different kinds of Road Trips.
Sometimes a person
is the road we take: a bundled baby, a challenged child, a sick spouse, a
depressed boss, a lonely grandma. We reach the end of that road as a different
traveler, with more refined character traits. We've discovered varying caches
of patience, tolerance, and kindness hidden along the roadside, inhaled huge
breaths of dependability and consistency. That road leads to new roads, with
opportunities to use our new skills.
Other times we
trek along unfamiliar roads with strangers who become beloved friends as we
discover the way together. We trip over stones, sweat up steep hills, ache 'til
we cry, laugh 'til we ache. We share stories 'til we can tell each other’s
stories with creative new twists! Generous expressions of trust, love and
encouragement make a difference in our capacities. The journey is more valuable
than the destination.
Once in a while we
get the chance to travel a road with the noble intention of actually making a
difference to the people we meet. Usually this starts as a solo journey, with a
promise that God will chart the course, and place people in the path to
influence you, or be influenced by you, in positive, uplifting and lasting
ways.
I watched Jake
today as we pulled into his Road to Make a Difference. His smile spread from
his forehead to the dimple by his eye, across his cheeks, adding sparkle to his
baby blues, a newly perfected smile seemed to stretch ear to ear. He leaped
from the car, heaved his giant suitcases to the ground. He took no time to
ponder his direction: that had been decided long ago. He was ready to get ready
to make a difference. A quick hug for the Opi's and he was already in the
yellow wood, stepping onto his road.
Traffic patterns
around here are changing, I can get lost on a round-about, and disoriented by
lane lines. Roads are diverging and directions seem confusing. It's time to
decide where I want to end up, look down a road as far as I can, and see if it
will take me to where I want to go. Then I'll try to make the best choice. That
will make all the difference.
Marty
Bagley Halverson
is with Dee Halverson.
Not the photo I
want to post! I wish it was a picture of us on a train to Brienz or
Getreidegasse in Salzburg. Those are memories I'm so grateful we have tucked
away in our hearts. I'll always remember hearing a Prophet of God counsel us to
make good memories because there would come a time we would live on those
memories. The time has come for us.
Dee is in the
Neurology Critical Care Unit of U of U Hospital right now, while wonderful
doctors study his body to see why a crippling paralysis is robbing him of
strength. His legs have been weakening, his balance is compromised, and now his
arms and neck have been effected. The past few weeks he has had intense
physical therapy, but in spite of that, he has gone from a cane, to a walker,
to a wheelchair, to a hospital bed this summer.
We're experiencing
many emotions: increased love for each other; appreciation and gratitude for
our seven devoted kids and their families; love and dependence on extended
family and dear, dear friends. Grief reminds us that many wonderful times will
never happen again, but there's anticipation for unexpected new
Challenges. In the
Bible, Caleb, age 85, was given the challenge to fight in a land inhabited by
giants. His response was "Give me this mountain!" (Joshua 14:12) I
like that attitude. I want to exhibit that courage.
Early in our
courtship 49 years ago, we found that if we allowed God to be part of our
friendship and then our marriage, there was a power we could not achieve as
just a couple. We are so blessed to know that we are not going through this
alone, that the Savior will literally save us from ultimate despair, that He
will remind us of our temple covenants and the promises of an eternal family,
that He will temper the forces that otherwise would knock us down.
I may not be able
to respond quickly and graciously to your expressions of kindness, but they are
so precious to us. I feel like we are nestled in a cocoon of love. But now, I
have a mountain ahead of me!
Wells
Dee Halverson
1946-2018
Wells Dee
Halverson, a true baby boomer, was born in Provo, Utah on October 5, 1946. He died in Salt
Lake City at the age of 71 on August 2,
2018.
Dee lived a Tom
Sawyer-like childhood filled with adventures. With hard work, Dee became a
renaissance man. Dee was an LDS missionary in post-war Germany. It was there
that he fell in love with the European culture. He received degrees in German
and History, graduating from BYU. Dee met the love of his life, Martha Ann
(Bagley) "Marty", on a semester abroad in Salzburg, Austria. Dee and
Marty were instantly inseparable and together they changed the definition of
"happily married". In short order, they raised seven children,
traveled the world, and read a library of books.
After a brief
career in real estate, Dee moved his wife and seven children to York, England
to study Historic Preservation at York University. Dee then began his life's
work in history. He authored 78 books and biographies. He had encyclopedic
knowledge of world events. He would become engrossed in the details of his
subject matter and would routinely retell these stories as if he was a
participant.
Dee was an active
member of the LDS Church. His favorite calling was as a Sunday school teacher
where he brought the scriptures to life.
Dee was one of a
kind. He collected books, coins, stamps, guns and his children's baby teeth!
Each year, he awarded a friend with the "George Bailey Award" which
was inspired by his favorite film, "It's a Wonderful Life." Winners
demonstrated unique friendship during the past year. Dee loved this film and
lived a truly wonderful life.
He battled health
issues bravely his whole life. He knew he was living on borrowed time and lived
his life accordingly.
Dee is survived by
his wife Marty, his children Gabriele (Brad Larson), Joshua (Christie), Micah
(Candice), Amy (Scott Robinson), Heidi (Jacque Ballou), Peter (Anna) and Marta
(Dan Dansie), 24 grandchildren, his sister Sharon (Lehmburg) and his brother
Michael.
love Dee
Halverson. He was imperfect enough to make him lovable and perfect enough to
make him livable. We had the normal ups and downs, but we laughed a lot and we
had fun. "How sweet it is to love someone ... and all the memories we
share." I am so grateful he is mine.
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