50 years and it still hurts

I have talked about John F. Kennedy on my blog before.  He was the first president I remember well as a child.  I used to confuse Eisenhower with the president of my church, David O. McKay, but at age 9, when President Kennedy was elected, I definitely knew and was mesmerized by the new, young family in the White House.  I was also more aware of current world events such as the civil rights protests, the Bay of Pigs, and definitely the Cuban Missile Crisis.  That last one kept my worry wart (my parents' nickname for me) self up nights.  I wrote about that time in this post.

Fifty years ago today, Jackie was dressed in a pink suit and pill box hat and exiting a plane in Dallas, Texas in company with her husband.  It would become the worst day of her life.  I was in my 5th grade classroom at Edmunds Elementary located on a quiet country corner across from the church in Plano, Idaho.  Edmunds was several miles from my home near Sugar City.  It was a daily school bus ride.  Some years ago I tried to find this school again for I have many happy memories of my 3rd through partial 6th grade year.  I drove this way and that, but never found it.  I googled it today and found out why.  Here is a copy of the history.

Edmunds Rural High School # 1

Edmunds is in the northwest corner of Madison County. Its western border is desert. There is mention made in the histories of the Brown family, who moved to the area in 1889, of attending school in log building located out in the field owned by the Edward Hemsley family. Later this building was moved to Egin.
The next building was a white frame building located on a corner now where the Plano Community Park is. It was in use in 1906. Some time after this, a building was erected on this corner. It was a red frame school consisting of a large room that could be divided with a curtain to make two classrooms. It also had upstairs rooms.
In 1925 this school was torn down and another built on the site. It was built of yellowish brown brick and was intended to house both elementary and high school students. At this time the districts of Plano, Edmunds, and Egin joined together to form a district, Joint Rural High School # 1. This was a large building with a gym and a stage. When the Sugar City Central Elementary School was built all students went to Sugar City. The Edmunds building was later sold and torn down.

I remember the interior of this school well. Four classrooms (one for 3rd, 4th, 5th, and 6th grades) and the Principal's office opened onto an open hallway which in turn surrounded the gym which was a godsend for kids during cold, cold Idaho winters.  The stage was on the south end of the gym and a lunchroom and kitchen were through a door on the east side of the stage.  There was a "media" room on the west side, or media as we had in those days.  We watched educational shorts from a projector on a white screen every Friday afternoon. I can still hear the whap, whap at the end as the last frames of film left one reel for the other.  Now in retrospect, I am sure our movie time was teacher prep time for the next week.

We did not watch movies on Friday, November 22, 1963.  We had our daily yummy lunch (our lunch ladies cooked from scratch and it was good food), enjoyed lunch recess, and then returned to our classrooms.  The 5th grade room was located on the northwest corner of the school.  Mr. Clements was my teacher.  It was he who told us of the terrible event that had occurred in Dallas, Texas and that our beloved president was dead.  I will never forget the sick feeling that overcame me.  I really just wanted to go home to my mother, but we had a couple of hours to endure before that long bus ride through the country side.  Mr. Clements seemed to be in shock.  He sat silently at his desk with his head down for the remainder of the day. Looking back on this as an adult and a teacher who dealt with students during 9/11, I understand his pain, but I think he failed us as a teacher that day.

In 1963, our family did not own a television.  My father, the ever busy farmer, dairyman, and night shift worker during the winters in the lab at the sugar factory, felt that TV watching was a waste of time.  The assassination of President Kennedy was a time of great national mourning and the nation was watching it together.  My mother went and rented a television set with option to buy.  Thus, we watched on live TV as Ruby shot Oswald, a riderless horse clip clopped down Pennsylvania Avenue, and John John saluted his father one last time.  My mother also purchased a hard cover picture filled memorial book which was later delivered by mail. I studied that book intently.  Over the years I have listened to, pondered, and watched the many theories of why and who and was it a conspiracy.  This month I have watched, listened, and pondered more as this 50th year has arrived and many documentaries have been produced.  It was truly a defining moment of my childhood.

Earlier this year, I read a memoir by Clint Hill, secret service agent assigned to Jackie Kennedy.  I talk about that book in this post.

This is a picture I found of Mr. Hill as he clung to the back of the car after running to it as shots rang out.  He has been talking on many of the shows I've watched during this 50 year anniversary.  I think that the writing of his book, Mrs. Kennedy and Me, has finally enabled him to talk about that day publicly.  He still feels that he failed the President and his wife some how.  I remember my pain and wonder about his.  How would you deal with such an event when it was your job to protect?

School children all

This morning I slept in.  I hardly ever sleep in.  I think my string of restless nights finally caught up with me.  I would go about my days but when I lay in the dark after saying a prayer that the families of those lost to this world in Connecticut would find comfort, my mind and heart would feel great pain and sorrow for those precious little first graders and sleep would flee and tears would flow.

I'm sure that most of us have thought of our family members of 6 or 7 years of age and can not comprehend their loss in such an abrupt, awful way.  There is no cognition or sense or reason for something like this.  The above picture is of my 2nd grade class at Park School in 1960.  I am the little dark hair girl in the center with six little girlfriends flanking me on each side.  I am 7 years old.  At age 7, I had never walked through a security device, learned my lessons behind a locked door, or feared walking by myself through the streets of small town Idaho.  It was a time of innocence.

I loved school.  I loved to read.  2nd grade was the time of my myopic decline and by the end of the year I wore eye glasses.  My biggest stress was the health of my teacher.  We had many a substitute that year as she struggled.  My biggest joy that year (and I called her "Joy") was my new baby sister Jolene.  My life was good and I got to go on living unlike those 20 little angels last Friday.

I know that their little spirits are in a good place and that the families will have their own little angel.  I pray that they will feel bouyed up by the prayers of others and that they may have the strength to move on.

My sweet mother wrote the names of all those she knew on the back of the photo.  Bless her.  I have such good memories of my time with these beautiful children.

I Believe in America, too.

The sign is back out in the planter along the street for the neighborhood to see.  It's been in the garage since the end of the primaries.  Now that Mitt is officially the Republican candidate and there are only 67 days left until the 2012 presidential election, Glen decided it was time for it to reappear.

Did you watch the Republican Convention?  I asked Glen if he watched political conventions when he was a kid.  He looked at me like I was crazy.  Why would you watch conventions when you could be at the beach or out playing baseball?  I have watched many conventions.  I've felt drawn to them since the early 1960's when my age had finally reached the double digits.  I don't know if it coincides with finally having a TV in our home, but TV definitely facilitated my being able to listen and watch.  I remember famous addresses from Ronald Reagan and Barry Goldwater, fighting in the streets in Chicago, Nixon's daughters, Johnson's daughters, the crazy hats, and confetti and balloons. 

I watched almost every minute of the RNC convention this week and I took it straight up.  Translation:  I watched C-Span.  I wanted to watch the convention, not all of the talking heads trying to get their own air time.  I really can think and react for myself, thank you very much!  I found it fascinating as I watched a Mormon become the official candidate for president of the United States.  I wasn't expecting all the programing directly before the convention trying to explain my religion.  It made me wonder about the accuracy of journalistic stories in general as there were so many inaccuracies presented in network stories.  Go here to see official LDS Church statements regarding such inaccuracies.

Here are my thoughts and feelings the day after:

*  When a Mormon stake president from Boston offered the opening prayer I felt like I was listening to General Conference.  It was so comforting.  Isn't it interesting how our religious life has its own rhythms and cadence?

*  Did you notice Ann's eyes darting here and there when all the grand kids came out on stage?   That's exactly what happens to me when with the grand kids somewhere and you want them to be safe and well behaved.

*  Tears and more tears.  Such touching personal stories which needed to be shared so that we know more about the candidate as a man not just a candidate for president.

*  Moments spent getting oneself back in control.  In an interview this morning, Ann stated that her youngest son explained his moment saying that he suddenly felt his grandfather George Romney with him.  Where else would George's spirit be on such an occasion as this?

Yes, I listened to the speeches and heard the political rhetoric but for me it is usually more about the feelings.  I wish that the next 67 days would be more "Mormon Ad" in tone than muckraking and demonizing.  Wouldn't that be nice?

Kansas - Day 6

It seems most appropriate to share Day 6 on Memorial Day.  Once again we drove to Kansas City to visit the National World War I Museum which is south of the Kansas City Convention Center. "Officially designated as the America’s World War I Museum by the 108th Congress, the facility is the only museum in our nation solely dedicated to preserving the objects, history and personal experiences of a war whose impact still echoes today."

This is not a Kansas City museum honoring those who fought in WWI.  It is a national (perhaps even international judging by the visitors) museum built to tell the story of ALL who fought in this horrific first world war.

We had the opportunity of climbing the stairs to the top of the 217 foot Liberty Memorial Tower which provided excellent views of downtown Kansas City from its observation deck.

In the background left to right are the new Kauffman Center for the Performing Arts and next to it the Kansas City Convention Center where we had spent the last two days at Spring Quilt Market.

Now turning toward the northeast view.  Kansas City was the birthplace and national headquarters of several well known business including not only Hallmark, but Western Auto, H and R Block, and TWA.

This lovely building directly north of the memorial was finished in 1914 and was the train station called Union Station.  It is now a museum and cultural center.

When it was announced that there would be a memorial built in Kansas City "in honor of those who served in the World War in defense of liberty and our country" which was to be called Liberty Memorial, over $40,000,000 was donated in matter of days.  It was an astounding amount of money for the early 1920's.

There were two Exhibition Halls and two stylized sphinxes one facing east as a symbol of looking back on what has happened and the other facing west toward a better future.  The tower stands between the exhibition halls.

I borrowed this photo from this web site to help with the scale of the memorial.  It is very art deco in appearance and was finished and dedicated in 1926.

I purchased this postcard with a black and white photo of that day.

In 2006 the new National World War I Museum was officially opened.  It is underneath the Liberty Memorial, construction made possible by the discovery of a cave in this spot.  It is divided into two parts, 1914 - 1917 and 1917 - 1919.  The first part includes uniforms, weaponry, and the story of all countries involved from the beginning of the war in Europe.  The second part is the story of the United States entry into the war and of its armed forces.  If you go, don't miss the introductory film.  It provides a concise and well written introduction into the influences and reasons for the war.

Being in this subterranean museum seemed a bit appropriate as this was a war of trenches.  The 1914 - 1917 part included a reconstructed trench winding its way for several feet along the outside wall.  There were peep holes with sound effects along the length which gave one an impression of how it might have been.  It made the story of my grandfather, Andrew Percy Nyborg, all the more real.

Little Free Library

Glen and I will be celebrating our 37th wedding anniversary this week. Our gift to each other was the purchasing of a Little Free Library to place in our front yard. We love books and we love sharing books. While I was in California and Glen was in Utah in March, Glen called me to tell me about a newscast he had seen on the Little Free Library program. Long time partners think alike because I had already torn a page out of a magazine about the same program. We ordered our little library online once we were together again.

The idea is to leave a book and take a book. The grandchildren have been our first patrons.

Julianna demonstrates how to use the Little Free Library. We hope to have it up on a post instead of the bench soon.

She moved a little stool from under the lime tree to make her reading time more enjoyable.

I love this little girl!

Maybe grandma will read this book to me.

She ended up taking three books home with her. I hope she remembers to bring three back.

Today is World Book Night. I wish I had clued in to it earlier. Next year I hope to be on the list of people who receive paperback books to pass out on this night. This year's goal is one million books shared. Please feel free to come on by and check out a book from our Little Free Library.

A Better Life

Glen and I watched "A Better Life" on demand from our cable company Friday night. Granted, we don't watch or go to many movies, but this one really touched me. I've thought about it many times over the weekend.

I feel that actor Demian Bichir deserves an Academy Award nomination for his role of Carlos, illegal immigrant and father who is fighting for a better life for his son, Luis. He reminded me of the gardeners who have helped Glen over the years on some of his big projects. Because of Glen's Spanish speaking ability, we often learn of their stories, many of which parallel that portrayed in "A Better Life."

This movie reminded me that immigration is less black and white and more shades of gray. This is the latest statement by my church regarding illegal immigration. Part of that statement reads:

The bedrock moral issue for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is how we treat each other as children of God.

The history of mass expulsion or mistreatment of individuals or families is cause for concern especially where race, culture, or religion are involved. This should give pause to any policy that contemplates targeting any one group, particularly if that group comes mostly from one heritage.

I feel that any stance on immigration which forgets that we are all children of God coupled with attendant feelings of power and alienation is dangerous and even frightening. Compassion coupled with a study of the issues which fuel immigration might lead to solutions which do not divide families nor cause despair and hopelessness. We are all God's children.

Isn't is ironic?

I just finished reading a book about this young woman.

The book tells her true story of being a teenage student in Kabul as the Taliban take over and begin their 5 years of terror and torture. Kamila Sidiqi, as a woman, can no longer travel at will, attend school, or work outside her home. When in public she must be accompanied by a male escort and wear the blue chadari covering her from head to foot. To defy Taliban commands is to invite death.

Kamila is a strong, smart woman and she soon finds a way not to only provide for her family but to also support the neighborhood women as dressmakers working at home in their family compounds. It is a great story of resiliency and courage. To read more about Kamila on NPR go here.

I find it ironic that Osama bin Laden spent the last 5 years if his life living as Kamila did while under his influence and that of the Taliban. He was sequestered in a walled compound dependent on others to venture out and return with food and supplies knowing that his life would be in danger if he were found on the outside. Perhaps that is the true payback.

I also recently finished this historical novel of a Civil War nurse. Mary Sutter is also a strong, smart, and resilient woman who struggles against a man's world. Trained as a midwife her true dream is to become a doctor. She continues to follow her dream as she endures the horror and medical crisis that follow the soldiers. Her dream is finally realized.

The author, Robin Oliveira, provides very detailed descriptions of medical practices of this time including the research which takes place during that same time period. Again ironically, just years after the war, enough is known about infection and fighting it, that many lives could have been saved from the simple washing of hands and instruments before the next amputation. Important historical note; there were 20 Civil War nurses who went on to become female doctors after the war.

Women around the world continue to struggle to obtain basic human rights and the opportunity to develop their talents. I am grateful for strong, courageous, and resilient women who continue to make a difference.


I am grateful that my mother was such a woman and I honor her this Mother's Day. She served her country and used the GI Bill to become an educated woman with the skills necessary to work as a medical technologist. She raised six children mostly as a single parent while also caring for a husband with multiple medical issues. I am grateful that she lived in a time and place that allowed her opportunities. I am grateful for her unselfish love.

I also love this talk given last September by Julie Beck to the women of the world.

My other BYU bookstore purchase

We left for Utah just two days after the Tucson shootings. I was first made aware of the shooting of Congresswoman Giffords when I checked my FB that day and my former high school American history teacher and United States Congressman, Harry Mitchell, had posted on his status his concerns for Gabrielle Giffords. As the TV went on I learned of the horror of that morning at a Safeway in Tucson. Violence in mass had once again reared its ugly head in a place closer to home.

Here it was again, that awful gut feeling that comes when you hear of a Columbine or an Amish school or a disgruntled former employee at his workplace. How can a child, a mother, a grandpa, or anyone be so easily discarded by another human being? How sick can a mind be to go that far?

On my little shopping trip to the BYU Bookstore I picked up the little blue book pictured above because it was on sale and because it was near a sign noting it as a favorite of employees in the children's section who were now congratulating themselves because it had been announced as a National Book Award Winner. The book jacket blurb gave away nothing of its very serious nature. It is a wonderful little book which gives voice to a girl with Asperger's Syndrome. I do recommend it. Here, however, is the author's note which comes at the end.

The shootings of thirty-three people at Virginia Tech University in Blacksburg, Virginia, on April 16, 2007, were horrible and devastating. While I may not have known those involved personally, it happened in my own backyard. It was the deadliest shooting by a lone gunman in United States history. And wherever or whenever this kind of tragedy occurs, it affects us all. How could something like this happen? Why? What, if anything, could we have done to prevent it? Who knows. But I am certain of one thing. It we all understood each other better, we could go a long way toward stopping violence. We all want to be heard, to be understood. Some of us are better than others at expressing ourselves. Some of us have severe problems that need to be addressed, not ignored, no matter what the cost. Saving society money is a travesty if the cost of that savings is in human lives. Ignore and ignorance share the same root.

This book was inspired by the event at Virginia Tech as well as my own need to try to explain what it's like for a child to have Asperger's syndrome. The two themes are related in my mind because I believe strongly in early intervention, whatever the disability. Understanding people's difficulties and - just as crucial - helping people understand their own difficulties and teaching them concrete ways to help themselves will help them better deal with their own lives and, in turn, ours. In this novel, the main character has Asperger's syndrome but is receiving early intervention through the public school system. She has only one parent and he is far from perfect. Her brother was the family member who really listened to her, tried to understand her, and taught her helpful behavioral skills. Unfortunately, he is killed in a school shooting, and now, but for her school counselor, she is on her own. I hope that, by getting inside her head, readers will understand seemingly bizarre behavior And I hope that readers will see that, by getting inside someone's head, really understanding that person, so many misunderstandings and problems can be avoided - misunderstandings and problems that can lead to mounting frustration and, sometimes, even violence. -- from "Mockingbird" by Kathryn Erskine

I had no idea that my book choice would be so timely and thought provoking.