My Favorite Things

1. Number 1 is my number 1, my Annie. This was picture is from May of 1974, just before our wedding at the end of the month on May 31st. She was, is and always will be a babe, my soul mate.

And besides, she makes me smile every day.2. My children, Cles, Lydia and Kristin are incredible. We were so proud of the strawberry patch we planted in our first home. At the left is the new fireplace we installed too.
The three of them pose in my favorite place too--Southern California. It is a fantastic place to visit, but I am not sure that I would ever want to live there, even if I could afford to do that. But I do wish I had the money just to think about it. With the prospect of Disneyland a short drive away, I am afraid I would do it. I would go every day, just to feel the vibes and bask in the memories of being there with my Annie, my three children and my grandchildren.This is my favorite picture of Cles on a bike he loved. My grandmother had this gift. She had a sense of the future, how I do not know, but I never questioned it. One night she called me and told me to put the bike away, so that Cles could not get to it. We were in our newer house in Malad at that time. I put in on a high shelf. I arrived home late from school, pulled in the driveway, and I heard my son's voice behind me just as I pulled my briefcase out of the trunk. He was just starting to ride between two parked cars. A high school student was driving down the hill on our street faster than 60 mph. I called out for Cles to stop, but he couldn't hear me for the noise in the neighborhood and on the street. I yelled as he approached. I screamed and threw my briefcase in his direction. Cles stopped and the car sped by him. I never questioned my grandmother's "vision." And the memory of that event still gives me an ugly feeling.
The white Mercury Cougar will bring back fun memories for my children. When I finished my degree, some interdepartment politics at ISU forced me to complete a homestudy Shakespeare class at the University of Utah in less than 10 days. We drove all the lessons to the "U." Before I registered, they tried to discourage me, since I only had a minor in English. When I finished, they wanted me to join their graduate program there in the department. On the way home from driving the lessons to Salt Lake City, Ann, Lydia and Cles were in the Cougar with me. I do not remember the movie, but this massive drive-in theater was playing some great films. We stopped. I thought Cles and Lydia were asleep, but I heard a sound. When I turned to look in the backseat, both of them sat up in the middle of the seat and watched the movie. It still makes me laugh. The two movies ended at 4:00 a.m. We arrived at home an hour later. It was a great way to celebrate finishing my undergraduate program. I would graduate and begin work in Malad School district the next year. I had my job before graduation. And any memory of the cougar must include winter drives with the entire family. Whenever we passed a large open parking lot without anyone around and without any cars, I would drive into the lot, accelerate and crank the wheel to do a series of "doughnuts." I will never know what made my three children giggle, my Annie squealing or the fun from spinning in circles in the car.
I know I have posted this picture before on an earlier blog, but it is my favorite picture of Lydia. I do not remember where she found the hat, but it will always remain a classic for me, taken in the driveway of our first house.

This is a favorite picture of Kristin, taken at our family's fun time of year. It is a tradition to have a great Christmas, one with presents and being together with family.

3. My grandchildren are a chance for me to see what it is like to see little ones change. I was so busy working when I was young, that I never had the luxury of experiencing it, but every grandfather I ever knew who also cared for children and grandchildren said that same thing. The stage of life of establishing a career and raising a family unfortunately happens at the same time, but both are necessary and very important. Without a career, the family suffers. That is why it was so important for me to have my Annie. She spent so much time with them. And she made them cakes and even went fishing with Cles when he was working on something for scouting. She still does that magic, except now it is for them and the grandchildren too.

I am not going to write any more about my three beautiful grandchildren, because most of my blogs center around them already. But here they are in pictures I love:

4. My family was an important part of my life. This picture is an important one. I was only weeks away from leaving home for my first semester at BYU. Dad wanted to do a family trip. We always took off at least once during the summer, but that was usually only overnight or two days at most. We had cattle, and in an arid area where our ranch was, water was a constant worry. Either a float would malfunction, or they would get out on the road, or a pipeline would break. It kept us close to home. Dad took us to Canada for a week. Instead of enjoying every moment, I thought about reasons why I needed to be in Malad to be with friends and to spend time with them. It took my cancer to teach me how to enjoy every moment. It is a tragedy to wish your life away.

My father and I worked together every day. My mom was also always supportive of me. When I wrestled the first time, I could hear her screaming in the crowd, and when things went poorly in the match, my dad had to take her out of the gym. It was the first time on the mat for me. To make matters worse, my opponent was from Blackfoot--a very large school with a successful wrestling program. I spent two-thirds of the match bridging on my neck, my opponent tightening the old so I had difficulty breathing and bounching to get me flat enough to get a pin. He did not pin me.

Between listening to the choking sounds I made and watching me lose, my mom told dad that she was either going to pass out or throw up in the bleachers. My dead helped her get out of the gym, and although my mom hated the sport, she and my dad never missed a match. And they never missed a football game either. They even occasionally came to a track meet, the most boring sport in the history of man. My coach always remembered that my losing match against Blackfoot. He respected me because of my refusal to take the pin, when giving up would have been the easy thing to do. My inexperience was the issue. It was my first year of varsity wrestling, where everyone else had been doing it for at least four or five years.

In order to get to the weight I wanted to wrestle at 152 pounds, I had to diet and work very hard to get down from my football "size." As a senior, my playing weight in football listed me at 190 pounds. That is a lot of weight to lose. Doctors do not allow athletes to do that today.

It weakened me to wrestle at 152 pound weight class. Whenever I wrestled at home, my mom would broil me a rib eye at lunch. It gave me strength, and I was well enough under the weight requrement, so eating the meal did not force me to jog in a plastic suit designed to lose pounds during the weigh-in before the match.

In addition to sports events, my parents never missed a band concert, from the earliest Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star to more sophisticated things I performed in bands at the university. Their driving to Provo to hear me was not an easy trip, but they did it occasionally too.

5. My Grandpa Cles and Grandma Liza also very important to me. It is unfortunate that my grandpa only had a chance to spoil me for three years and a few months before he died in 1956. The fact that I have such clear memories of him says a lot. Grandma Liza always told me that I was "perfect." Everyone needs a grandma like that, even like in my case when you are not perfect. She loved me and the rest of her little ones as much as we loved her. And that never changed.

After her brain stem injury in an accident on Interstate 15, she was in the nursing home in Malad. In the first few weeks of her stay there, there was a nurse who was from another town north of Malad. She was mean. I went to visit my grandmother, and I saw how they strapped her into the bed. Grandma Liza had bruises on her arms and on her face. The nurse entered, and I made it very clear to her that it had better never happen again. After I told the woman what was on my mind, I looked at grandma. Her eyes were shut, and she was smiling from ear to ear. Grandma was a little Welsh woman, but when it came to defending loved ones, she was a grizzly. I am glad I was able to do that for her once when I was in the position to do it.

This is how I know my Grandpa Williams loved me: I remember him carrying me in his arms to a place that I later recognized as having pool tables. I focused my attention on the animal heads on the walls, and I remember my grandpa showing me proudly to people he knew there, standing at a high counter like in an old diner. When I was in my 30's, I was with my dad in the Ford pickup. I described the memory of the place where my grandpa took me. "The old shit had you in mission billiards," my dad said. It was a bar in Malad, and as strange as it sounds, I realized how much my grandpa loved me by the "fuss" he made over me with his friends as he cradled me safely in his arms. I regret not knowing him longer. He died in an agricultural accident in the fall of 1961.
I was in the third grade in Mrs. Hartley' class that day on September 8. "Everyone can go outside for recess today, but I need Jon to stay." My heart pumped in my throat. I thought I was in trouble. My friend Jeff Alder turned around and mouthed the words, What did you do?As soon as everyone was out of the room, Mrs. Hartley asked me to come to her desk. I knew I was in trouble now, but then she had me sit on her lap. "Mrs. Williams had something terrible happen today." I was so nervous and confused that I did not realize that the Mrs. Williams she was talking about was my grandma, the school's music teacher. "Her husband died today." I remember suddenly realizing what the words meant, and I began to blink like young boys do to keep back tears. "You are such a brave little boy," she said as she hugged me in her arms and wept. She was an incredible teacher. I am so glad that she was the one who told me the news.

My Grandma Williams was more difficult for me to get to know. She loved piano, Lawrence Welk and knitting: things I still do not relate well to even how, although I do love the afghans and blankets grandma made for me. She loved me and all her children and grandchildren too, but I never remember her saying so, yet I remember as a senior in high school she was painting in her house. There was a stepladder that I started to walk under to retrieve something for her or my mom. My grandma tackled me before I could begin to walk under it. Like most people of Welsh background, one stereotypical characteristic is superstition. My grandmother, who was under five feet tall and weighed less than 110 pounds, took me to the ground. This was just before I went to college. I had been a starting offensive lineman for two years at Malad High at 190 pounds. After being taken to the ground very hard by my recently retired grandmother, I realized she loved me. She cussed me for not realizing that walking under a ladder brought very bad luck. Knowing her was realizing she cared deeply about all her grandchildren too. She protected them, she taught them love of music, she made blankets and afghans for them. Music will always be a integral part of my life. When I was in sixth grade she had me perform with a group of other students for the War Mothers. We sang songs from World War I, and I will never forget how much fun that was. It was learning a bit of history and music at the same time.

6. I loved most of my cars, but there are two that are my absolute favorites--my '29 Ford Model A truck and my '72 Ford Ranchero.

Oh, and I almost forgot my VW Bug.
7. The end of my list is about my dogs.

Curly was the family dog, and he is the first one I spent a lot of time with from the time he was a pup. I would take him with me on Sunday drives in my Ford Model A pickup, sitting on the seat next to me or riding in the back. When I took him to the Malad Drive-in for a soft ice cream cone in the days before we knew that doing that was not a good thing for dogs, I had a pan for him. I would let him lick the cone a bit, and then I would put it in the pan. He would wag his tail so hard that it is funny he didn't fall out of the truck. Curly loved vanilla ice cream. Other people ordering there laughed. But maybe it was the huge "ten gallon" black felt hat with a wide brim and large feather in the hat band. I bought it in West Yellowstone. It was just like what I saw many brave warriors wear in my favorite Westerns.

Rastus was the second dog that had a fun personality. Once after I returned from Germany on a month-long student exchange, I stood in the front yard talking to a neighbor. At first, I heard him bark at the sound of the neighbor's voice. My friend and neighbor told me to look. Rastus was peeking with one eye through a knothole in the fence. After finishing the conversation, I walked to my dog's peephole and talked to him. He jumped and coaxed for me to come back and see him.

Years later, Ann and I rushed to a vet late at night with Rastus in a blanket. He was thirteen years old at that point, and his hips made it impossible for him to live without pain. He spent a day whining and struggling the complete circle around inside of the fence. I followed the vet into a back room with my dog. Ann did not want to see what was going to happen. The vet told me, that after administering the drug that would put Rastus out of pain, he would stop breathing for up to a couple of minutes. And then the dog would gasp one more time. Even having been told that did not make it easier. My eyes welled with tears as Ann and I drove home in silence. We sat in the dark and watched televison for a few hours. I cried silently in the darkened room.

It was a long time before I bought another dog. And then we bought an English Bulldog. Ann refused to be sad over a dog's death ever again after feeling what she did when Rastus died and after watching me react to it like it did. While working at Rigby High, one of the teacher's aides had some AKC pups, and they brought Guido into my room that day. I held him for thirty minutes, and when I arrived home that evening, I went to their pet shop in Idaho Falls. My Annie chanted her mantra--I can't believe I am using that word that right wing radicals in our area use to describe democrats--"I will not buy a dog. I will not buy a dog." She holds Guido in her arms for less than a couple of minutes before he leans up and lips her ever so gently on her chin. "He kissed me," she said. My Annie told me in the car that we had to have that dog. We paid more for that dog than what we paid for our last Red Angus range bull. My dad would have kicked my butt. But I loved that dog. And then in November of 2003, I had to sell him at half the price we paid. I was sick with leukemia, and the results of chemo made my immune system very vulnerable. Ann and Kristin were not physically strong enough to deal with Guido. It was like giving away a child.

Ann will not talk about going through it again, although she has softened a bit after watching the video about Michael Phelps during the Bejing Olympics. He has an English Bulldog with a lot of personality. And he snores like Guido did, just like all English Bulldogs do.