Doing Dishes

If you're ever playing family trivia and someone asks "What's your grandma's favorite household chore?" the answer is doing the dishes.

It goes against actual recorded history because I know for a fact that my mother never witnessed this "favorite" while I was growing up. But seriously who has a favorite chore when you're little? Some things just take growing up to appreciate, and when you become the maker of your own home with all the chores then you begin to pick favorites.

Doing dishes is relaxing to me but the main reason I like it is that when you are done you have something to show for it--a clean sink, a clean counter, things in order. It's SO much better than its closely-related chore--emptying the dishwasher. (They're like twins! A good twin and a bad twin, in my opinion.) After you empty, the kitchen looks exactly the same. Such an unrewarding task.

Because I disliked this chore so much I once did a test. During a commercial on TV I hurried to empty the dishwasher and was surprised that it only took a few minutes. I bet you will find the same thing with most chores--they just don't take that long once you get going. Often our complaining and procrastinating take up way more time than the actual job to do!

I grew up in a family with a Mom and a Dad, three sisters, and four brothers. That's doing dishes for 10 people, people! And when I was maybe 12 or so, our dishwasher broke down. I don't know how long we went without one but I do remember the washing dishes by hand. I may not have walked barefoot uphill in the snow to school but I hand-washed dishes for a larrrrge family. While washing I used to make up stories about being a kitchen servant in a castle and a handsome prince would come take me away from all those dishes.

Now I must mention pots and pans. For some reason us kids never felt like those were part of doing dishes. If they didn't fit into the dishwasher then we left them piled in the sink or on the counter. Did we think the Pots and Pans Fairy was going to magically scrub them during the night? Again, when you make your own home you get to be that fairy unless you have better children than my mom did...otherwise the pot stops here, with you. 

Now if the opposite question comes up during family trivia...my least favorite? I don't enjoy sweeping. I also don't like drying dishes because then you have to put them away and that feels like emptying!

                

How my (Maternal) Grandparents Met

This story is the "Prologue" to my mother's autobiography, something she wrote based 
on how her parents, Robert Vester Owen (who went by Ves) and Olevia Lois Purinton, actually met.

*They married on February 28, 1923*

This is a fish story. At least it is about a fisherman. Well, actually, it is about a farmer who went fishing. This fellow's name was Ves Owen and he took a notion once to leave his Oregon homestead and go fishing. Somebody convinced him there were fish to be caught at this place in California called Clear Lake. So this Ves Owen, he struck out to find them.

Not far from Clear Lake sits Kelseyville, as well as some other towns but in this story they don't matter very much. It was Kelseyville where Mr. Owen finally wound up. One day he was looking for a place to board, because he'd decided to stick around and work for a spell. Money was the only object at the moment-- this Mr. Owen was a seasoned bachelor with only himself to worry about, and so why not?

Ves Owen, but I'm unsure of his age here. He was almost 24 years older than Olevia.

Well, this seasoned bachelor went up and knocked at this door to ask for lodging. And how was he to know that he would eventually get involved with that young thing who answered his knock? Her name was Olevia and she was eighteen, but of course he didn't find that out until later.

Olevia Purinton at 18, I think.

He said: " Hello-- I heard you might have a room to rent" or something like that.

And she said: "Well, you had better come back later when my Auntie is here."

Olevia's Aunt Frankie was a trifle dismayed when she heard about this.

"Olevia," said Aunt Frankie, "you know I said before that we had no more rooms available."

And Olevia said: "Yes, but I knew when you saw his blue eyes you would change your mind."

The upshot of it all was that Mr. Owen got the room, and eventually he got Olevia, too. Whether or not he ever got any fish I don't know, but in this story that doesn't matter very much. And whether or not this is all strictly factual, I don't know either, but it made a nice story to tell the children.

The earliest photo I could find of Ves and Olevia together-- 

here they are with Bob and Lois, their two oldest children,

 probably 1929/1930

My Mom

Your Great-Grandma Giberson died before you were born 

(and even before Aunt Kylie was born) so you didn't get to 

meet her here on earth. Some of your parents will remember 

her if they were one of the older kids in the Ipson family.

Eileen with her big sister, Lois

I'll start with the basic personal history facts: Eileen Jane Owen was born on October 19, 1934 in Corvallis, Oregon. She was the youngest child of Robert & Olevia Owen (these were my grandparents and you will meet them in future blog posts). She had a red-haired brother named Bob and a musically-inclined sister named Lois. Another baby named Gene Franklin passed away as a two-week old infant, four years before Eileen was born.

 Eileen with the doll, her mother and sister, and Daisy the sheep

 Eileen, Lois with the doll this time, and Bob

She seemed to have an idyllic childhood growing up on a farm in Western Oregon--the kind that nowadays we can only dream of or read about in books. To quote her autobiography: 

"When I was four we moved to "Sunnymount," which was just up the hill from the Price place [nineteen miles south of Corvallis]. This was my favorite home during my childhood. There were always lots of neat things to do such as looking for green frogs at the spring or catching garter snakes or "fishing" in the tiny brook that trickled down through the grape thicket. (It didn't matter much that my fishing pole was built from a stick, a string and a safety pin because there weren't any fish.)

"It seems incredible to me that I survived by childhood. Occasionally I read of a child falling out of a tree and sustaining fatal injuries, or drowning in a river, and I always wonder how I'm still here. I mean considering all the time I spent in trees and on rivers, without so much as a broken bone or other near disaster.

"Monroe, situated between the Coast Range and the Long Tom River, was plentifully supplied with good wading water and good climbing. I spent a large amount of time in either one or the other, and in between I scouted for wildflowers, watched crawdads, and climbed in and over old cars in the junk yard.

Because she was so much younger than her older siblings, everyone treated Eileen special. Her dad was older--54 when Eileen was born so he retired well before her friends' dads did. She thought it was a grand arrangement because her dad would sing, joke, and tell stories all the time, and she thought she was the luckiest girl in the whole wide world.

Eileen with her father and Bob and Lois

The whole family, Eileen on the far right

There are many stories to tell about my mother but this is her through my eyes: She liked to write and read. She played the piano and she could sing. She sewed a lot, and was creative and artistic in many ways. She liked people. She didn't like to cook. She loved October. She wrote poetry, letters, journals, and family histories. She enjoyed quips and clever plays on words. She appreciated nature. She got migraines. She liked to learn. On road trips she made us stop and read historical markers. She liked to play games. A messy house was her nemesis. She made delicious wheat bread and scones. She was a dedicated member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints with a great faith in the Savior. She was always busy with church callings and assignments. She was known for giving great talks in church. She was a diligent visiting teacher and friend to many. To me she was exactly the best kind of mother. Growing up I always thought she was the smartest person I knew.

My Dad

There's so much to say about my dad--your Great-Grandpa Giberson--

but since this is a family history blog I should start at the beginning... 

Richard Creighton Giberson was born on June 18, 1933 in the Seaside Hospital in Long Beach, California. It's not as simple as all that, though. He actually has two birth certificates! Biologically-speaking, he was born to Viola Grace Morgan of South Dakota. The other name on the certificate was Harry Hollis Ollie, a navy man who lived in California. Sadly, Viola contracted scarlet fever and died just six days after giving birth. Some details are sketchy but we understand that Harry Ollie remarried about six months later and kept baby Richard (Ollie) for up to two years.

As the story goes (depending on which version you're talking about), Harry had to ship out to sea at some point so the baby was left in the care of a woman who was good friends of Harry and Viola's named Gladys Ramona Giberson. Her husband was James (Jim), also in the navy and shipping out. I don't know where Harry's new wife was in all of this. My dad tells in his personal history ("Three Mothers: an Autobiography") that the new wife was not really on board with caring for someone else's child. Her loss was Ramona's gain because Ramona wanted a baby and ended up fighting in court for custody.

You know who won because my last name is Giberson and not Ollie. My dad never even heard the name Ollie until he was an adult, and then since that time there was always the lingering question--was Harry his biological father or not? (There's much more to this story, obviously, but it will have to be shared in future blog posts.)

Another important aspect to the story, though, is that Ramona and Jim divorced when Richard was about six years old or so. (He remembers last seeing his dad in person when he was nine, and that was his last contact.) Consequently, his mother worked very hard to provide a life for her and her son--much of it spent in California in the San Francisco Bay area and in San Diego, but sometimes in the Eastern United States due to later marriages for Ramona here or there.

My dad grew up around water and "boat" was his very first word. His first sentence was "Six o'clock. miss the boat."

The kind of boat he might have seen

FROM MY DAD'S AUTOBIOGRAPHY: "...my mother and I had a close, trusting relationship. She taught me to be honest, to never tell a lie, in short to be good. I never disappointed her in that regard." Education was very important to my dad's mom. When he was in second grade she withdrew him from one school because of an incident with the teacher, and put him in a Catholic School. My dad attributes those nuns with instilling in him a love of learning. There, he says, he had the unique opportunity of playing the part of a candy cane in their Christmas program. An event that he called "somewhat remarkable for a non-Catholic."

Not Great-Grandpa as a candy cane!

Future blog posts will no doubt include more stories of Richard's life, but these were his humble beginnings.

Great-Grandpa on his 80th birthday in 2013

Me with my dad in March 2020

I will add more pictures later of my dad as a child

PETS

It's a little strange that my third post of the blog should be about pets because you may or may not know, but I am not much of an animal person. Sure I think puppies and kittens are so-o-o-o cute, and I collected giraffes when I was a teenager (not real ones), but I am happy to keep most animals and creatures of any sort at a distance. It's getting worse the older I get, probably because of the mad rooster that attacked me a few years ago. I don't actually know if he was mad--it's possible that when I appeared in my flimsy flip flops he just recognized an opportunity.

Anyway...pets. When I was growing up in Richland we would have kittens/cats now and then. I don't remember any in particular, but my sisters remember names like Happy (who gave birth to Snip, Snap, and Snurr--I have a book I can show you where these names came from), Crackers, and Salt, and Pepper.

My little sister Lynette with Happy

A cat (maybe Crackers?) at our Richland house

We had a dog once whose name was Tuf. He was part Boston Terrier and not very big. My oldest sister Judy remembers receiving him for her Christmas gift one year. The name came from a math game that my family played (and it was a tough game especially when playing with the math-smart people in my family.) I remember one traumatic experience--not sure how it happened but I was with Tuffy (I think most of us called him that) in the field across the main road from our street. I don't know if I was taking him for a walk or what, but I couldn't catch him and I was chasing him and calling his name but he wouldn't come and I cried and cried because I didn't know what to do. In my memory I remember going home crying to my Mom and she said not to worry. I don't know what happened after that but the dog appeared at home later.

When I was about 14 or 15 we had two kittens that we named Starsky and Hutch after two police detectives in a popular TV show.  Starsky & Hutch  One character had dark hair (my favorite of the two) and the other was blond, so you are right if you guessed that one of the kittens was black and the other was--not blond--but lighter colored like an orange color. Sadly Starsky didn't survive, but Hutch lived a very long time. They had other siblings with names like Bruno and Cinnamon, all born to a mommy cat named Nephi. Obviously we originally thought she was a boy. Some tried to call her Nephiette after that but it didn't stick.

(above) Great-grandpa Giberson with Hutch. (below) Hutch in his delicate older years.

My lasting memory of Hutch, though, is when I was home from my first year at BYU and working everyday. In the morning, (before my alarm would go off, of course) Hutch would come and scratch at my bedroom window (right above my bed) until I was forced to go to the front door to let him in the house. There was no way to sleep through that scratching, scratching, scratching and the insistent meowing, meowing, meowing... Speaking of meowing, you all know Kylie's pet cat Ollie.

 Ollie as a cute new kitten

He joined the family at the beginning of Kylie's 6th grade year. Maybe her parents felt sorry for her because the only other sibling still left at home was leaving on a mission in the coming months (Jordan left for Uruguay in February of 2013). (We had other cats through the years and cats named Happy and Jedi when Kylie was a baby.)

Sadly, Ollie is not a people cat (I was going to say people person, as the saying goes, but he's not a person so...) though he does like Kylie on his own terms. Now I just need to figure out how she can take him with her when she moves away because Ollie likes to scratch and meow until someone lets him in too.

1) with Jordan, 2) with little Morgan, 3) with little Evanie, 

4) with little Parker, 5) in the tub, 6) sleeping in a weird position

^ ^ ^ Can you find the cat hiding in this picture? ^ ^ ^

My Birth & a Piano

My family before I came along: Dad (Richard), Judy, Mom 

(Eileen), Michael (we called him Mickey and now he's 

Mike), Todd, Robin (Age order: Judy, Todd, Mike, Robin)

This is the only picture of me as a tiny baby that I know of

"In 1961 we added Valerie on a sunshiny April day"...as the Family Song 

my mom wrote says...the 4th to be exact, in Richland, Washington. 

My dad always said I was his easiest delivery but I've given birth to a few children so I know that means nothing haha. I do know it means I came more quickly than previous births had, so for at least that much my mom could be grateful. He always called me his "merry sunshine girl" and his "Blondie." If you can believe it, I had the lightest color hair of the whole family, and, well, I was always just a happy ray of sunshine, I'm sure. 😜

at our house on Longfitt St.

I was child number 5 and that forced my family to move to a bigger house. I didn’t know until many, many years later that my mom sold her piano to help make a down payment on our new home at 1422 Agnes Street. It certainly was a happy day for her when we bought a new one. 

This is your great-grandma Eileen's piano. You can find it now in Landi's front room because when my dad and 

Nana Karla moved to Utah from Texas it needed a new home. Your Grandpa Ipson was so nice 

that he drove all the way to Amarillo and back to pick it up because he knew I wanted it.

One of my VERY favorite things was to listen to her play. I became obsessed with piano music and I can remember many times putting a Floyd Cramer album on our record player and then sitting at the piano to pretend I was playing. Every song on that album brings back so many memories of when I was little. 

Take a listen: The Best of Floyd Cramer

(This is the actual album cover but the video is of only one song from it.)

My Mom played hymns and all kinds of other music but one of my favorites was Moonlight Sonata.

She taught me how to read music but she felt that attempting to teach one's own children piano lessons was a recipe for disaster. My brother Todd was deemed the most musically-inclined, I guess, and he received lessons for a short time.

While I regret not being able to play the piano well, an appreciation for the instrument and its beautiful sound is a gift my mother gave to me.

Easter Grudge

Back in the day, way way back, the ward I grew up in held an annual Easter Egg Hunt for the Primary kids out on its grassy, sloping lawn on the day before Easter Sunday. One year stands out in my memory. We gathered before the event and they revealed a huge chocolate bunny that would go to the lucky finder of the egg marked with the gold X. I don’t know why, but I just knew in my heart that I was winning that chocolate bunny.

I didn’t care that I was wearing the play clothes I had on that Saturday instead of a pretty Easter dress like some of the girls, and that I had a home made Easter basket. All I cared about was that prize.

Since I was old enough, I ran off on my own to gather what eggs I could, and, more importantly, to find the egg with the X. I still remember the nervous energy I felt with each egg I picked up.

Then I heard a shout. Just ahead of me was a little girl and her dad. “We found it!” he said. “We found the egg with the gold X!”

It was right ahead of me. A few more steps and it would have been mine.

I fought back bitter tears at the presentation of the chocolate bunny to that little girl (I mean, what was she, two years old?). I remember her frilly pastel dress and bonnet and the fancy store-bought basket at her side. Despite the eggs and candy I had collected, I left the Primary activity feeling empty-handed. It was so unfair. Her dad had found the egg and he would probably eat most of the prize.

It took me a long time to realize that my Easter grudge was as hollow as that chocolate bunny I had hoped to win. What was everlastingly more important than the hunt for candy eggs and chocolate bunnies was what I learned about the Savior in the church building next to the grassy lawn. It’s true, back then we did sing songs in Primary with titles like Horsey, Horsey, Rags the Dog, and Mean Old Witch With a Hat (I'm totally serious!) but we also learned the stories of Jesus. We learned that He loves us. He died for us and rose again in a glorious resurrection.

Easter is all about not finding something. Not finding the body of Jesus Christ in the tomb on the third day. I remember as a Primary leader giving children empty Easter eggs symbolizing an empty tomb. Egg-shaped candies and chocolate bunnies last only a moment, but the events of that First Easter Morning and its message of love, hope, and redemption are of infinite value: He is not here for He is risen.

True, Christ was not found in the tomb, but He was found. He was found by Mary after His resurrection. Before that He was found on the cross giving His life for us, and even in the final moments of His life, teaching the prisoner who hung at His side about the plan of salvation. Before that He was found in the Garden of Gethsemane, offering Himself as a ransom for that same prisoner’s sins, and for all of our sins too.

And today, as you seek Him, He will be found.

+This story was originally told as part of a talk I gave in the Noble Ward on Easter Sunday, April 2019+

LINK TO EXCELLENT TALK BY TAD R. CALLISTER ON THE ATONEMENT
^^^I based my talk on his^^^