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390390 January 15. Ray Sabin stayed at the Reeve Hotel in Hurricane one month. Now he's gone back to Ellensburg, and I am wearing his diamond. Is this insanity? I wonder!

During Ray's stay, he conducted the stake choir for Bill Sanders who is ill. The choir is preparing a concert to be presented this month. Bill pleaded with him to stay until the concert was over, and I think he was tempted, still he'd been away from the ranch so long that he felt the need to go.

Since I had to go to work every day, the sightseeing tours Ray and I took together were short.

Ray gave me a beautiful necklace and earring set for Christmas— gold-filled chain and mounting, ruby stones.

March 9. This is our last day on the mesa. The test base is closing today. When I first came here to work, Claude Brosterhouse said, "I think we can reasonably guarantee you seven year's work." It is almost seven years since I left the courthouse. Since I still try to look busy, the last typing I shall do on this machine will be to take a backward glance at these seven years.

The mesa personnal and their families were the first influx of non-Mormons into our area. They were a shock to us and we were to them. As oldtimers rushed to convert them, they threw up their hands. "You're welcome as a friend and neighbor, but don't talk abou religion," was their response.

Some of the Mormons didn't measure up so good. For instance, when the construction crew tried to buy old cream cans from the farmers to use for water cans, they were over-charged— advantage of. Some of our people became greedy. Coleman people were both aggrevated and amused at our quaint little markets and our one telephone line. Through their efforts , four new trunk lines were brought into our area, and Clifton's Narket became a supermarket, and Hurricane High became an accredited school.

Housing was a sore problem. Our "narrow-minded" Mormons didn't want their apartments stunk up with tobacco, so refused to rent to smokers. Antagonism festered. My ears were blasted with condemning remarks about our "stupid morons." Hotly I defended our principles. "I wouldn't want my drapes, rugs and upholstery to smell like a rotten ashtray for years after the tenants had moved out," I said. Too well did I remember Grandma's house after she had rented it one winter to a cicar smoking man. 391391 The soft wood that lined her dresser drawers never did get over him.

Some of the new people were non-smokers, and easily housed. Part of the men bought homes. Eventually everyone was housed.

The smoking problem was distressing to me. I worked in such a cloud of tobacco smoke that my lungs felt like they were lined with slivers, and I hurt. I had an old green coat that I wore to work. It was so tobacco steeped that I hung it outside when I came home at nights. hair needed shampooing daily. Although Winferd had said our home was sacred, and that smoking would never be permitted in it, it still happened. Some of my mesa friends took the liberty of going to my cupboard and getting out a mush dish for an ashtray when they came to visit. Because they were such jolly good friends, I did not want to offend them by speaking up. After they left, the doors and windows were opened wide, and I tried flushing the cigarette butts down the toilet. They kept bobbing back up, like evil spirits, because of the cork tips.

Because he knew how much I detested tobacco, one of the fellows lit a cigar and crawling on his hands and knees behind my desk, blew a cloud of smoke up through my typewriter as I sat typing.

One day, the boss of the photo lab came briskly into the front office. "Gubler, he said, "hold this for a minute please," and shoved an unlighted cigarette in my hand.

With my elbow on the desk, I sat regarding the thing. Why am holding this stupid thing, I wondered. With a shudder, I exclaimed, "Ugh," and flung it into the waste basket. A chorus of wails went up around me. Looking up, I saw a grinning audience watching. The photographer had set his camera ready to snap my picture.

Often, when I took dictation from a cigar-smoking engineer, I'd say, "Do you mind if we just set this outside until we're through?" Usually this brought a chuckle, for most of the engineers were very nice and cooperative. I'd set the tray on the step outside and we'd proceed.

Coffee was another thing that puzzled me. If the coffee wasn't parking by the time the crew arrived on the hill each morning, there could be no work done. The men would flock around the canteen like chickens around a feed trough. Finally, when the brew was ready, they fill their cups, and gingerly walk down the hall to their offices, drizzling a trail behind them. Sippina, they'd pull a face and complain, "Ugh! Battery acid. Why can't anyone around here make a decent cu of coffee?" Never once did I hear anyone say, "This is good." They drank it like it was bitter medicine. Why, I could never fiaure out.

Some of our good Mormons drank coffee with the others, with the flimsy excuse of fellowshipping.

One morning as I walked past the canteen, Harlan James plunked a dime on the counter. "Here, Chris," he said, "give Alice a cup of coffee."

Chris had just poured a glass of milk, so I took it from her. for the drink, Harlan," I said.

One morning when Dorothy Spendlove opened our restroom door, she quickly slammed it shut with a scream. "Alice, come and look," she said. Cautiously she opened the door just wide enough for me to peek. Inside 392392 one of the booths sat a man wearing hip boots. Neither one of us dared go in. Looking up, I saw too many amused faces watching us. After all, why would anyone be wearing hip boots on the desert top of the mesa?. This was no doubt one of Arnold's practical jokes. I bolted in and flung the booth door open. The boots were empty.

Another time when Dorothy came screaming from the rest room I went to check out the problem. Arnold had planted a dead tarantula as bic as his hand over the toilet paper, its legs wrapped around the roll.

My children anticipated the annual company party that Coleman gave to the employees and their families. These were in beautiful places, such as Cedar :reaks. The company had a big, warm heart and we sincerely loved the workers.

When wild flowers bloomed on the mesa, some of the men often gathered baguets, and arranging them in pop bottles , they would set them on our desks.

One Christmas, the men in electronics made a little man for me. His head was of beeswax, and he had a blinking light-bulb nose. In his Chest was a tiny, two-year battery. He was dressed in a tuxedo made of shiny black electronic tape—tail coat and all. On his head he wore a top hat, and dark rimmed glasses. For two years he served as a night light, blinking from the mantle above the fireplace.

Once, just at quitting time, one of the fellows dropped a slithery blow snake in my petty cash drawer, locked it in, and handed me the key. Snakes terrify me. I realize that my fear magnifies them in my eyes. This snake looked as big as a cobra. All night long I dreaded having to open my desk come morning. The usual audience gathered around. I couldn't coax one of them to do it for me. When I finally opened the drawer, everyone looked in. The snake had escaped through a half-inch clearance at the back. I was certain he was coiled in some unexpected place in my desk, so kneeling, with flashlight in hand, I examined every possible corner. He was gone. But all day long I felt jittery. Fellows took advantage of this, by sneaking up behind me to dangle nylon cords around my neck. I tried not to satisfy them, still I'd jump.

One morning as I unlocked the cash drawer, a mouse lumped out. During the night she had built a nest in the drawer, and had given birth to seven babies. She had gathered packing material from the photo lab, had climbed the stairs for green IBM cards from data reduction, and had chewed up blue carbon from my bank pad. I honestly had to admire her artistic ability in decorating her well shaped nest with these bits of color. One thing she should have considered. If her babies had been born in the cedars, they would not have been carried out in the waste baset.

The mesa was inhabitated with bushy-tailed, striped cats, with shiny eves and inquisitive noses. They snooped through the was az nights for food scraps. One morning when Harlan James dumped the cars from the pop machine into the garbage can, a startled civet cat polluoed the building so bad we had to evacuate.

When the chimpanzees came to the base, things livened up. The chimps were used on live ejection tests. The air force bought the dangerous ones from zoos. Chimps are flirty. When Dorothy or I went into their shelter, they'd pucker their lips for a kiss, or stick their hands throuah the bars for a hand shake. Claude Brosterhouse warned us never to let a chimp take 393393 hold of our hands , because an eighty pound chimp has a twelve-hundred pound pull. By hanging onto the cage with one hand, a chimp could pull a person's arm out. We took the chimp by the back of the wrist to shake his hand. Sometimes the chimps coaxed us to scratch their backs by backing up against the bars. We obliged by scratching with the end of a broom handle. One night, one of the chimps worked a 2x4 board loose from under the cage. When the men came the next morning, the chimp had his chest against the cage and his arms through the bars , gripping on to the plank with his hands. He swung it back and forth so no one could get near him, knocking the oil heater over and creating a lot of commotion before he was brought under control.

Jerry was the spitting chimp. He hated people, and spit on them if they came too near. But after he'd been in the squeeze cage and had been given a shot, he became docile. He'd blink his bid sleepy eyes as they laced him up in his flying suit. On one test Jerry zipped down the track at a supersonic speed, was ejected, and his parachute deployed, letting him down over the end of the mesa. Instruments strapped to him relayed his feelings back to the firing pad. Jerry was mad. He scolded violently, then his helmeted face slammed into the dust.

"I'll bet Jerry won't feel like spitting now," someone said.

The jeep with the retrievement crew was already racing down the little dirt road beneath the hill. Captain George Smith was the first one to reach Jerry. Tenderly he turned the little fellow over, removed his helmet and wiped Jerry's face with his big white handkerchief. Then he cut a grapefruit in half and said, "Here old fellow. Have a drink."

Jerry stuck out his long bottom lip to catch the juice as Captain Smith squeezed it in. Gratefully he drank, and then, with his mouth moistened again, he hit the captain with a wad of spit.

Although we were told Jerry wouldn't feel much like having company after his flight, I walked outside an hour later. Jerry was busy with a broom, sweeping his cage like a little old woman.

Once during our lunch hour, the men agreed to help me with my ML lesson by exchanging their ideas about the personality of God. They were from all different faiths, but talked freely. Some of them believed that man was created in the imace of God. Some believed that God was simply a feeling within a person's heart.

One man said, "It seems sacrilege to compare God to man. I find the idea almost vulgar. God is a great force like the wind or lightning. I would never lower myself to kneel and pray to something in the form of man."

"And. I could never pray to the lightning or the wind," I said.

One very gentle and beautiful young man struggled to formulate any opinion at all about his creator. His church taught that all intelligence, upon leaving this existence, would be dissolved into one great mass, and that each person lost his identity. He brooded over this. He said give the world if only he could believe as the Mormons do.

The Jerry Kane family bought the Morris Wilson home in LaVethn. They belonged to the Congregational Church, but since they lived in our -,:own, they wanted to be a part of it. Jerry, Ruby, and their children, Susan 394394 Jeff and Barbara endeared themselves to everyone in LaVerkin. They were some of the best neighbors we've ever had.

During the past seven years we've watched rocket tests from camera towers, and from the water tank near the upper mesa. The licuid rocket tests were the most colorful with their red-tinged cloud. Some tests were great, some were failures , and some blew up, spewing rocket cases everywhere, sending the men scurrying for the cedars. Over the intercom on my desk came the count down, which never lost its excitement for me. And I've chuckled at other things that came over the intercom accidently. I've cut endless yards of teletype tape, sending reports simultaneously to Canada, Ohio, Texas, California and New York on conference hookups. I loved the teletype because of its smooth, sweet speed. I enjoyed the switchboard too, because behind every red light was a personality.

I have mixed feelincs of happiness and regret at the closing of the test base. The last two years have been slow as the base was being phased out. The work force has dwindled daily. The last rocket was fired December 6, 1961.

Tonight the gates will close behind us for the last time, and we will make our final descent down the winding Coleman road.

March 10. Hello house. Remember me? I'm the one who has been running out on you every morning for twelve years. Remember how I dashed down the stairs flinging bedroom doors open and calling, "Come and get up. It's late and I've got to go. .I won't be able to call you again, so come now." Remember the muffled moans that came from the motionless heaps under the bedcovers:

Look, house, I'm back again to stay. I'm going to live here and do the things I've longed to do for years.

March 16. Last Sunday night I started to put up my hair and pack a lunch. For twelve years these nightly chores have proceeded each work day. Suddenly I realized that I am not going to work. What a cueer feeling came over me—a strange mixture of sadness and gladness. Now it is the Friday of my first week of unemployment, and I review the events of my leisure.

Last Friday, Wayne and I celebrated by taking Terry and Lolene with us to a show in St. George—Bob Hope in, "A Sachelor in Paradise."

Monday Terry, Lolene and I had family prayer and breakfast together for the first time ever on a school morning. We even had time to visit at the table, and the dishes were done before the bus left. I whisked through the house, singing like a bird, cleaning and dusting. (I make no apology to the birds for the comparison. Even a sparrow sounds good when it's happy). I repaired a thick old Farm Bureau comforter, gettinc: it ready for a new cover. Little Kathy pulled her chair up to the table at noon and ate lunch with me. When Lolene and Terry came home from school, dinner was on. Laughing, Terry leaped in the air and clicked his heels.

"Oh, Mother," he said, "the house is so shining and warm, an :d the food smells so ccod. And you're here. I-:other, this is how I've always wished it could be. I hope it can be like this forever and ever,"

We were all three steeped in happiness. In the evening we cleaned the basement together.

395395 Tuesday, Horatio was making a quick trip to Provo. I went with him to see my sister Edith. Her daughter Merlene has had heart surgery.

Wednesday, Mildred, Nephi and Mama called for me. (I fixed a pot of vegetables and a cherry upside-down cake for Terry and Lolene before leaving). We picked up LaPriel in Kanarra, and Annie at Cedar, and went to visit Aunt Emma Crawford at the rest home in Parowan. When we got back to Kanarra, Jim had dinner waiting for us—mutton steak and sour cream biscuits.

Thursday I resolved not to budge from home. Housecleaning was fun. So was washing and hanging sheets and towels on the line, and cooking. I even ran over to Church's with a dish of pudding, and visited for a minute. Imagines Actually going to visit a neighbor!

Friday, (which is today) Terry said, "Make lots of pies and cakes and cookies today," and so I did. Dorothy Spendlove and Areta Church came visiting.

Last night Ann had club at her house, so Kathy, Lloyd and baby Marie were with me. When Marie began to fuss I said, "I'm going to take the baby home so your mother can feed her."

"Well, why don't you feed her: Can't you?" Kathy asked.

"No," I replied.

"Well, why can't you? Aren't you old enough?" she asked.

Today Lloyd wandered into the basement and was far too quiet.

"Kathy, will you please go get him?" I asked.

Going to the hall door, she looked down the steps, then came to me. "You go down with me," she said.

"Oh go on," I urged.

She looked down again, then coaxed, "Please come with me. Please, Grandma, please." Then she smiled. "You can hold one of his hands and I will hold the other."

How could I resist? We found Lloyd upon the table in Terry's room playing in DeMar's reloading equipment. He was pulling bullet shells out of little boxes.

I've walked to the post office each day, and saw the scattered blossoms bursting on the apple trees, and heard the meadowlarks sing, and said hello to the to folks. When it rained this afternoon, I too Kathy up in the attic, where we curled up on the bed to listen to the patter on the roof. Lulled by the music, I dozed.

Seeing an old belt hanging from the rafters, Kathy asked, "Grandma, is that your belt="

"Shhh, I'm asleep," I whispered.

"Grandma, is that your belt?" she asked softly.

"Shhh, don't talk. I'm asleep."

"But Grandma, I'm not talking out loud," she whispered, her lips aginst my ear.

396396 March 20. The MIA gave a going away party for Terry, Lolene and me tonight. They gave me a train case to match the new luggage that Shirley had given me, in appreciation of my years as YWMIA president. In the two different stretches that I have served in this capacity, I have exhausted seven different YMMIA presidencies. The men presidents I have served with are: Max Woodbury, Eugene Halter ran, Carl Stratton, Louis Beatty, Reed Wilson, Gerald Gifford and Lester Cox. I had about decided to make it my hobby, and see if I could go through every man in town. Each time we broke in a new superintendent, he'd get a job out of town. I flatter myself by thinking they really had to go away to support their families, and not to get out of MIA.

In the program tonight so many words of praise were said about the three of us, that I think it best that we go away. If we remained here we would have to live up to them.

Everyone asks, "When are you leaving?" "Sometime in June," is the answer. Ray is shopping for a house in Yakima. The house I live in gets prettier each day. To leave it seems idiotic.

March 22. LaPriel came down from Kanarra, and we spent the day at Mom's washing walls , ceilings , and curtains. Mom prepared dinner for us. I was hungry as a wolf. After the curtains were hung, I came home and put a meat loaf in the oven, then LaPriel, Lolene and I went to the swimming pool. Lolene played in the water like a porpoise. LaPriel and I slept in the basement. We visited until Ray phoned at midnight.

March 23. Sister Church came with a gift, and her wishes for our happiness. My heart swelled with the sweetness of her visit.

As I walked through the basement, I prayed that the spirit of our Heavenly Father would always be with whoever lived in this house. Tears flowed unchecked down my cheeks.

March 25. Leon Guymon, Betty Segler's husband, went to LasVegas with Helen and DeNar. I had turned out the lights and was just crawl inc into bed when Betty came thumping in through the laundry room door with her sleeping bag. She announced that she was going to sleep in our attic.

March 26. My article, "The Lamplighters1," came out in this month's issue of the Relief Society Magazine. Last fall, Relief Society President Maurine Wilson, asked me to write a tribute to the original pioneers of LaVerkin who are still living in our ward. I sat on the front porch mulling over what I might say, when Dennis Church came down the lane swinging his milk bucket. Thoughts came to my mind oz- the chances in oer town since Susanna Gubler first trimmed the wick and lit her lamp in this valley. My pen took wings and I wrote. I got time off from work the following Tuesday so I could go to the opening social and give my tribute. The sisters asked for copies. VanDyne Wilson said, "I'll give you a dollar for a copy." Something clicked in my brain. If the sisters liked it, perhaps an editor would too.

I submitted it to the Relief Society Magazine, and received a $25 check for it. Better than the money was the letter from Sister Crawford. She said, "We're always getting articles about little towns. When the staff said I should read yours, I told them I was not interested. 'But it's different,' they insisted, until I finally broke down and read it. It charmed me."

397397 If being published once is so exciting, being published twice would be that much better. I feel inspired to put extra effort into the story I have written for the Laurel class, entitled, "Mama and the Heavenly Father2." I think I will submit it to the magazine too.

March 27. My story is in the mail.

Sister Church gave a good homemaking lesson in Relief Society today. I an so happy to be home with Lolene and Terry that I would never change it if I had employment here.

When word came that the mesa was closing, I applied for a job in the church offices in Hawaii. I reasoned that we might as well have adventure, since a change had to come anyway. A man from Hawaii came upon the mesa to interview me, since he was on his way to Salt Lake City. The interview went just great until he asked about my children.

"My daughter Lolene will turn fourteen this fall, and my son Terry is sixteen," I replied.

Sadly he shook his head. "The church encourages all white families with teenage children to return to the mainland. The Hawiians are very attractive to them. It is better that your children date young people from their own race."

How disappointing. I had already written to Ray, telling him I was going to Hawaii.

"If you'll only give me a chance," he replied, "I'll prove to you that the Northwest is as beautiful as the islands. Please think it over."

Lolene sang in the "Dear to My Heart" program tonight. People clustered around her to express their appreciation. After we got home she sang and danced about the house exclaiming, "1 feel so good." Then she stopped. "Some different than I felt today at noon."

She came home at noon with big tears in her eyes. "1 feel just awful," she said.

How happy I was to be home for once when I was needed.

Her white pleated skirt had fallen in a puddle in the dressing room when she showered after P. E. She had looked so crisp and shiny when she left for school. Then one of the girls had appropriated her hane.bec with her comb and makeup, and that irritated her. She isn't easily irritated, but today was different.

Tonight she bubbled again. Sitting in my room she analysed life until midnight, trying to live it all in one gulp. She was happy that she could sing, and shocked at her conceit, and yet she'd say, "But I knew my voice is good. Isn't that terrible?"

"No," I replied. "You didn't create your voice. It was given to you. It's something to be thankful for."

"I know." she said.

The kids at school have been telling her how cute her haircut is. "How do I keep people admiring me instead of getting tired of me." she asked.

"Just be natural. Keep sweet and clean and then forget all about yourself, and concentrate on others," I replied.

398398 "I see. If I appreciate other people, then I won't get selfcentered," she said thoughtfully.

Each morning Terry and Lolene sing as they get ready for school, and I enjoy watching their arms and legs fly as they race for the bus. Just think what I have missed all these years.

April 4. Betty is still sleeping in our attic. She says she's going to as long as Leon is away. She likes it there close to the rafters, listening to the sounds of the night and the breaking of day. Perched up there she has written pages of verse. Today she and Ann helped me tie off a quilt.

April 5. A phone call from Las Vegas tells me that Shirley and Perry have a little baby boy. (John).

May 28. Bill Sanders died on the 17th. I went with Bishop Iverson before fast and testimony meeting and recorded Bill's testimony. Sunday Bishop Iverson asked me to read it to the congregation. Bill made every effort to square all accounts with his fellowmen. I've spent a number of afternoons by his bedside taking dictation and mailing thank-you letters for him. I spoke at his funeral.

In the thirty-two years that we've been in LaVerkin, Bill played a major role in our lives. I recall the wiener and marshmallow roasts when Bill led the campfire singing. Every campfire party needs a Bill Sanders for music, and a Winferd Gubler for fun.

Bill sang in Winferd's funeral and in both Marilyn's and Norman's wedding receptions , and his male chorus sang at DeMar's wedding. The Zion Park Stake Choir, under his direction, furnished the music for Gordon's funeral. At Shirley's wedding reception Bill brought his male quartet, and his daughter LaRee sang a solo. He has been with us for the saddest and the happiest events of our life. Being a member of the stake choir has furnished a happy hour for me each Sunday afternoon for years. And so one more chapter closes.

And with its closing I am working away at a thirty-two year's accumulation within the walls of our home, and preparing my heart to say goodbye to LaVerkm. I am at the crossroads. Ray phones often. He sounds as dubious as I. So now, I will take a look at the pros and cons.

The pros about Ray look like this:

1. Personality, refined, talented, witty—a gentleman.
2. We mutually respect each other. We are happy together.
3. He says he can easily support a wife and provide J a home.
4. We like the same kind of music, entertainment, the out-of-doors, and the same kind of food.
5. He loves the beautiful Northwest, and hopes I'll love it too.
6. He was Ellensburg's branch president for years. He should be a good LDS.

But—now for the cons:

1. He is not a temple recommend holder. Too much hassle to clear himself after two divorces. Also he drinks coffee. Doctor's orders. (Do divorces become a habit, like drinking coffee?)
2. He is fourteen years older than I am. I could be left alone again. Perhaps one year of companionship would be better than that extra time of loneliness I cannot always cling to Terry and Lolene.
399399

3. He divorced his other wives because of money squabbles. He could be a terrible tightwad.
4. He has migraine headaches. The ones he has endured could be but a dress rehearsal for the ones he's going to get. Marriage could be quite a shock to a man who has been alone for twenty-five years.

My stars! I'm going to marry the man. The faint-hearted never taste of adventure.

June 28. I am Mrs. Ray Sabin. Leaving the old home was hard— especially to leave my mother, sisters, brothers, neighbors, and most of my children. I can still feel little Kathy clinging to me and saying, "Come back, Grandma," and Ann's face buried on my shoulder, sobbing. And see my teenage son standing back sadly refusing to come. A second marry.. age is in no way similar to the bursting joy of youth, no more than November is like May. A second marriage is two worlds colliding. We were married in the St. George tabernacle by Andrew McArthur on the 14th of June. After two day's honeymoon at Grand Canyon we started for Yakima. I think Ray's first terrible shock was that he couldn't just get up in the morning and blast off from our motel. Instead of one man to shower, there were three of us. Sweet as I was, he got a headache. Before we were married we went to the Church Offices to be counsd by a general authority. Ray had promised his children that he would. Franklin Richards interviewed each of us separately. Ray wanted to know whether he should marry a woman who was sealed to someone else or not. Brother Richards said, "If you treat her right, her husband will meet you beyond the veil and thank you for taking care of his wife." My counsel was that I was going to need much understanding and strength. I resolved to do all within my power to make Ray the happiest man on earth. As we approached Yakima, Ray said, "The house I bought is very small. I could put it in one end of your living room in LaVerkin. It only has six inches of grass around it and no trees." He drove down a back street and stopped at first one little shack and then another, trying to make believe we were home. I was beginning to feel queer. Finally, he stopped in front of 1324 on Swan Avenue. A charming little yellow house seemed to say, "Come in. This is home." Roses, poppies and white daisies bordered the lawn. In front were small blue spruce trees, and on the fence were climbing grape vines and tall evergreens. Breathlessly I waited as Ray unlocked the door. "Oh Ray, it is beautiful:" I exclaimed, hugging him. And he just grinned. Now the front room is piled with things from the furniture stores and Lolene and I are left to arrange them. Ray has gone to his Ellensburg ranch and won't be back until tomorrow. He will be bringing a load of his stuff from there.

June 29. I went through real agony deciding what to leave behind and what to take to Yakima. Our big things, like couch, chair, chest of drawers, sewing machine, etc. were shipped. by rail. All of the rest, a summary of the past thirty-two years, was simmered down to the smallest U Haul. "Keep it to a minimum," Ray had cautioned. 400400 And so what does he do? He goes to his Ellensburg ranch to gather up his stuff. Man alive, did I ever marry a pack rat: Luckily our new house has a wide open, unfinished basement, because load after load of anonymous cardboard boxes are piling up there. If they were mine,'I'd sit right down and bawl at the very thoughts of sorting through them. Thank goodness they're his. "Want to see my trosseau?" he grinned. "I bought this lunch set in Mexico and this one in Seattle. I picked up this bedspread and this silver set at an auction, and I got this—" and on and on. Amazing what a lone man can collect. Part of his treasures are nice, but mostly they're interesting. Lolene's witty -IPPr4Iza7 of the display has the same sparkling sarcasm that Lynn and Leslie, the twins, are so gifted with. When Ray unrolled the used Belgium rug in her room, she got a lump in her throat It's maroon color with a paisley design. "Might as well call my room Joseph because of its many colors," she lamented. Ray got the message and stored the rug in the basement. She's happier with the bare, polished wood floor.

July 9. Ray's quest has begun to prove that the Northwest is as beautiful as Hawaii. He took us to see the Grand Coulee Dam. He would liked to have waited until Terry joined us, but he said we should see it now while the water is high. On the way we saw orchards covering low rolling hills, also the Natches, the Yakima and the Columbia rivers. This is a land of much water. Lakes shimmer in volcano craters. At Soap Lake Ray said, "People come from all over to lather in this lake." I thought he was kidding, then he showed us a white shoreline of foamy suds, and an island in the lake white with soap. Fish do not live there. On the opposite side of the highway is another lake with blue water. Fishermen were camped along its shore. The falls over the Coulee Dam are twice as high as Niagara. Ray drove his car to every vantage point where we could get different views of the falls. One especially I loved was through the lacy branches of the trees on a hillside street that was lined with flowers. The water glides over the dam in a shiny, transparent emerald sheet, like a thick, curved lens, then suddenly it breaks into a froth of billions of bubbles, pounding itself into a mist above the river. Yakima has as many different religious denominations as Palmyra. Terry's, Lolene's and my membership records were here in the Yakima Second Ward by the time we arrived. Unpacking is easier than packing, because we aren't deciding what to keep, but only where to put it. Bill and Molly Lambkins and their five kids under four, live in our back yard. Our houses are back-to-back, theirs facing the other street. They're Catholics. Charlie and Amel Duncan, who are Methodists, live ten feet east of us. Their house is exactly like ours, only the pattern was flipped over, like when you cut one side of a dress and lay the pattern over the other way for the other side. They helped us unload our furniture, and put a pot of coffee on. Ray drank the coffee, and Lolene and I had orange juice. 401401 Ray has returned to the ranch and won't be back until tomorrow night. Our love should stay young, because he will be away a lot. When I walk with Lolene we get second glances. She grins and says hello to everybody. One little man tipped his hat to her, and teetered like a bird on a telephone wire. She giggled and said, "Isn't he cute. I've never had a man tip his hat to me before."

July 26. Dear little grandson John, I want to chat with you for a few minutes, so roll over in your crib and make room for me. How good it was for your mommy Shirley to bring you to LaVerkin for a visit before I moved away. I loved, and loved you. You're a darling roly-poly kid. I couldn't get enough of your mommy either. I got sort of all twisted up inside when I thought of leaving. I knew I was going to grieve for LaVerkin, but I don't. I like Yakima, and our cute little house. And another nice thing, we have little children who come to play. Johnny Lambkin, who is four, Billy—three, and Brian—two, climb the back fence everyday, and come across the lawn to our house. I've learned that folks shouldn't be afraid to venture. Leaving LaVerkin seemed scary, just like leaving England must have seemed to my great-grandmother. But I didn't have to ride a boat across the ocean, or push a handcart across the plains. I didn't have to move into a dugout either. All was comfort and ease. So here we are sending down roots and learning about city life. Yakima has about 50,000 people who are very common folks. The clothes they wear are the same kind we wore when we picked strawberries. Lots of faded blue jeans go up and down our street with people in them. Even the sales clerks in the stores wear housedresses. They aren't nearly so stylish as the clerks in Provo or St. George. Lolene already has lots of friends, so no matter where you go you can adapt. I'll never be afraid to move again. I love to go to church and have people say, "We're happy to see you this morning, Brother and Sister Sabin." Ray looks so smart in his black suit, and his shoes shine like a mirror. And you ought to hear him sing: It's worth sitting by him in church just to hear him sing. Last Sunday he sang the lead in a male quartet. It was so beautiful that I found myself blinking back the tears. On the 24th of July our ward had a potluck dinner in a park where part of the river runs through. The kids were all in bathing suits. They ganged up on the YMCA superintendent and threw him in the river, clothes and all. I think he enjoyed eating his dinner in his cool, dripping duds. I put up four quarts of raspberries from our vines along the fence. Besides that, we're eating fresh berries to our heart's content. We buy raw milk and pour off the good sweet cream to go on our berries. One of the reasons I wrote to you instead of your mom or dad is that I figure you'll answer about as soon as they will. Do me a favor, please. Find out where your Uncle Terry is. He doesn't write, and nobody ever mentions him. I'm hungry for news from home. Get someone on the ball, will you? Bye bye, and heaps of love, Grandma.

July 30. Saturday we went to the Sea Fair parade in Seattle. Ray and I went, but we had to leave Lolene behind because she was in the road 402402 show. She stayed with Karen McPhie. The parade lasted three hours. There were entries from many countries. Probably more so, because this year Seattle hosts the World's Fair. From China'a mighty dragon writhed back and forth across the road, preceded by Chinamen beating gongs and kettle drums. From Japan came a lily pond float covered with water lilies and Japanese girls coming up out of the water, under a wisteria tree. The Buddhists had a fat old Buddha, and the Assembly of God had a block-long cross dragging along in a bed of flowers, and a big ugly statue supposed to be God. Sinister. At the to end of the parade Neptune came like a monster up out of the sea. After the parade we watched fishing boats being raised and lowered through the locks.

August 5. What a Sunday afternoon! Ray hired a guy to combine his grain and they're doing it now. Lolene is here writing a letter to Joy Miller and I'm thinking what it would be like if I were in LaVerkin. I can almost hear my back door slam, and Kathy say, "Ch Grandma, oh Alice, oh Mother, are you here?" And the door slams again and Lloyd patters in and lands like an avalanche upon mellaughing. I'd rock the kids about two turns each before they'd slide off my lap. Norman, Ann and baby Marie would come to visit, and Helen and DeMar would drop in to say goodbye before returning to LasVegas. Terry and Lolene would be off with friends, but I'd know they'd come home to supper. . . I've been alone most of the past week. Ray has stayed at his Ellensburg ranch, and Lolene has been to girl's camp. At camp she taught her group to act out and sing, "You Can't Get a Man With a Gun." Four prizes were awarded at camp, two of them to Lolene. She was given a prize for being the friendliest girl in the stake, and one for being the most talented. I have been set apart as first counselor in Relief Society to Pres. Reita Johnson. Leona Wood is second counselor. Since Ray is always gone, and the church house is three miles away, it is a bit of a problem. While I'm alone, I'm not alone. Amel Dunkin and Molly Lamkin and I have cooked our meals together, ate together, and cone after canning peaches toaether. Their husbands, Charlie and Bill have helped. Those men can make the best stuffed, baked potatoes seasoned with grated onions, cheese and sage. Bill, Molly and the children ate with us one evening on our back lawn. After Bill left, Molly asked me how people ever reconcile themselves with death. She wished she wasn't a Catholic, because she has to have as many children as possible, and something is bound to happen to one of them. I told her a little about life after death, and she said, "It is a beautiful idea, but we do not believe any such thing." "What are you going to do after you die?" I asked. "I will just sit in a semiconscious state and behold the beautific vision," she replied. "That's why we're created—to sit and behold Him. We are his tools to help create others to adore Him. That is the purpose of our existence. After I die I will never know Bill or any of our children aaain. Now what are you going to do?" briefly I explained our eternal familyties and the degrees of alory. "Well, we believe in heaven and hell. You either go to heaven, or hell. You can be a good person all your life, but never confess your sins, 403403 .-403-and when you die you go to hell. Or you can be a bad person all your life, and in a split second, just like that—" she snapped her fingers, "you can tell the priest you're sorry, and you'll go to Heaven." "For goodness sake, is that just:" I asked. "Yes. Because we believe that a person who did not confess he is sorry just missed his chance." "You mean that's all you have to do to go to heaven? Now Molly, you know that isn't reasonable. It's just like saying Bill decided to be an engineer. He goes to college for four years and just horses around. He never opens a book or studies. On graduation day he goes to the professor and says, 'I'm sorry I didn't study. I really do want to be an engineer.' The professor says, 'That's quite all right, Billy. If you're sorry, that's good enough. Her is your diploma and your engineer's degree." Molly wrinkled her nose and thought a minute. "I'll ask Bill about that." For the next two days she darted in and out asking questions. I told her we didn't believe that people would be continually burning and never be consumed. She said, "Bill's smart. I'll ask him about that." She came back to report. "Bill doesn't believe it either. I wish we weren't Catholics, so we could be Mormons." I asked the lady missionaries to come and visit Molly at our house. When they came, Molly chattered incessantly. They couldn't get a word in.

August 25. Terry hitched a ride to Yakima. How good, oh how very good it was to see him. The neighbors, the ward members, and the young folks all loved him during his brief stay. He went on a father's and son's outing with Bishop Wendell Snow and Stake President Edgar Johnson, "roughing it" in Pres. Johnson's luxurious camper. Bishop Snow said, "Sister Sabin, if your son ever needs a home, we have one for him. We would be happy to have him for our son." Terry endeared himself to our entire neighborhood by mowing continuously from our lawn and on to theirs. Amel and Charlie Duncan adopted him the same as they had Lolene. Amel is always doing thoughtful things for her. The Northwest has exotic things, and I wanted Terry to enjoy them all. At Safeway's narket we can buy baskets of clear ruby red clusters of English currents, and plump, juicy blueberries, and Columbia River salmon steaks and roasts. Last night as I was preparing salmon steaks for supper, Terry burst in. "I just found a ride to Utah," he announced. Kissing me a quick goodbye, he grabbed his suitcase and was gone. What emptiness! 1 need my own private crying place. I had hoped Terry would go to school in Yakima. Terry didn't even get to see the Toonerville Trolly with its clanging bell that chugs along Sixth Avenue. Little boys and girls run along behind it as it hauls fruit to the miles of warehouses. Yakima is second only in the world to Chicago for cold storage space. Auaust 26. As I cleaned our bedroom, I gathered up Ray's alarm clock, his box of Sen-Sens, and his flashlight from the side of his bed. I got to thinking. These three things are Ray. The alarm goes off at 6:00 every 404404 morning, although Ray has no notion of getting up until 7:30. It's a ritual. Not at any time of the day is sleep so enticing as at 6:00 a.m. But alas, Ray's alarm blasts us both out of our wits. Ray leaps, pawing the air in a frenzy, until his. hand finally clamps down on the clock and clicks off the alarm. The ritual over, he slumbers on for the next hour-and-a-half. I say nothing about it, because I realize how good the exercise is for him. He carries the flashlight to bed after he switches off the light. The other night he came thumping in from the bathroom in his pajamas, shining his flashlight on his way to bed. After he had climbed in and pulled up the covers , I got up and turned out the lights. The Sen-Sens are his social security. He keeps a package in every shirt pocket. Whisps of Sen-Sen sented air wafting ahead of him always announce his approach.

September 11. The Davis High music teacher had fifty students trying out for the Molia;ls-, According to her, either you have it, or you don't. And if you don't, you don't become a member of the Aeolians - She asked each student to sing, "God Bless America", one at a time. As each frightened voice began to sing, she called out, "next." The students were turned down almost as fast as they made a sound. Lolene anxiously waited for her turn, because she knew she could belt it out, but when she was called on, she was paralyzed. Getting a grip on herself, she sang one line, and the teacher stopped her. "Where are you from?" she asked. "Hurricane High in Southern Utah," she answered. The teacher asked more questions and learned that Lolene was taking French during the period the Aeolian., practiced. "I'll see that your schedule is changed," she said. One of the Aoleans later said, "Our music teacher says there is an alto from Hurricane, Utah that we will have to watch out for."

September 19. Ray still has this, "I'll prove to you that the Northwest is as pretty as Hawaii" bit in his craw. On August 29 we took the river road, Seattle bound. With us was Lolene, and Pearl and John Wassecha. (Pearl is Ray's sister). By the time we reached Cle Elum, with its sawmills billowing white clouds of steam, the morning fog was dissipating. In the pale, watery sunlight, little wisps oozed from under the bushes and trees, drifting over the grass like fairies. And so it was all the way—sun and rain alternately drenching the forest road. At the dry dock at Bremerton we went aboard the Missouri. On the deck is a brass plaque that marks the spot where General Douglas MacArthur, who was the Supreme Ce=ndar for the allied powers, received the instrument of surrender from the Japanese, which terminated the Second World War. The Missouri was the steamer where the Japanese did so many suicide dives, crashing their planes on the deck, killing twenty-eight of our boys in a single dive. Lolene felt so deeply that she walked silently with tears in her eyes. A troop of Canadian Boy Sco-11:s• came aboard. They spoke like jolly Englishmen and wore kilts. They hopped like crickets up and down the ladders on the ship, their skirts fluttering. I tried to imagine Norman, DeNar and Terry in kilts. I'd love to see Ray in them. At sundown we motored along the shore to West Seattle where we watched the waters of Puget Sound inhale the evening shadows. The lights of Seattle glittered like sapp4ires,rubies and diamonds tinting the sky and splashing streamers of color across the water. 405405 The morning of the 30th was sunny and clear. The loading zone for the monorail was a short jaunt from our hotel, so we squeezed our eager little selves onto the first train to the fair grounds. It was a silent, less than two minute ride, where we were whisked in front of a ticket stall. A line of grim faced people were waiting. Then the gong of a gigantic clock tolled nine solemn strokes, and the fair grounds suddenly came alive. Ticket takers began to dispense tickets, elevators started to scoot up and down the space needle, sky cars and ferris wheels began to turn on the "gay way." The World's Fair said, "Good morning." We were lifted to the top of the 500 foot space needle where we looked across Seattle and saw the ships and boats of Puget Sound on one side and Lake Washincton on the other. We ate at the Food Circus where had my first crab. It was good, but I don't want anymore. Things with too many legs bother me. We visited shops from all over the world. I was glad to lay down on the deep rug under the dome in the science building where we traveled through space, past the moon, the sun and the stars, gliding on a soft carpeted escalator through a tunnel of voices , pictures and spotlights. By evening, our surfeited minds were turning in different directions. Whoever took the bull by the horns at this point wasn't going to be liked by the other four. We were too stubborn to call it a day, and too weary to know what we wanted. "Let's go to the Spanish show," I suggested. "We can eat while we're being entertained." Ray was still craning his neck in the direction of the Berlin show, and Pearl was sidling toward the Polynesian show, and John and Lolene were milling around. Resolutely I headed for the Hacienda, and the others followed. We sat at a little table and the waitress brought the menu. Hurrumph Nothing but liquor! And at what a price! What HAD I done? I looked at Ray and he glowered at me. I shriveled up and started to slide under the table when my eye caught, "bread and cheese." Tae can eat bread and cheese," I said. "And what to drink?" the waitress asked. "Water," I replied. The others ordered 7up. The waitress brought three round, hard loaves of bread, each with a sharp knife plunged in its middle, and three strips of cheese, and no butter. We carved and munched on our dry bread and Lolene started to giggle. Pearl and John joined in. I wanted to, but didn't dare. The show began and everyone got lost in the rhythm of the dancing and singing of the Spanish senoritas and senors. John insisted the guitar playing was the best he'd ever heard, and Ray, the rhythm fiend, said their clapping was excellent. We ate the bread and cheese to the last crumb, and had a most satisfied and wholesome feeling. Lolene and Pearl thought the atmosphere was worth the price. Ray got his money's worth teasing me about the bread and cheese. On August 3-1 ,we went to the Berlin Circus where the tight-rope performers gave me heart failure. I don't deny the skill and beauty of trapeze performers or any part of the show, but people don't have to risk their lives to entertain me. We entered the Bubbelator (a class bubble) and steipped to the rear of the sphere, and took a trip into tomorrow—visited [__VERIFY_WITH_TYPEWRITTEN_TEXT_HERE] shops 406406 of faraway places, wandered into Alaska and saw the logging and fishing industries , and the wort d' largest bear, standing eleven feet high. So much, oh so much to ponder. At sundown we left Seattle's splendor. By noon, on September the third, we found ourselves in huckleberry country--thousands of acres of huckleberries, the leaves flaunting the scarlet tinge of early frost. As a child I liked to imagine myself gathering berries in the woods and finding bears among the bushes. Now I was actually carrying my shiny tin pail (made from a shortening can and a piece of wire) , and picking berries in the woods. Ray said there were bears there 'too. We picked until time to pitch camp. We made our beds on a pile of meadow grass that had been left by a previous camper, and slept under the stars, the most silent stars I've ever listened to. There was no chirping, or buzzing, or rustling. I wondered how quietly bears walked. Come morning, our beds were white with frost. The only spots free from "stiff dew", as Ray called it, was under our heads. We picked berries until noon, then came home, where Pearl and I bottled fifty-six pints of them. On September the fifth, Pearl and John, Ray and I left for America's most beautiful waterway. School had started, so Lolene staved behind. On our way we came to Carnation where Carnation milk is produced. We saw "contented" cows eating flowers and ferns in belly-deep meadows. If the cows wanted to, they could eat blackberries all day too, because they grew in wild abundance. At Mukilteo blackberries for pitched our tent was covered with into the we took the ferry to Whidby Island where we gathered supper. At a little store we bought milk and cream. We in a state park on the shore of a fresh water lake that water lilies. Astonishing--a fresh water lake jutting out The next day we drove the length of Whidby Island, past plywood mills and oil refineries to Anacortes, where we took a boat for the San Juan Islands. It was still early morning as our boat shoved out into the water. I stood breathless on the pointed end of the bow. Rav looked down at me and said, "Welcome to your second honeymoon, Ers. Sabin." Ah! The San Juan Islands! There are 172 of them in all, wooded and green as emeralds, and owned by people who build palaces on them, and who have their own docks, who sometimes wear pretty pink dresses, and wave at the passing boats from their picture windows. Our boat made stops at Lopes Island, Shaw Island, Orcas Island and Friday Harbor. We ate dinner on the boat in King Neptune's dining room. Four hours on the water brought us to Sidney on Vancouver Island, where the little rambler took i.c_s place in line with 105 other cars from our boat at the port of entry. Vancouver Island is larger than all of the San Juan Islands put together. At Victoria, I rediscovered the old charm that thrilled me when Wayne_ took Mama, Terry, Lolene and I there. Victoria still has baskets of real flowers hanging from the lampposts. They have put them out every sprina since -933 when Queen Elizabeth visited the island. Each night a man drives up and down the streets and waters the baskets from a long spoui-. We rode in a fringe-topped =r:rrrn behind four horses. ;Then the drlver said, "This is the most touching part of the t,-in," Ray and John got out their 407407 -407-- • wallets and paid our fare. We came to a cathedral, and the driver said, "There is an old cernetary behind this cathedral. They've built a new one over there. Lots of folks are just dying to get in it." Relaxed, we poked along, listening to his English brogue, and to the clopping of the horses. The limbs of the chestnut trees along the street scraped across the buggy top as we went by. From Victoria we took the ferry to Port Townsend, Washington. The evening tide rocked the boat. When I tried walking to the dressing room, I reeled, grabbing for chair backs and rails. Then I got the giggles. Returning to the lounge room, I was pitched by the heaving boat into my chair. Ray thought I was glownin7. "I couldn't help it," I said. "Aw, come on now," he chided. "Ok. You try walking without staggering," I challenged. "Me? There's nothing to it." So he arose, all six feet of him, but instead of walking, he wobbled down the aisle. When he returned, he was pitched from side to side, and got to laughing as hard as I. The other passengers became hilarious. By the time Ray lurched into his chair, tears ran down our cheeks. After the boat clocked, ours was the first car through the port of entry into the U. S. Driving down the penninsula, we crossed a floating bridge to Bainbridge Island and slept at Winslow. The next morning we took the ferry to Seattle. Now we're back in Yakima, and Pearl and John have returned to Salt Lake. Ray is absorbed with teaching a class for the Senior Aaronic Priesthood, and I'm tied up with Relief Society business. Lolene goes often as a companion to the lady missionaries, and is involved in MIA and school activities. But busy as she is, she finds time to be homesick for LaVerkin. Far too often we've galavanted, leaving her behind, because she had commitments. This has been a summer of Ray flaunting the Great Northwest, to prove it beats Hawaii. We've meandered through forests, along lakes or the waterfront where we've watched boats coming in, screaming gulls following in their wake. At Tacoma we saw tugboats hauling barges of sawdust across the sound to be made into pressed wood. Logs are floated to a sawmill out in the water. Timber is lashed together and pulled by tugboats. Even barges of gravel are pulled by tugboats across the bay. All of this is exciting to me, but still I am torn, thinking of my little girl left alone in our house in Yakima. Amel Dunkin is more of a mother to her than I am. My world is being split asunder. I cannot please my husband and still be a mother to my children. My pendulum swings high, then low. Lolene is begging to go back to Utah. She is constantly writing homesick letters to her sisters and brothers. How vainly had I imagined that we would be a happy family--that now, my son and my daughter would have a dad! What we really have done is shatter Ray's twenty- five years of bachelorhood. He has always done his own thing without interference, which has made him brittle. And my children have always been my major love and concern. Innocently I had supposed I could be a perfect wife, because I resolved to do everything richt. Demands on the opposite moles tear me apart.

408408 October 1. Today a letter came from Terry as follows: Dear Nother, I have received four letters from you since I wrote you last. I guess that alone calls for an answer, so here goes. I have been doing good in school until last night. I got a chain project from theVo-Ag. It was a pig, and when it has a litter I was to give two little ones back. Well, the pig died, cause unknown, but I still might have to buy it even if I did only have it eight hours. Then today I went to school and got about 60% on my chemistry test, and 85% in English. I usually get 100% in both, so you can see today was horrible. If I had to take a spelling test today I'd fail it too. I received both $10 money orders and they were welcomed but only the last was really needed. It is only needed for security. I won't cash it for awhile yet if I can help it. Thanks just the same. We went to Vegas last week and Marilyn said they were going to come up here deer hunting this year so I guess you will have to worry about all of your kids except Shirley and Lolene until it's over, but don't hold your breath all the time, or your worrying days will be over. Lolene, I wouldn't come and be Aunt Ardella's girl if I were you, cause it not the same here with Mother and you gone. I have had plenty of time to do a lot of thinking since school started and I just don't know what's missing. I think of friends. They aren't even as interesting. I guess they just expected me to go and were disappointed when I stayed. My family is definitely missing a couple of links. I go to Sunday School and don't see the warm smile of that wonderful Mother and good looking sister of mine. They make a world of difference, and I assure you it is different getting myself up. Lolene, it may seem funny to hear me say this, but I feel like a lost sheep down here making all of my own decisions, but I wouldn't trade this experience for the world. Everyone has to learn to forge for himself, but it is best to do it with the protection of the one the Lord put in charge of us. Always do what she says. She will never hurt you. Bye, and remember I love all of you, even the unmentioned fellow, Ray. Sincerely, Terry Gubler This is my ninth day at the American Oil Company bulk plant on 704 So. First Street. A guy named George has been running the plant for eight years. When he came here he was worth about 65, but he was a co.-ttcr. He made money for the company, and for himself. As a sideline he set up his own distributing company, using the American Oil Office where he was employed while he laid the ground work for the great separation. At the planned time, George pulled out, taking with him all of the g l e= alc he had built up. He left the American Oil desks and file cabinets empty. He not only took away the business , but was clever enough to take away the telephone number too. He transferred the American Oil number to his new office with Humble Oil. When customers tried to reach American, George answered, and took the orders for oil. He left ,,i,c:rican Oil c::.pcy-ha:Ided. .3tr:17.pcc:. This was the day Wendell Snow (our bishop, and district representative for American) called, and asked me to hello. Salesmen, auditors, credit men and truck drivers have been rushed to the scene from American's Boise, Spokane and Salt Lake offices. The American salesman made house to house calls to build up a customer list for fuel oil. Georce followed behind with his oil truck and filled their tanks, convincing them that they were buvi_nc 409409 - 40 9- from the same old company. But he filled one too many tanks. One woman phoned our new number. "George filled my oil tank. I told him to come and drain it, but he won't. What shall I do?" The auditor replied, "Use the oil, but don't pay for it. You didn't order it from him." Pressure has been brought to bear, and now George is delivering oil to us to replace what he had put in our customer's tanks.

October 21. The bulk plant is so far out of town, I take my lunch at noon and eat in a little park across the highway. I meet some interesting people there. American has hired a new truck driver. Today, after he had delivered fuil oil to the Assembly of God Church, he sat down thoughtfully in the office. "I ain't proud of it, but I ain't been to church in fifteen years only to a funeral," he said. "My mother-in-law is high up in the church, and I don't like religious people. My wife's folks are religious, and they fight and swear all of the time. My mother-in-law cusses and swears all week and takes charge at church on Sunday, and all of her kids profane, even the girls. They get up on Sunday morning and all start cussing each other, and their mother says, 'You blankety-blank kids, if you don't stop that blankety-blanksii,gon Sunday I'll blankety-blank you. "When I was a little kid, I sneaked into a church to see what they did, and I saw people's fannys oozing through the slats in the seats. I went out and got my buddies, and we put pins in the toes of our shoes. We went to church and sat on a back bench, and when the people all started praying, we jabbed them where they stuck through the benches, and they started hollering and the minister chased us out. "We broke up more than one church session. We found a church where the people all got down on the floor and hollered. In this church they kneeled and stooped with their head on the floor and their rear sticking up in the air. One big fat woman got down and whooped it up, and I couldn't stand not to jab her with the pin in the toe of my shoe. Each time I did it she raised up and swore like a sailor, and then she'd go down on the floor and pray again, and I'd jab her again. My dad found it out and tanned me so hard I ain't been back to church no more."

November 16. "I'm still on with American Oil. I was only hired for one week. At las-1-, they have replaced George. Eugene Conde from Richfield, Utah (a 1:o=c1-:) is the new distributor. He wants me to come back Monday. I've been coming back for just one more day for quite awhile. Lolene has a lead part in the school play. She gets up at 5:30 every morning to go to seminary, and she doesn't get home until six at night. LaVerkin, Utah, November 27. Hi Maw, I'm back in school and going at it. You won't think too much of the grade I pulled in chemistry and art, but the rest are almost good enough. In art I visit with the opposite sex too much. I auess I have to stit on the gick! You know, I sure wish I were there. It couldn't be much worse than being here without wheels. I sure miss having someone to walk with me when I am on shank ponies, and someone to talk to when I get lonely. When Iget too lonely, I get out my guitar and play. Mother, will you check and see if you can take me home with you at Christmas time See if the school will give me a makeup course for Wash. 410410 state history. Have them send for my transcript of credits and see if I can graduate and all that jazz, then write back and see if I still feel rotten. If I do, you'll have another baby to care for. You know, when I get home, I about go crazy because it too cold to go outside and too warm to sit around, so I go in and out, then down to the trailer to see Ann. I guess she is the only one who keeps me from flipping my lid. Well, I leave Ann's and go back to the house. Helen is still over to Hurricane, so I go outside again. Ann would think I was crazy if I came back so soon, so I go up and visit Aunt Ardella and talk with Leon. Well, I am restless, so I go back home and go mad like a darn old shut-in crouch. All of the Gubler family was here for Thanksgiving except you. Uncle Willy was here on the Isom side, along with all of the others except Uncle Clinton, who went to Enterprise. DeMar and Helen are home arguing about taxes , and if I played my guitar I couldn't concentrate--what-the heck. I have to cut out and go do something, and since it is too cold out, bawl, howl, waaa, I want to come home to Mama. I guess I have proven that I flipped. See you at Provo your next trip through the nut house. Lots of love, Terry Gubler. I was home alone when the mailman left this blue letter in our box. I wept. What stupid thing have I done? I have abdicated! I've run out on the most important things in my life--my children and home. For what? A man who thinks Ellensburg is too far away for him to come home at nights. Ellensburg is all of forty miles away. So he stays there and enjoys the evenings with his family, and I am here, my heart aching for mine. Ray and his boys, Paul and Ron are digging up the pipeline at the ranch, and the snow and heavy fog has detained them. And I'm playing Pollyana, being the bright gleam of sunshine when my husband comes home. I crow and chortle with glee over this "great experience, not confessing to a soul how homesick I am. When Lolene came home, she read Terry's letter and cried. Then she said, "It will be wonderful to have Terry with us. I know just how he feels." Terry's report card was good. No absent marks at all, and his trades showing honest effort.

November 30. Tonight when the phone rang, I answered, and the operator said, "This is long distance for Alice Sabin." "This is Alice," I replied. The operator said, "She's on the line. Go ahead." A little voice, far away, said, "Hello Grandma, this is Darwin." Astonished, I said, "Darwin, how are you (Long distance calls scare me into asking this, first of all "I'm all right. You know Grandma, you wrote us a letter and told us to paint you some pictures, and we don't have any crayons." That tickled me all over. "Does your Mama and Daddy know you called me?" "No, but we'll tell them. They have gone down town. Do you want to talk to Edwin and Nace?" "You bet." 411411 Mace said, "Hello, Grandma." "Hello, Mace, how did you kids know how to call me:" "Oh, that's easy," he said, "We've cot your number." Then Edwin came on the line. He was so cute, telling me about what he was doing in school. "Susan can't talk, because she's asleep in bed," he added. The phone suddenly clicked, and we were cut off. Ray, Lolene and I sat and laughed, because the whole thing was so cute. Tomorrow, I'll send them some crayons. I'm making a blue wool dress for Lolene. She is being initiated into the Thespian club tonight to honor her for her performance in the school pla y Lolene is being admitted to the Honor English group. Her teacher says this is something which rarely happens to a sophomore. Out of 1,500 students in Davis High, about 50 of them make it. It is the same with the Madrigal choir. They don't take sophomores in that group, but Lolene was put in it immediately. The Madrigal choir sang to a packed house at the As of Christian Churches Thanksgiving morning. Kathy writes to us each time Nornan and Ann writes. She takes lots of pains drawing little curlicues. Whatever she's trying to say, I like it. Ann and Helen have been wonderful to keep me posted on family news