My Dad

I'd like to introduce you to one of the smartest people I know...my dad! I know he's smart because he married my mom. (He's also smart in other ways.) He's a quiet man, who talks a lot more once he knows someone well, but still talks less than most people.

My dad was a marine briefly, and after he left the marines, he went into civil service and worked on the base. When I was a kid, I thought my dad could fix anything. He was a heavy duty mechanic when I was young, and later was trained to be a radar maintenance technician. Some of my earliest memories involve visiting him on the base in San Diego. I remember looking out the back window at these tall men in uniforms who smiled at me as we drove through the gates. I also remember sitting in some kind of cafe on base with my dad and my mom, eating french fries with tons of ketchup. Everyone was so nice to me that I thought my dad must be really important. I stole my dad's french fries when he wasn't looking.

Later, when he was attending a community college near our home in 29 Palms, I remember driving to the college to pick him up once when the wind was blowing really hard, I think because he was worried about riding his motorcycle in the strong winds. When we returned home, the wind had blown part of our roof off and bent our CB antenna on the house. I remember worrying about my dad who I could hear walking around on the roof that night, trying to do some damage control.

I have been impressed with him all my life for his careful, thoughtful manner. He didn't get mad easily, but when he did get mad, watch out! It seemed like his eyes would change from blue to green when he was mad.

From my dad, I learned to love and respect motorcycles. I learned from him to clean the top of the refrigerator, how to peel potatoes, that a kitchen wasn't clean if you just washed the dishes...you had to wipe off the stove and clean the counters. He instilled in me to change my oil frequently...so much so that when my car's indicator tells me it's time to change my oil, I get extremely upset if I go past the indicated mileage and envision my car melting down in the middle of the highway from lack of maintenance. My dad also taught me to be a critical thinker...just because television or the news says it's so, doesn't mean it is. He taught me to be realistic and pragmatic. Life is hard, and most of the time, life doesn't work out the way you want it to, but that doesn't mean you should just give up.

My dad loved electronics...any technology in fact. He always wanted the most recent technological toys. He started his own repair and sales business for electronics and CB radios. His shop was in our garage in our back yard. I remember working with my dad in his shop when I had a science fair coming up. My dad helped me to make a sound synthesizer. I learned how to read a schematic, all about circuit boards, how to solder, what makes switches work, and all sorts of other things about electronics. My dad also taught me basic programming.

My dad was always a hard worker. He spent his time supporting his family and doing home and car repairs. He had a lot of strength, too. I remember one holiday when my parents were making turkey, my dad took the turkey out of the oven and the pan collapsed. Hot oil and liquid spilled onto his legs and feet. He carefully put the turkey back into the oven, closed the oven door, and walked to the bathroom where he filled up the tub with cold water and ice and took care of his injuries. I don't remember him saying a word during the accident. I'm sure it hurt terribly.

These days, my dad is retired from civil service. He still works part time at a tire shop and still fixes things. He looks after my mom. He and my mom go every Sunday to the continuing care to visit their friends who live there, to play games and to talk. He is a wonderful father, and I love him very much!

Eternal Things

This week has been EFY at home - meaning that instead of the kids traveling to Utah or somewhere else, they stay here in Fresno and have the same program but sleep at home every night. There are classes, scripture study, singing, games, fun, dancing...they keep the kids so busy that they come home exhausted and happy. So from 9a to 9p, Joe and Kelly have been spending their time at the West Stake Center.

Dropping them off every day and picking them up every night is so much fun, mostly because I get to see our beautiful temple every day. The people who take care of the grounds of the temple do such an amazing job! And it lifts my heart to know the good work that takes place inside those well-loved walls. I think of all the people who work to make our small little temple so beautiful and pleasant, but mostly I am grateful to the Lord that he saw fit to give our area its own temple. I remember driving with the kids every week to the temple grounds as it was being built. I have a photo of the kids (Kelly and Joe) turning over a shovel-full of dirt for the temple. We would go to the temple every Sunday after church to see what progress had been made. I remember watching with Kelly, Joe, and Laine (who was just a baby) as the angel Moroni was put on the top of the spire. And I remember vividly the dedication of the temple, and seeing the prophet Gordon B Hinckley, the only prophet I had ever seen in person. I also remember visiting the temple grounds and doing sessions in the midst of one of the most difficult periods of my life, and the peace and love I felt there.

I'm looking forward to Laine turning twelve on July 5th. She will be old enough to visit the temple for the first time and do baptisms for the dead. Then I will be able to be within the walls of the temple with three of my children! (Well, four if Erin and Nick were closer!) I imagine how it will be when all four of the younger group can attend. I think of Erin and Nick getting sealed someday soon. I think of the blessings of doing temple work for our families, of which there is a LOT to do since I am the only member on my side of the family, and the kids' father's side has a lot to be done as well. The blessing of the gospel and the atonement of Christ is that we get to be together as a family eternally if we repent, endure to the end, and believe!

I attended the missionary farewell this last Tuesday. President and Sister Gonzales are going home, and they and several of the missionaries bore testimonies at the meeting. I was really touched by the last elder, who said that the atonement means everything to him, and to be able to share what Christ has done for all of us with the people in his mission area has meant the world. Really, all the things that we have going on in our lives, all the little frustrations and difficulties mean very little unless we let all these things improve our focus on Jesus and his atoning sacrifice. This is why the world was created...to bring all of God's children home to him.

I am so grateful for this knowledge, and the blessings of the gospel in my life. I love my Savior and I pray that he will help me become more like him. I also hope that he will touch the hearts of everyone I love and help them find their way to him. Have a truly wonderful day!

My Grandfather: Isidore Arthur Vermette

This is a photo of my Grandmother, Agnes and my Grandfather, Isidore. I never called them that, though...to me they were always Memere and Pepere.

Pepere never finished school, but I still think he was a genius. He could fix nearly anything, make nearly anything. Some of my fondest memories were watching him work with wood and make lovely things for my grandmother. I also enjoyed watching him weld, though I was not allowed to get too close during that process to protect my eyes.

He made one room houses into large homes. He fixed vehicles and altered them when necessary. He made at least one mobile home that I know of. When I was young, he made me a dollhouse and a nightstand, both of which I loved immensely. He couldn't sit still to save his life.

He was a prankster to the extreme and loved to "get" people. He was also a fantastic storyteller with a great sense of humor. He read Reader's Digest faithfully (and left it on the back of the toilet along with Guideposts so the rest of us could enjoy it, too!). He was lovable, but also fiercely tempered. I learned early on not to make him mad or break any rules around him. He was one of the hardest workers I knew. He could swear in two languages. He always knew how to do everything, and felt free to tell you how to do it.

He was a Catholic, and attended church every Sunday he could. His favorite hymn was "How Great Thou Art" and I loved to hear him sing it.

He and my grandmother raised six children...four girls, and two boys. Their names are Jeannette, Rita, Gloria (my mom), Richard, Norman and Susan. His biggest fights were with my Uncle Norman, their disabled son who lived with them their whole lives. Both were stubborn as mules.

When they were older, Pepere loved to watch HSN with my grandmother and buy her little trinkets. When my grandmother was at the end of her life, he cared for her the best he knew how, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.

He was imperfect and riddled with faults and failings, and blessed with many talents. I love him with all my heart.

(Those cabinets behind my grandfather were built by him.) He died April 4, 2006, 4 years after his sweetheart died. He was 89 years old.

Is that Annie Oakley?

My mom recently posted this photo of my grandmother on facebook. I was so surprised when I saw it. I thought I knew everything there was to know about my grandmother. Needless to say, her life still holds a few surprises.

My grandparents moved to Twentynine Palms about 1942, and lived for a time in the Joshua Tree National Monument (now the Joshua Tree National Park). The home they lived in initially had no roof, and I grew up on stories about wild horses peeking over the walls and stealing food from the windowsills. My mother and her siblings sleeping on cots outdoors (because it was cooler than in the house), and awakening to discover coyotes sniffing them. Great stories that made my imagination run wild!

I knew life was tough for them. They lost everything in a fire on their way to Twentynine Palms. They were already blessed with many children by that point, and apparently to get by, my grandparents would shoot rabbits to help feed the family. Look at that monster! It's huge! And I never even knew or suspected that my grandmother could handle a gun...she was about four foot eleven inches tall first thing in the morning. She was kind hearted, practical, and had a great sense of humor. Apparently she was also a great shot!

This summer, I picked up a gun for the first time and after receiving some gun safety tips, had my first attempts at firing the gun. I had to overcome some fear at first. My 13 year old cousin Stephen was accidentally shot through the head by his best friend when I was about 15, so I've always been a little terrified of guns. Yet when I picked it up and fired, I discovered I was calm, cool, and collected, and a pretty darn good shot myself. Maybe in addition to inheriting my grandmother's voice, I also inherited her shooting ability! Still, you won't find me out shooting rabbits anytime soon.