Antiques and Ancestors

My two grandmothers were polar opposites. My grandmother Hansen—Imelda—was tall, thin, prim, and very proper. My other grandmother—Kristine—was blunt, well-built, more endearing than fussy and spoke broken English.

Imelda Christiana Miller

Both had hard lives—widowed in their 40s and having to support themselves for many years.

Imelda had been the oldest daughter of a prestigious family in Southern Utah. Her father was postmaster and Superintendent of the Schools. They were well-to-do and she grew up with many material advantages. They weren’t wealthy—no one was in pioneer days in Utah—but she had many advantages.

Kristine Amalia Mortensen

Kristine, on the other hand, was born in Denmark, the seventh of eight children. When her youngest

brother was born a year after her, both her brother and her mother died. Kristine eventually was taken in by her future husband’s mother Oline Larsen. Oline and her second husband, Jørgen Hannibal, raised Kristine. It was interesting that Kristine’s family in Denmark was not as dirt-poor as many of the pioneers, and her foster mother’s home was nice, and expensive portraits were made of the family members.

In Kristine’s life, the family was always important and photo portraits were shared with family on both sides of the Atlantic. They reflected a close-knit family that did not allow distance to truly separate themselves from each other.

Kristine's grape arbor

Kristine's chair

Whenever I think of Kristine, I think of a shadowed grape arbor, black currents, an Adirondack chair and many flowers.

Imelda also loved flowers and had peonies, roses, coral bells, and

many other “showy” flowers.

Both of my grandmothers loved to sew and crochet and were very domestic. Both loved to garden.

Float from Imelda's giftshop in parade

Both were entrepreneurial. After Imelda’s husband died, Imelda opened a gift shop, where she sold jewelry, gifts, candy, and souvenirs.

Kristine's "Dream Book"

Kristine at one time self-published a book, “Hannibal Dream Book” by K. A. Hannibal. Hannibal was her foster mother’s 2^nd husband’s name, and I think she used it because she didn’t want to use her own name.

Shakers

When I think of Imelda, I look at some of the fine things she left me--a silver-plate salt and pepper shaker her children gave her, a shell-doll that she must have sold in her gift shop. I also have a carnival glass tea set given to me by Imelda’s younger sisters. They had collected all these nice treasures for their hope chests and when they were old and unmarried, they gave away them away to their family members getting married, of which I was a one. Every time I look at the tea set, I think of the hopes and dreams that they put it aside with, and which they then gave to me as a wedding gift.

Carnival glass tea set given me by Imelda's sisters

Imelda was a fine seamstress and a dressmaker who loved fine clothes and hats. Her husband, Willy, sold one of his horses in the 1910s to purchase Imelda a new singer treadle sewing machine. I have it now and treasure it because Imelda taught me to sew, and I too love to sew as Imelda did.

Doily from Kristine

Kristine’s health was never very good, but she crocheted many things to sell during her life. She made me a delicate white crocheted dress that I wore as a toddler, many hotplates, table runners, crochet heart-shaped pillows and many other things.

All these items represent Imelda’s love of fine things, of linen tablecloths and cloth napkins and fine china. Not at all what you’d expect in a pioneer home in small-town Monroe, Utah.

Candlesticks of Kristine's

The items I have from Kristine are hand-crochet doilies, a Danish-style blue cross-stitch small tablecloth, and a simple bowl and candle holder. I know that Kristine made me several white crocheted dresses that I and my sisters wore as girls. I also remember a heart-shaped a satin pillow covered in crochet that was always in her room.

Kristine’s things were well-crafted but utilitarian items, and nothing of great value.

For years while Kristine was bed-bound, she crocheted items to sell in her small town of Corinne. 

One of Kristine’s greatest treasures were several scrapbooks of poems, stories, and quotes pasted onto paper.

In the front of the book, all the articles are in English, which Kristine was very proficient in, but in

the back were poems and articles in Danish, beautifully handwritten in Kristine’s beautiful script.

Although Kristine spoke with a heavy Danish accent, she loved poetry and literature and wanted to review her favorites often. I can see her reading them to her children to encourage and uplift them. She wasn’t well-educated, but she was very well-read and knowledgeable.

In the early years, Kristine’s Danish family sent a fancy doll to Kristine’s family, which was very dear to them. It was something that apparently, they couldn’t afford for themselves.

Imelda's sewing machine

Imelda had been a seamstress and dressmaker long before she married, and she prided herself on her fine workmanship. In the early years of their marriage, Imelda’s husband, Willy, sold a horse to purchase a Singer treadle sewing machine. Imelda taught me to sew, a favorite hobby of mine, so her treasured sewing machine in a wooden cabinet is a special remembrance of her.

Kristine’s love of family was shown during World War II, after her husband’s death, when they were so poor. Nevertheless, they always tried to send food and clothes to her family left behind in Denmark where conditions were often so much worse, especially after the war.

Genealogy sheet

It is interesting that both of my grandparents loved genealogy and family history. Imelda spent years researching names of family members, both her Miller line and her husband’s Hansen line, and in taking them to the temple. In her later years when she lived with Aunt Wilma, Imelda would go into Salt Lake City to the Family History Library where she would search microfilm to record individuals in family group sheets. Her carefully recorded notes list where she found each piece of information. She was very proud of her membership in the Genealogical Society of Utah. 

Kristine and her family often sent money to Denmark to research information on the family and put together the names for the temple work, but the family history records that I have are in Kristine’s husband’s name and handwriting.

It is interesting that Imelda and Kristine were only two years apart in age—Imelda was born in 1885 and Kristine in 1887.

Imelda in her sixties

Kristine in her sixties

Imelda died of heart problems and a stroke in 1960, at  the age of 75 years old, while Kristine died in 1952 at the age of 65 years old, of heart problems and cancer.

Two ladies so alike, and yet so different!

My Mother

Many times I cried when Mothers’ Day came around because I felt so guilty that I wasn't a “good enough” mother—wishing that I could be a better mother. Now my children are all grown and most have children of their own. Now I can see past my own inadequacies of motherhood, and I can enjoy Mother’s Day again. Today, I can recall my own mother and reflect on her traits and what a good mother she was.

My Mother

My mother was a very soft-spoken woman, with a gentleness that was obvious to all. She never yelled at her children, but we always felt guilty that we had disappointed her when we did something wrong or we didn't meet her expectations. She was a very intelligent woman and very creative and imaginative. She would often tell us stories that kept us waiting breathlessly for the end.

She painted landscape pictures and you could sit next to her while she painted and talk to her and she’d never rush you to finish your questions or thoughts. She patiently waited until you got up your courage to say what you wanted to say (or to ask). Then she answered thoughtfully. You could talk to her about anything. Sometimes when she was painting a scene, she would get frustrated with how it was going and say, “I’m going to burn this whole mountainside up and do something else with it.” Then with a couple of strokes of her brush, all the trees, would disappear, and she’d ask you what you thought should grow there, and she’d begin to create another 
type of scene. Once she painted a beautiful valley, but then put a bank of fog over the bottom of the valley so you couldn't see what was there. I used to ask her what was under the cloud and she’d say, “You decide what you think is under the cloud. Is it as lake? Is it a forest? It is a meadow? What do you want it to be?” I liked that painting the most because I could imagine anything underneath the fog.

Once, I convinced my youngest sister (13 years younger than me) that if you knew the magic words and said them three times as you twirled around, you could fly into the picture and find out what was beneath the fog. I found out later that she tried for years to do that! She had believed me.

Mother was a very spiritual person. She had great faith and love for others. She always looked for the underdog—the person left out or one who seemed to feel uncomfortable, and then she’d go up and talk to them and make them feel welcome. She was not comfortable in leadership positions or speaking in public. She had grown up in a Danish immigrant household, and had quit high school to work as the school janitor to support her family so she had never gotten her high school diploma. In many ways she felt “inferior” to others, but in the ways that matter, she was very competent, intelligent, loving and very thoughtful of others.

She would never gossip about others, and would never listen to others gossip. It was something she

Mother

didn’t tolerate. She always said kind things about others, and was never judgmental. She was always saying how nice someone’s dress was or how she enjoyed their talk, or complimented them on little things.

My mother was about five foot seven feet tall, slender, with naturally curly dark hair. (Since I am five foot two inches, I always felt very envious.) She loved the outdoors and especially hiking. My dad worked at Hill Air Force Base in Utah and got off work about 3:30 p.m. so she’d often make a packed dinner in the summer and we’d go up to Mueller Canyon with our lunch when Dad got home, and hike the trails until we ate our packed dinner. Now Mueller Canyon (which is less than four miles from our old home) is a state or county park and costs $10.00 a car to get into plus a permit to eat there. But back then it was something we did all the time—and we loved to do it.

My mother wasn't perfect—she had a temper—and my

Grandmother Hansen

Grandmother Hansen, her mother-in-law, could bring it out. One time we had all gone down to Bryce Canyon with Grandmother Hansen.  We were all so excited to hike down the canyon, because to us, that was the best part of the trip. Dad was carrying my three-year-old sister, Janet, on his shoulders, and mother was preparing six-month-old Will for the hike. That was when Grandmother Hansen hit the roof! I don’t recall the actual words that were said, but the meaning was clean—ladies don’t climb down mountains with tiny babies. Babies are too fragile to be dragged down trails in the heat and dust! Mother tried to explain that they did it all the time—they loved to do it. Grandmother stood firm; mother would hike down the canyon with Will over her dead body!

I remember watching the altercation with wide frightened eyes. My quiet, soft-spoken mother never got upset. She never argued with anyone over anything. I’d often wished she would stand up to my father, who was very domineering and overbearing, but she never demurred. Yet, here she was standing up to Grandmother Hansen.  I looked to my father to see if he would support mother or grandmother; he mumbled something about his mother being right. Mother and grandmother strode angrily went back to the car with tiny baby Will.

I can’t remember much about the hike. I’m sure everyone else had a wonderful time, but all I could

Bryce Canyon

think about was what was happening in the car at the rim of the canyon. Was Grandmother yelling at Mother like my father always did when someone disagreed with him? Was Mother crying? Was it hot in the car? Was the baby crying? Finally we got back to the top and I ran to the car.

Mother and Grandmother sat there silently starring out the front window. Little Will was asleep on the back seat. I was afraid to ask anything at the time, just gave Mother a big hug and told her all about the hike. Later I found out that she and Grandmother had sat there without speaking the whole time we were gone.  I gained a lot of respect for my mother that day!

My mother had her first bout with cancer when I was 14 years old, right after Will was born. She gave birth to my youngest sister Ann three years later. She had her second mastectomy when I was 18 years old, and she never recovered. The last two years of her life were very difficult and she passed away when I was 20 years old. I was one of the three oldest children. My oldest brother was married and had a baby, and my next oldest brother served a two-and-a-half-year mission to Denmark, but he was home and just married when Mother died. My four younger siblings, ages 17, 14, 11, and almost eight-years of age when Mother died don’t have the many memories of mother that we older siblings had.

My sisters (from left), Ann, Coleen, Janet, myself with my dad

One of the hardest thing about being a mother was not having a mother I could call for advice when I had questions about mothering. That was the same, I am sure, for my three sisters, also. So we at times called each other and asked how to do things. As the oldest mother with the oldest children, I had to blaze the way. It was no easier for any of us sisters because we never lived near each other while our children were growing up, so we had no one to share the problems of motherhood with. Even the two times my husband served in Vietnam, and I went home to Utah to have a baby each time he was overseas, my older sisters were living elsewhere, and my youngest sister was a teenager. So I didn’t have a husband, a mother, or even sisters with me when I delivered my babies—but I did have my Aunt Ruth, my mother’s sister, who was very dear to me.

My dad and my mother

I am not very much like my mother in some ways; I am loud where she was soft-spoken. She was calm, and I am hyperactive. She had a peaceful spirit about her, and I definitely don’t. But we both love the Lord and have faith. We both love to hike, and read, and tell stories, and do things with our children. We are both creative in different ways—she loved to paint and I love to write. We both love music. 

We are both mothers who tried the best to be good mothers.