Computers are Miraculous!

I love computers! I think they are the most outstanding invention of our century. But then I am an

Howdy Doody 

early adopter of technology! My father had one of the earlier televisions in the Wasatch Front, back in 1950 when there was only one station---KSL channel 5. I remember watching Howdy Dowdy on it when I was only six years old. Maybe that was why I love technology!

My Trusty Apple II-E

I worked with the first “computer” in 1982 when I took a basic programming class from Enterprise State Jr. College. It was very basic, but I remember making stick people who waved as well as mathematical computations and other things. It was not made for personal computers, mind you, but for main-frame computers, which were the only thing available at the time.

In 1984 we moved to Vicenza, Italy and it was there we purchased the first “personal computer”—an Apple II-E. I loved it even though it didn’t have a hard drive, but had to boot up with large 5 ½ inch floppies, and then run from other floppies. I used it mainly for word processing and kept my journal on it and many other writings, including letters from 1985 on. All my letters to my oldest son, Marlowe while he was on his mission to the Rome, Italy Mission were written on it. And my journal entries from 1985 to 1990.

Computers can also do things you are too cowardly to do. It was on that Apple II-E, I wrote to my father telling him I was pregnant with my fifth child, when I was in my 40s. I called my sisters and my Aunt Ruth (my mother’s sister) to tell them about my newest addition to my family, but I didn’t dare tell my Dad. Why?

My Father who I notified by computer about
about my late-life baby and My Deceased Mother
whose example I followed

My Dad had always thought it was because Mother had her seventh child, my youngest sister Ann, after having breast cancer, which weakened her so she had her second bout of breast cancer when Ann was a baby. Mother died of metastatic cancer when she was 48. I had had breast cancer six years before I became pregnant with my “40s baby,” and I could imagine Dad yelling at me at telling me I was killing myself having a baby at my age if I called him; so I copped out and sent him a letter written on my trusty Apple II-E and he had time to adjust before he wrote me back. And I am still alive to tell the story.

My children used it for games. I recall that my oldest, Marlowe, bought a computer game based on the book, The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. However, he’d left his book in storage in Alabama, so when he played the game, he couldn’t remember the answers. So Marlowe did the logical thing--he hacked into the program and discovered the answers, popped back out and put the answer in. (I think that’s called using a “cheat sheet” long before there were “cheat sheets.”)

We brought back the Apple II-E we moved back to the Chicago in 1987 and used it even when we lived in Sacramento, California. But when we moved to Centerville, Utah in 1990, and the Personal Computer was becoming ubiquitous, the Apple II-E wasn’t good enough, I had to have a PC. Luckily I had a step-brother who helped me convert all my Apple files into Windows files so I didn’t lose any of my precious files.

It was then I started using WordPerfect for word processing when I started working soon after we moved here. I loved WordPerfect, and I subscribed to a magazine that helped me learn all the tips and tricks of WordPerfect and later Word--or word processing, another love.

In 1993, I started working for the editorial offices of the Liahona magazine. It was an international magazine published in 40+ languages and I worked as liaison between the editorial and production/design departments. All of the people in our office used MacIntosh (Apple) computers, but I also communicated and converted files from all the translation offices throughout the world and they all used PCs; so I was using both PCs and MacIntoshes!!! I loved them both.

Liahona Magazine where I worked
with both PCs and MACs

I was always trying to learn new technology and I even learned Databases; I created a program to track all correspondence that came into the office, through all the processes, until it was rejected, answered or purchased for publication. Those purchased would then be tracked through the publication process. If anyone had any problems with their computer, I loved to solve their problems.

In 2000, My husband was working for the Davis School District as a School Technology Specialist (teaching teachers how to use technology) when a new opening came for another STS. He and my middle-school son Bryan convinced me I wanted to work for the school district so I’d have the same working schedule (including school vacation) as they did. I applied and got the job.

Working as an STS was fascinating because it was two jobs in one—I was a computer trouble-shooter; if a computer had problems, I had to fix it. Often I was intrigued by the puzzle and loved to figure out what was going on and why. Then I figured out how to solve it. I was much more comfortable with software problems than hardware problems. My husband loved to get into the computer hardware and dissect it. I was trained to do that, but it intimidated me. I much preferred de-coding the software to find the problem.

The second part of my job (and the most important) was teaching the teachers how to use the many types of technology that is now available for them to use!
 

I loved learning how to use everything that was available from projectors in each classroom, to interactive computer games to teach children, and everything in between. I loved learning all the software as well as tablets, phones, laptops, podcasts, electronic storytelling, Photoshop Elements, etc. I could go on forever. All of these items just made teaching fun!!!!!

I have always loved using computers for writing; it simplifies and makes writing faster and easier. Whenever I think of writing with my crippled arthritic hands, I bless my computer. Whenever I remember the ubiquitous, “wonderful” (then) but obsolete typewriters, I want to kiss my computer and my laptop. You can erase and redo and rewrite at the speed of light with computers.

But my favorite thing to do with a computer is something I’ve been

The page in the parish record showing my great-great-great
grandmother's christening in Denmark

doing for over sixty years—genealogy research and family history. To be able to research original parish records in Danish on the internet with a computer is like flying to that country in a second. To look through the original ancient parish records is to see your ancestors’ lives come alive in front of you. No microfilm, or microfiche to tediously scroll through hoping not to get dizzy; because with the computer, the records are indexed.

The same grandmother's grave and headstone in
St. Joseph's Cemetery, Logandale, Clark
County, Nevada in the Great Muddy

You want to know about your great-great-great grandmother Ingeborg Christina Jespersdatter born in Vester-Marie, on the Island of Bornholm, Denmark in 1802, you put her name in the search box, and within minutes you are looking at the record of her birth, baptism, confirmation, vaccination, engagement and marriage in the parish record. It shows when her first husband died and she married again, was baptized into the Mormon Church and immigrated to Utah and died in Nevada. It is truly like going back in time and meeting your ancestors.

My dad used a computer until he died—even if it was just playing Solitaire. I guess I will be playing with technology (but NOT solitaire) until I am too old to use my hands—but by then it will be voice-activated software like “Dragon” software that decodes your voice and translates it into type. But technology makes life fun. At least it will keep my mind active and I can keep up with my grandchildren, and my great-grandchildren. 

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. 

Visits from Heaven

My Danish grandmother, Grandma Hendrickson, lived 18 years after her husband died. She

My Grandmother Hendrickson who said her deceased husband comforted her 

was poor and in very poor health during those years, with most of their 10 children to raise alone. She didn’t speak English as well as he had, and she suffered from increasingly more severe anxiety attacks which gradually developed into Agoraphobia. My aunt who lived with her for many years said that sometimes in the most difficult years, Grandmother said the spirit of her husband “visited” her and she could feel his spirit comforting for an hour or so. She never saw him or was able to talk to him, but just feeling his spirit near her calmed and consoled her, and helped her face her troubles more bravely.


One of the times I knew he had planned ahead for me was such a little thing, but it meant so very much. The last four or five months of Ed’s life were very difficult. He was in hospitals and in ICU a lot of the time; he lost 30 to 40 pounds and was very weak. But towards the end, around November and December, they were able to identify one of the infections that had laid him low, and he had got a little bit better. Around Thanksgiving we flew to Los Angeles to consult with his lung specialists there and he perked up a bit. The two weeks before Christmas, he was the best he’d been in six months and he was able to go to Costco and Cabella’s and ride the carts there and do a little shopping.

He kept saying he wanted to buy me a nice dress for our anniversary (which fell on Thanksgiving that year), and later insisted he wanted to buy me a nice outfit for me for Christmas. But there was never time, and he just was never up to it. So it never happened.

Photo of our grandson, James (Elder VanderMeyden)
skyping on Christmas Day

Three days before Christmas he caught the flu and became critically ill. He refused to go into the hospital until he was able to “Skype” with his missionary grandson in Costa Rica (missionaries can call home only twice a year—on Mother’s Day and on Christmas). Ed was able to skype with all his grandchildren and children in Nashville, Tennessee; Issaquah, Washington; and Chicago, Illinois, as well as visit with the children and grandchildren who lived locally. The day after Christmas Ed was too sick to even stand up and my youngest son carried him into the car and I took him to the hospital. The following day he was so sick they had to intubate him and put him on a respirator. He died about 10 days later.

My daughters insisted on was taking me down to my favorite dress store and helping me find a nice dress for the viewing and one for the funeral. They kept reminding me that these were the dresses that Ed had wanted to get me for my anniversary and Christmas, so I was just doing what he wanted. But later I thought I really should not have spent the money on clothes for me when there were so many other expenses to be met.

After the funeral, we were going through Ed’s things and sorting which of Ed’s things to see which things needed to be given to charity and which things other people could use.
My daughter Diana opened a “Mag-light” case in Ed’s drawer and gasped, “Mom, there is money in here.” She counted it and said, “Mom, you won’t believe it but the amount here is exactly what you paid for your dresses, less about $10.00 or $15.00.”

I was immediately suspicious and thought that one of my more well-to-do children had overheard my comments about my regrets about spending the money on the funeral dresses, and had “left” the money to be found as a gift for me. I was blaming the box of money on this child or that child and feeling like they were taking pity on me, when my older daughter, Athena, who lives near us walked into the room.

Here I am wearing one of the outfits 

Ed had bought for me posthumously 

“Oh, you found Dad’s stash of emergency money,” she said. “Before you went to California in November he got some money out of the bank and put it in the “mag-light” box in his drawer. He wanted to leave some emergency money for Bryan (our youngest son who lives in our house with us) but he didn’t want to leave it in the regular places he normally puts it because Bryan then finds an emergency to use it. He put in more than usual because he didn’t know how long you’d be in Los Angeles.”

When Athena counted how much money was in the box she was shocked how closely it matched the amount I had paid for my dresses.

“Well, it looks like Dad left you the money to buy you the dresses he never got to buy you for your anniversary and for Christmas,” Diana said.

You never know when and how Ed’s influence will be felt. Our youngest son, Bryan, was performing as the lead in a play, “Is He Dead” at the local community theater at the time Ed died. The play is a comedy about 

Bryan (left) in the newspaper’s publicity
photo of “Is He Dead?”

death, and funerals, and at one point in the show, Bryan even jumps up on the coffin and dances on it. It was hard for Bryan to perform after Ed’s death so all of the family who were there for the funeral went to the show he was doing for the first time after Ed’s death to support him and let him know we were there for him.

Bryan did really well, and at intermission, we all gathered together, and just as Ed had always done, everyone started critiquing the play and pointing out the best parts of the show. It wasn’t done in a mean spirit—it was just what our family of performers had always done and what Ed had taught them to do! I looked around at them talking about the performance, and I suddenly felt Ed was right there critiquing it right with them—just as he was with all of us seeing Bryan’s show and supporting Bryan in this difficult time.

Diana who sang "I Did It My Way" for Ed

Our daughter Diana is a skilled and talented vocalist and when Ed had planned his funeral he had written that he wanted Diana to sing “I Did It My Way.” Diana had wondered how she could sing it without crying, but she had prepared and prayed that she would be able to get through it; she wanted to sing it like Ed wanted it sung. And so she did. But we all felt as she stood up there singing—perfectly just as he wanted—that Ed was up there holding her and supporting her so she could perform it as he wanted her to. She was not alone up there at the pulpit. He was there with her.

 One last experience that I want to share. Last week I talked to one of Ed’s church friends who usually sat with Ed in the back row of their High Priest Quorum class each Sunday. He was saying how much he missed Ed’s teasing, joking and saying funny things to liven up the class.

“This Sunday in high priest class, we passed around a signup sheet for a work project. Those who could help were instructed to sign their names and phone numbers on the paper,” he said. “But instead of writing their name, someone had just written on the line instead of their name, ‘yes,’ indicating their willingness to help, but not letting anyone know who they were. As I looked at it, I knew that was the type of joke Ed would have done if he had been in class, so I marked him present on the class roll.”

Where do spirits go after they die? I know they are busy in paradise, but I think sometimes, they get a chance to visit with us, to uplift us and to strengthen us—or sometimes, to just joke a little to remind us of them. 

In Memoriam
Edward O. Dayley
4 April 1941-8 January 2015

“Where Did I Put That?”

As we age, we tend to lose things more than before, but I began to lose things years ago. Maybe that’s because I began to lose my mind years ago.

I still get frustrated when I can’t find something—especially if I have just put it down. One

thing I always lose are my glasses. Therefore I have decided to put them in a special place on my china case, which is right inside our house, whether you come in from the upstairs or downstairs. However they still go missing.

Before we had to move to Los Angeles for nine months a few years ago I made a master plan of my house, put alphabetic stickers on everything which could hold anything (where it couldn’t be seen) and made a map with matching alphabetic keys which told what was in each storage area. I thought then I could remember what was in each storage area while I was gone. Then if I needed something, I could call my son who was living in the house and say, “Send me the ___________ which is the drawer labeled “EE” in my dressing room.

It worked well enough until I lost the map with the key.

When I got back, I started rearranging things and there went my plan. I found most of the time I can’t find stuff is right after I’ve gone through stuff, gotten rid of stuff and reorganized things. (There, family, I do go through and get rid of things—you thought I never did.)

For the first while after I’ve rearranged things, I can’t remember where the new thing belongs!!!

I have decided there are four reasons things disappear in my house:

1. My youngest son: He hides them to frustrate me. No, he is not a child—he is 27 years old, but he likes to tease me and move my glasses or purse just to see how frustrated I can get. I admit this isn’t often, but it does happen.

• The worst thing he did was not on purpose. We had gone to L. A. for medical reasons and I’d stopped the mail and paper so he wouldn’t have to deal with it. My husband ended up in the hospital and we stayed 10 days longer than we’d planned so I called and told him to put the mail in a pile on the kitchen table.
• 
  
• We came home, I went through the mail and paid the bills. The next month I got dunned for a bill I hadn’t seen the while we were gone. I asked my son about it, and he led me to another stash of mail that hadn’t made it out of the basement and was buried under his clothes. It contained the bill I hadn’t paid.
• 
  
• The worst thing he claimed wasn't his fault at all. He was borrowing my laptop at night when I was using it during the day at the hospital while my husband was hospitalized. One morning I was in a rush to go to the hospital and I could find the laptop in one place, the power cord in another and no sign of the cord. He'd already gone to work and I couldn't reach him. 
• 
  
• I texted him, "where is my mouse?" and left for the hospital. When I got to the hospital I got his text, "It is on top of the cabinet." Now remember he is 6 feet 2 inches tall and I am five feet 2 inches tall. Would I ever find a mouse on the top of a cabinet? He hasn't used my laptop since. 

2. My oldest daughter: She comes to my house and cleans and everything left out goes

into a box and into a closet. I usually try to straighten up before she comes because anything that is left out is fair game for her. She just puts it into a box for me to put away “at my leisure.” 

But then I can’t find the box with my purse, keys, glasses, and the important papers that I was working on when she came. She has to come and tell me where the treasure box is hiding out. But I appreciate her help with cleaning more than the hassle of finding the stuff she puts away, so she’s a keeper cleaner.

3. Curse of the Gadianton Robbers: We live in the Last Days, which has been prophesied as a day when wickedness will be prevalent that no one will be able to hold onto their treasures. The Book of Mormon scriptures mention that the people will be so wicked that the land will be cursed so no one can find their treasures: I don’t envision robbers coming to steal my stuff. Neither is the stuff I can’t find real “treasures” except to me, but when I can’t find something important I remember the curse upon the land that makes all things “slippery.”

• “Helaman 13:34: Behold, we lay a tool here and on the morrow it is gone; and behold, our swords are taken from us in the day we have sought them for battle.”
• 
  
•  Book of Mormon 1: 18 “And these Gadianton robbers, who were among the Lamanites, did infest the land, insomuch that the inhabitants thereof began to hide up their treasures in the earth; and they became slippery, because the Lord had cursed the land, that they could not hold them, nor retain them again.”

4. IL Folletto: When we lived in Italy years ago, I studied Italian at the University and through a conversation Italian class taught by the dearest Italian lady, Angela Buvoli. She taught us all about the customs, history, culture, folklore and other things about Italy that we’d never learn in a book. She told us the story of Il Folletto.

• The dictionary says a folletto is an elfin, elf-like, mischievous, playful, sprightly, genie, gremlin, or pixie.
• 
  
•  Wikipedia’s explanation is not as innocent: “The folletto is a legendary creature typical of the folk tradition generally depicted as being a small, joker, agile and elusive, able to fly and become invisible. In folklore European shares similar characteristics with . . . the brownies , the puck, the goblin and leprechaun .Lives in burrows in the woods especially conifers or at the homes of men, courtyards and barns. Almost always comes out only at night to have fun doing mischief to the beasts of the stables and mess up the hair of beautiful women, cluttering agricultural tools and household objects”

4. La Signora Buvoli’s Folletto: Her idea of a folletto was a tiny mischievous elf who lived inside the house and was attracted to shiny objects. He came out at night and would sometimes take with him shiny objects that were lying around the house, especially if they were not put away. However, the folletto was attracted to millet (grain) and if you left a little bowl out of him, he would get busy counting the grains of millet and leave your items alone. 

So you could fool him by putting your things away correctly in their drawers, shelves, etc. all the time, or leave a bowl of millet out for him to count. Then he wouldn’t steal your items away and you’d never find them—or you’d find them in a new place, when he decided to return them.

So, who is the real culprit when I lose something and can’t find it? 

Perhaps all of the above, but I admit I am most likely the biggest culprit for not putting things away where they should have put it away, and for trying to find new ways to organize things. And of course, my poor memory.