Perspectives

“A child on a farm sees a plane fly overhead and dreams of a faraway place. A traveler on the plane sees the farmhouse — and dreams of home.” Carl Burns

I have a new camera so I have been taking online classes on how to use it. One of the first lessons was on lighting. I had Ed sit on a chair by the window and I took close-up pictures of him from every angle with the light coming from the window. The photos showed how the natural light from the window reflected the shadows on his face as it struck his face from various angles. When his face was completely backlit from the window, I took photos of his face in shadow, then turned on the flash to make it fill-flash the shadows.




Each picture looked different from the other, both in technique, and in mood. (I have not retouched the lighting with Photoshop or other programs.)

But what this exercise made me think about was how we look at things –our perspective—colors our view of life. We all know this is true from asking two people to describe the same encounter or meeting; we receive two different descriptions of the same thing. They see the same experience through the prism of their own understandings, their past. Also, their attitude at the time, for good or bad, colors the incidence colors for good or bad. Even the basic personality of the person influences an incidence tremendously. Frederick Langbridge said: “Two men look out through the same bars: One sees the mud, and one the stars.”

Even the passage of time changes an incidence in our memory. What may have been a fairly mild experience may be colored by our memory to become a terrible incidence far worse than it originally was. The perspective of time, emotion, what has happened to us during the passage of time changes the memory until it warps the incident.

During much of my life I have written a journal and letters, keeping copies on my computer, of things that were important to me. This has been deliberate—to provide a record of the incidents and attitudes of that particular time. It has been a way for me to preserve a photograph of that moment in time, along with the feelings and information for the future.

I have tried to be as true as possible to record the truth, knowing of course that it is only “MY” truth I am recording. It has been interesting to look back and find “collaborating” evidence that validates my memory many times. It has also been interesting to find recently when reviewing my journal entry of my pregnancy with Bryan that I had built up Marc’s rebellion in my mind. When I talked to Marc, and then I checked with my journal I realized that Marc’s memory was correct, and the past had warped my memory. I was grateful I had my journal to correct my mistake.

It has been helpful to talk over some of our joint memories with Ed, as I find that I remember feelings connected to the memories much more strongly than the details of which day of the week, where we were, etc. Again, if I have recorded the experience in my journal, the details are recorded and it is valuable. Ed’s memory is more accurate as to days, places, even names. I laugh when he says, “Do you remember Lieutenant Blank’s wife in El Paso? She was really good-looking!” I don’t remember which women were attractive! And I never noticed which men were handsome; I only had eyes for Ed!!! But then when I say, “Do you remember that sister at Ft. Hood who was from Bountiful and who taught primary?” he looks at me like I’m crazy and rolls his eyes!

But perspective is perspective. No one can see things from your own perspective. No one can see things from the perspective of the past. Each experience in our life is painted with the emotions and memories of that time; when viewed from another time—the future—the perspective is different, so the memory may be different. When Ed left for Vietnam, I didn’t know whether he would return and his departure was drenched with those uncertainties. Looking back now, I can remember my feelings of that departure, but they are tempered by my certainty that he did return.

Another aspect of perspective that we often don’t think about is that of eternal perspective. Some people don’t even think that there is perspective other than that of today; they feel there was no life before this earth and will be no life after this one. But I know that this is but act II of a three-act play and to understand this life on earth, I must look at it with an appreciation of its eternal perspective.

The eternal perspective makes explains so many of life’s unanswerable questions and helps us bear our burdens, knowing that the third act will resolve many of the unsolvable problems we are dealing with today.

Years ago I was facing breast cancer, something that my mother and my aunts had died from. I was terrified and felt I could not deal with something that emotionally and physically threatened me. Instead, the lump the doctors thought was cancer was a false alarm, but soon afterwards, I was struck down by a severe case of post-streptococcal glomerular nephritis. For months I was so sick, and then as I recovered, I would suddenly have a relapse and I did not know when or if I would be well. I finally recovered from the nephritis, and then I was faced again with the possibility of breast cancer.

By then I realized that there are many things worse than losing a breast to cancer and many treatments that were not available in my mother’s day that could prevent me from dying like she had. My perspective of having cancer had changed dramatically because of the year I had had nephritis, and I accepted the diagnosis of metastatic breast cancer better than I would have earlier.

There are many things we do not understand now that we will know some day when we have an eternal perspective. Paul explained it in his words to the Corinthians: “For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.” 1 Cor. 13: 12

My Collections

Many people collect various items such as coins, stamps, dolls, shot glasses, plates, and spoons. Do what people collect reflect on their personalities? Or do what people collect have no indication of their interests at all and are just random? I tried collecting international stamps when I worked at the Liahona, the church’s international magazine and we got stamps from all over the world. It didn’t interest me and I have a box full of stamps from all over the world. Ed has collected coins since he was a boy, and shares his interest in coins with Athena and several of our grandchildren, but the coins leave me cold.

I have been interested in collecting Madame Alexander dolls since I received my first one at age seven. It was the "Beth" doll from Little Women (My mother had named me after Beth in Little Women). I received a doll from Denmark as a teen and that increased my interest in dolls to not just Madame Alexander dolls, but dolls of all nationals also.

I’ve increased my collection of dolls throughout the years, adding dolls from where we have lived and where others have lived in the world. I’ve added quite a few Madame Alexander dolls, especially the smaller dolls from the various nations. I’ve a few of the storybook dolls, including Cinderella and Snow White and even a few historic dolls, Romeo and Juliet, Napoleon and Josephine, Christopher Columbus and Queen Isabella. I have the Little Women dolls, Marmie, Amy, Jo, Beth, & Meg and some other characters. Ed has insisted I keep all the boxes that go with the dolls as they increase their value.

Since we’ve been in the military and traveled all over the world, I’ve collected many dolls from other countries, but the ones that I like the most are the ones with personal attachment; I love the southwestern Indian doll that I bought when we lived in El Paso that reminded me of El Paso’s rich Spanish/Indian heritage. Ed brought me an Alaskan Eskimo doll when he was in Alaska. The Greek dolls with their ethnic costumes Ed got in the Greek islands were special.

However, as my collection grew, the dolls that meant the most were the subgenre that became my “women at work” collection showing women all over the world doing work—the handmade Scottish doll that a British friend sent me of a woman mending fishing nets; the handmade Italian doll that an Italian sister made showing a woman knitting; a Korean doll dancing in an ethnic costume with a fan; the authentic French wooden Provence dolls of women selling bread, gathering flowers, and doing other domestic tasks. The Vietnamese doll balancing her barrels; the African doll with the jug on her head; the Israeli woman with her basket on her hip.

These were the dolls that meant the most to me and that I had the hardest time locating. They weren’t found in the tourist markets or on the internet; usually they were given me or I located them through friends. Sometimes I found one at The Deseret Industries or the Good Will store or a garage sale—they seldom were valuable in monetary terms.

Their value to me was in what they represented—the worth of a woman’s work, wherever she is, whatever she does.

Photogram

Photogram: shadowlike photographic image made on paper without the use of a negative or a camera. It is made by placing objects between light-sensitive paper or film and a light source. Opaque objects lying directly on the paper produce a solid silhouette; transparent images or images that do not come in direct contact with the paper produce amorphous, mysterious images.



My son is taking a photography class in college and recently made some photograms. He was impressed with the special effects he could get by placing different objects on photosensitive paper. Even leaving similar objects on the paper for different amounts of time gave a different outcome.

It reminded me of the experiences we have in our lives, especially the tragedies or sadnesses and how they shade and influence our lives in various ways. Of course sometimes their impact or the shadows they leave on our life are just squiggles, but other times, their shadows take up a large portion of our life’s portrait and modify forever the design. But each experience in our life makes an impact, just as each object on the light-sensitive paper makes an impression of one kind or the other.


Twins: My oldest son and his wife lost their premature twins during the last two weeks. They had been so thrilled to expect these two little ones to complete their family and so happy when she passed the danger point when miscarriage seemed likely. Their two little children were happily awaiting siblings, although the two-year-old wasn’t really sure. When asked if he wanted a baby brother and sister, he said, “No, I’d rather have monkeys.”

Then suddenly she went into labor, and was rushed to the hospital. We yearned and prayed and were so hopeful, but first the little boy died, and then 10 days later, the little girl died. Two weeks of hope died as little Trevor James and Josephine Diana became only names on the family roll.

During this difficult time, my mind fled again and again to shadows on my life portrait.


Andrew: I remember another January when I was with another son in another hospital as he and his wife got the news that their full-term baby was dead. They were told that she would have to deliver the dead baby. I was with her while she struggled through the labor pains that would bring not joy, but sorrow. I cried as they held the tiny grey body and my son said, “Look, he has the cleft in the chin that is our family trait.”

They buried him right above my mother’s grave, knowing that she would love to have him there, his tiny body resting close to her maternal one. Each year on his birthday, I traipse through the snow and leave some balloons and an age appropriate toy on his grave, thinking of what he would be doing if he were alive instead of dead.

It is easy to imagine him growing strong and healthy as two of my neighbors had sons the same week as Andrew was born and died. My neighbor across the street brought her son home the day of Andrew’s funeral, and another neighbor blessed and named their son the day that we would have blessed and named Andrew. As I see those two young men enjoying each birthday and marking each of life’s milestones—going to school, being baptized, playing football, now at age 12 being ordained to the priesthood, I think of Andrew whose body lies cold in his grave.

But I rejoice in those young men’s progress, and imagine how Andrew would also be growing and progressing, if he were alive. I think how he would look like his father with his cleft chin, and like his mother with her bright eyes also. Would he be tall or short? Would he be athletic? Whatever he would be, he still is, just in the spirit world. I will see him again, and see him grow and progress in person someday!


Bryan: Another shadow on my life is when I was pregnant in my 40s in Italy. Not only my age, but medical problems were against me, and I had to stay down most of my pregnancy. I had three teenagers, and a ten-year-old so it wasn’t physical help that I needed, but my husband was fighting osteomyelitis, and during much of that time he was in Walter Reed Hospital in the States, and I was left alone with the children. My one son was being rebellious and causing problems, my oldest son spent a semester in the states in school, and I was sick most of the time.

At three months of pregnancy, my kidney function and blood pressure became so bad that I was put on bed-rest. My past nephritis was causing problems and I had severe asthma, but since my kidneys could not clear out the asthma medicine, I was always sick. For three months I was flat in bed, but at six months I finally was over the worst and doing well so I could get up again.

Then I hemorrhaged, was rushed to the hospital and they discovered that the placenta was over the cervix and had separated. I was in the hospital in Padua on I. V. for four days still bleeding, while they tried to decide what to do with me. Some doctors recommended sending me to Germany to Landstuhl with a better neo-natal unit, but there they couldn’t save a baby under 32 weeks; Some recommended sending me back to the states to a hospital that could help babies younger than 32 weeks. Some even suggested there was nothing that could be done because I was only 28 weeks pregnant. Many prayers and blessings followed. Finally the bleeding stopped and they decided to “wait and see.” So eventually I went home and stayed down completely afraid to move for fear I would lose the baby.

I worried about the baby the rest of the time, whether he would be born too early, whether he would have to be born Cesarean, whether I would hemorrhage—but we made it! I did hemorrhage and he was born emergency Cesarean, but we were so blessed to make it through a difficult time of worry and stress, with him born healthy and strong. This was a time when all our worries ended up with good news.


1966: Ed joined the army in February 1966; he finished basic training and began flight school in Texas in April 1966. In July I joined him at Ft. Wolters, Texas. I got a small apartment on base while he lived in the barracks. I could pick him up and bring him home at 1:00 pm Saturday and he didn’t have to be back to the barracks until Sunday at 5:00 pm. I could see him every night for a couple of hours, although he could not leave the parking lot. It was a regimented life, but a lot better than waiting for him in Utah. We knew that he would go to Vietnam right after flight school so we wanted to spend as much time together as we could.

We were excited when I became pregnant soon as I got to Texas. It meant that I would have a baby to take care of while Ed was in Vietnam. I went to my first OB appointment and the doctor said everything was going fine. Then in October when I was three months pregnant, I started bleeding heavily and went to the emergency room. They confirmed I was miscarrying and hospitalized me.

They said they would get the message to Ed’s commanders and through channels to Ed. It was a Wednesday night, which meant I normally would have been able to see him at 5:30 pm. I was sure that they would allow Ed to come to the hospital to see me during visiting hours. Meanwhile, Ed sat through his “visiting hours” in the barracks wondering why I wasn’t there to see him. He became angry thinking I was doing something else that was more important than coming to see him. After “visiting hours” were over, they called a formation. The CQ (Charge of Quarters) came out and walked over to Ed while he stood in the formation. He told Ed that I had miscarried and dismissed the formation. Ed went to his TAC Officer and requested permission to go to the hospital and see me. He growled at Ed, “Write me a letter and I’ll look at it.” Ed wrote him a formal request, but when Ed presented it to the TAC Officer, he denied it.

Meanwhile, at the hospital, I was upset that Ed had not come to see me, but I was more upset that I’d lost the baby. When the doctor came in the next morning, they did a D&C, kept me a while, then sent me home. I was at the barrack at “visiting hours” to see Ed.

I had miscarried once before in Utah before Ed joined the army, but I hadn’t been as far along. This second miscarriage in Texas really wiped me out. I was angry at my body for “rejecting” the baby. I didn’t eat right; I didn’t take care of myself. I felt sadness for that little soul that was in far greater proportion to what others thought I should feel. We had been married for over three years and I wondered if I would ever have children.

We moved to Alabama for the last six months of flight school, and there the doctors discovered I had Hashimoto’s disease, a malfunction of the thyroid that was probably the cause of my miscarriages. They stabilized me with medication. In April 1967, we finished flight school and went home to Utah before Ed left for Vietnam. I was pregnant with my first son, Marlowe, who would be born in December 1967, while Ed was in Vietnam.

Our life has patterns like the photogram. It has dark shadows, and light sections, designs that form configurations, and odd arrangements that clash and jar the eye. But without the various shades, it would be nothing. Nephi said it better than I can:

“For it must needs be, that there is an opposition in all things. If not so, my first-born in the wilderness, righteousness could not be brought to pass, neither wickedness, neither holiness nor misery, neither good nor bad. Wherefore, all things must needs be a compound in one; wherefore, if it should be one body it must needs remain as dead, having no life neither death, nor corruption nor incorruption, happiness nor misery, neither sense nor insensibility.” 2 Nephi 2:11

The Top 10 Things I Cannot Live Without!

The topic of my “Write Your History” group is “Write about the 10 things you cannot live without.” When I heard about it, I laughed. This is so appropriate because when I came here to California, I could only bring what Ed and I could get in the car, so I had to evaluate everything I brought with me to see whether I needed it in California or not! So I felt I had lived this topic.

These are the Top 10 Things I Can Not Live Without!

1. I cannot not live without a perm for my hair. I have the most awfully fine, straight hair that doesn’t want to do anything. My mother who had thick, naturally curly hair gave up on my hair and kept it braided because there was nothing else she could do with it. Then we discovered permanents to give hair curls and body and I have used them ever since I was 10-years-old. Even when Ed was in flight school and we lived on $98.00 a month, I bought a perm and gave it to myself because I knew I couldn’t face life with my straight hair. Every three to six months of my life, I’ve given myself a perm, had someone give me a perm—or when I had enough money, gotten a hair salon perm.

2. I need my glasses to live. I admit it. I am blind without them, so to have a satisfactory life, and see where I am going, who is in the world with me, and what I am doing, I need my glasses. Enough said; it is a fact of life.

3. This next item is not easy to say—I need my medicine! Okay, I could live without it. I wouldn’t die. But I sure would be miserable without it. My joints would ache; I would have constant migraines; I would be constantly tired; and fall asleep all the time, as well as have many other unmentionable problems, so I’m very glad I have it.

4. I can’t live without books. Sorry that is a necessity of life for me. I carry a book around in my purse with me in case I’m stranded somewhere and have to wait. If I have my trusty book, I won’t be bored. I brought a bag of paperback books with me in the car on our way to California. I found a library and got a library card the first week we were in Los Angeles. I have books lying around my house just in case I get really sick and can’t get out to get a book.

5. I really can’t live without a computer (especially my laptop) and my external hard drive with my life on it. I could count those as two things because they are different, but without a computer, my external hard drive would be useless. Also useless would be the CDs of my files (including my genealogy, my family history, my scans of my family pictures, my articles, etc.) that I have in my safety deposit box. I could get along without a TV because I could get my news from the computer, and even the TV shows I really like are available online; but live without my computer—not on your life!

6. I’m sorry, I never thought I would say this, but I can’t live without email! In today’s world, you need more than a phone to communicate with family—email, Facebook, even video messaging, when you can see and talk to your grandchildren LIVE is ESSENTIAL!

7. I can’t live without a cell phone. I can remember when Ed and I both said we’d never have an answering machine; then we got one and couldn’t live without it. Then we said we would never have a cell phone; then we got jobs that required cell phones and provided them. Now, we couldn’t live without a cell phone; it is impossible to live without being in touch with the world via the cell phone, and texting.

8. And, yes, I can’t get along without a car. I must admit that it is a mobile world, and a car is a indispensable. For years I went to work in Salt Lake on the bus. I try to walk a lot and even ride my bike so I am not DEPENDENT on a car, but I admit it—I am at the mercy of that four-wheeled, gas guzzling, glassy-eyed, two-ton, metal monster! We have a love/hate relationship with it, but I am at its mercy.

9. I can’t live without my scriptures, and I brought them with me in the car. Also, I am trying to write a short summary every day about what I read in my scripture, but I consider that as part of my scriptures. I’m not a major scriptural scholar, but it is important of me to have my scriptures and the current conference address session of the Ensign with me so I can try to keep in touch with the spirit.

10. You might notice that all the other items on my list easily fit in our car when we came to California in. In my years in the military when we moved overseas we had to live in what we brought in our suitcases for three months until our household goods arrived by boat. At times we have lived in a hotel room or an empty house for three months (even with six-month-old babies—twice), and we made do with the most rudimentary of living goods. I discovered you can make an adventure out of the most unusual situations and laugh.

But the most important thing I cannot live without is not a thing—but my family. But that is the one thing that we can’t guarantee we won’t live without. Our parents, extended family, all our loved ones eventually die. Our children grow up, move away and form their own families. Eventually we become “empty-nesters.” Eventually even our spouses die.

How wonderful it is that because of the Savior we can live eternally, and because of the gospel, we can be eternal families and be with our families forever. Though I someday have to live without my computer, my car, my glasses, my email, my cellphone, my perms and my medicines. I don’t ever have to live without my family. We can be together forever.