Trains, Planes and Compassion

Sometimes a lot of pain and suffering can be taken away with a kind word or thoughtful deed—even when the two (trial and solicitous service) are not connected in any way. A trial loses its sting when tempered by someone’s charity. 

I recently learned this personally when my husband and I had one of those “worst days of your life” when everything went wrong; then, a compassionate act made at the end of the day seem a funny tale to tell instead of a bitter memory.

Ed and I were on a once in a lifetime, 50^th year anniversary family history trip to Europe. Our schedule was as tight as a rubber band, with no time for error or waste. We were traveling from Manchester, England to Dublin, Ireland on a Sunday morning early morning flight. We had been traveling on the train a lot on our trip, including into the Manchester Train Station. We knew that the train went from Manchester to the airport about every five to ten minutes, so we arrived at the train station about two hours earlier than our flight was due. It was a short trip on the train to the airport and we thought there was no problem. 

However, we didn’t realize that on Sundays the trains only run every 45 minutes to an hour, and we’d just missed the last one. We still didn’t worry. However, when the train we were on had engine problems, we began to worry. Normally the distance between the train station exits and airport entrances were close or had shuttle service, but not in Manchester—it was a long, winding distance between them. As we finally reached the airport, we saw taxis dropping people off right off at the airport gates that had taken us ages to reach. Ed said, “We should have taken a taxi and been here hours ago.”

We contacted handicapped assistance which we had arranged for in advanced in all the

airports because of Ed’s emphysema and lung transplant which makes it difficult for him to walk fast or very far; they had no record of our requesting it, but they said they could arrange it. That took longer. By then we knew we’d missed our flight and we had. 

They booked us on the next available flight to Dublin which was 12 hours later and would cost us $360. What choice did we have? Nothing more fun than hanging around an airport for 12 hours. What they didn’t tell us was that there was a lounge especially for handicapped passengers where we could have sat down in comfortable seats, at least. So we walked around with our entire luggage and stopped in at cafes for hours. Ed had had problems at times on our trip with nausea and this was one of those days. So he didn’t dare eat anything and only sipped at bottled water. He read from my kindle and I read my kindle book on my tablet. It was one time it came in handy to have both. 

Finally it was time we could check in our luggage anyway, and not be burdened down with it. We went back to the gate and they weighed our luggage (which I had used my portable weight to keep it down to .4 kilos within the 20 kilo limit). Then they informed us that this airline only had a 15 kilo limit (and only 8 kilos for carry-ons) so our luggage (which we had paid for in advance) was overweight and would cost us $150 each more for overweight charges. We left the gate and were wondering what to do when the lady at customer service suggested we go downstairs and purchase a small $15.00 duffle bag in one of the gift shops. It folds up into the size of 12 inch book and yet holds a lot. We could then put the five kilo excess luggage from each of our bags, plus, our excess carry-on in it and pay for an extra bag, which was less than $70.00. We did that and rearranged our luggage. We must not have been the only people unprepared for the unusual weight limits as there were long shelves there for “repacking and rearranging luggage.” 

Finally at 8:00pm, we climbed aboard a small airplane and headed for Dublin. The seats were so close together that although Ed is a small person, his knees were touching the seat in front of him. Ed was finally so weak from not eating that I was happy when he ate some crackers and did not get nauseated. 

As we disembarked at Dublin, we asked if there was someone from Handicapped Assistance to put Ed in a wheelchair and take him through the terminal to the exit. Everyone we talked to said, “No.” Finally after everyone departed the plane, and no one was left, we began the trek through the long, lonely, deserted terminal. For some reason (probably his weakness), Ed was having problems with walking very far with stopping to rest. Even though he leaned on my shoulder to balance and make it easier to walk, I began to count in my head, walk 10 steps, rest; walk 10 steps, rest. It took us well over an hour to get to customs, who barely looked at our passports and waved us through. We never saw anyone who could help us or who we could ask for Handicapped Assistance.

Everything was so deserted.

At the luggage carrousel our luggage had been taken off and placed by customer service so it was easy to pick it up and get a taxi to our hotel. 

It was about 10:30pm or later when we arrived at our hotel and we were totally exhausted. We had gotten up at 3:30am to get ready for our flight and with all the problems, we were emotionally as well as physically wiped out. I was relieved to find we still had a room (I was waiting for some last cosmic jinx that had somehow interfered with it). 

We got our keys and were ready to go, when the manager (who was having trouble

speaking English) said, “Wait. We have a voucher for you.”

I looked at him strangely and said. “We didn’t pay for a voucher.”

“Yes, it gives you two full meals in our restaurant with appetizer, main course, desert and a

bottle of wine.”

“We didn’t order that,” I again denied.

“Markson gave it to you,” he insisted.

I looked at Ed puzzled and said, “Markson?”

He pulled out an envelope and gave it to us. Inside was an elaborate voucher. 

The manager was grinning all over that we finally understood. “Markson called and paid for it. We expected you here earlier and were all prepared to serve you a special meal.”

We then realized he was talking about our son, Marc, in Washington, D.C. who had called and made the arrangement. I felt like crying that even though we were half a world away, without a cell phone (because it was not compatible), our children were thinking of us on Mother’s Day and wanting to make it special for us.

That one act from our children wiped out all the frustrations of the day; I will always remember that as one of the most special Mother’s Day of my life.

My Memories of Thanksgivings

Ed and I got married on the day before Thanksgiving 48 years ago in the Logan Temple. We joked at the time that it was so we would always have something to be thankful for in the future.  The one thing I have not been grateful about is that we never go out to dinner for our anniversary because it is always Thanksgiving.

 Thanksgiving has been a special time for us as we remember our years together as well as all the other blessings we give thanks for at this time of years. We have been truly blessed with health, adequate money for our needs, children, grandchildren and one great-grandchild, and opportunities to travel all over the world. The blessings of the gospel are so precious and they enrich our lives and help us appreciate all the other blessings.

Growing up in Bountiful, my dad worked at Hill Field and he always invited military men who had no family to Thanksgiving dinner with us and we always had lots of extended family to eat dinner with us. However, for Ed and I, Thanksgiving dinner has always been a more nuclear family affair.

Part of that is because for over 22 years we lived in the military and never lived near family. So Thanksgiving dinner was just Ed, I and our children. I don’t recall us sharing dinner with friends very often although I am sure we did a few times. It was always more a personal family time.

Another tradition also made our Thanksgivings different--there is a military tradition that the commander always eats dinner with the troops in the mess hall on Thanksgiving Day. So Ed would dress up in his dress blues and we’d go to the mess hall each Thanksgiving Day and eat dinner with Ed’s troops. It was a formal occasion and all Ed’s troops would greet us as we mingled with them.

This was not a fun social occasion, mind you, but a command performance! So Ed wanted his own Thanksgiving dinner afterwards. When we came home from the mess hall I would roast a turkey and make all the fixings for a Thanksgiving Dinner for Ed, I and the children! The first few years I thought he was joking about me making a big Thanksgiving after eating at the mess hall, but he wasn’t—he had to have his own homemade turkey dinner.

Eating at the Mess Hall

As he advanced in rank and we continued to go to dinners with his troops, I couldn’t convince him that THAT dinner was thanksgiving dinner; he insisted that NO—that was duty. Dressing in dress blues and talking politics with all his troops and being on command was NOT Thanksgiving! So I continued to cook a Thanksgiving dinner after enjoying Thanksgiving dinner I had not made in the mess hall.

 Ed loved Thanksgiving. He could feast and feast and watch five days of football. For me it was drudgery! I spent days in the kitchen preparing and cleaning up while everyone else enjoyed the holiday. Ed could not understand why it became my least favorite holiday. Especially during the 20 years I worked full time, I dreaded all the time I worked during my “time off,” cooking and cleaning for Thanksgiving and never got a moment’s rest. I was almost glad it was over and I could get back to my paid job.

Marlowe, My Christmas Baby

There were several times I had a reprieve from cooking a Thanksgiving Dinner. One was when Ed was in Vietnam during his two tours. Both times I was pregnant with our sons. Our first, Marlowe,  was born three weeks after Thanksgiving so I really had a lot to be grateful for; the other was born three months after Thanksgiving. I don’t recall having a big Thanksgiving Dinner with my Dad and siblings in Utah either time.

Ed Leaves for Vietnam Nov 1970

The year Ed left for his 2^nd tour of Vietnam was rough; he left for Vietnam several weeks before Thanksgiving (when I was pregnant with my third child, and my oldest had not yet turned three). I remember I was so overwhelmed and discouraged about being alone with my little ones for a year while Ed was flying helicopters in a war zone. However by Thanksgiving I had realized how grateful I was for all the blessings I did have; I did have the spirit of Thanksgiving that year—thankful for all that I had instead of complaining of what I didn’t have lasted me all year.

Two other times were when I was in the hospital on Thanksgiving. One time I was in Alabama and had just had a mastectomy and was recovering, but still in the hospital. My brother Gary and his wife Patty had Thanksgiving with my family at home (I have no idea who made dinner). I was just so grateful they caught the breast cancer early. The other time I was in the hospital in Sacramento, and again my brother Gary and Patty came to share Thanksgiving with my family. I was/am grateful for family who support us in our trials. 

Eventually I realized how petty I was in resenting all the work involved in preparing a big Thanksgiving dinner. I also realized I was always going to be cooking a big Thanksgiving dinner, so I cut back in many ways, and enjoyed the season. Ed helped by preparing the potatoes (one of my most hated jobs) and made his favorite recipe, sweet potatoes. I have bought the pies, instead of killing myself making them. I’ve bought rolls, (who cares if they are not homemade), and often cooked a turkey breast rather than a whole turkey. I’ve even bought salads. But I refuse to compromise on one thing; I refuse to make stovetop stuffing instead of the real thing.

After we retired from the military and moved back to Utah, we joined in with my dad and the extended family again in large Thanksgiving dinners, but again, Ed still wanted his own roasted turkey at home so he could have leftovers. So often we would go to a big extended family feast and afterwards, we would come home and I would put in a turkey. Since my dad passed away, we haven’t had the large extended family dinners, and again it just had dinner with whichever of our married children and their families lived nearby, and Bryan.

Ed reading to Aiden, Thanksgiving 2010 in Chicago

Last year we did something we have never done in all 48 years; we flew to Chicago to spend dinner with Diana, Jason and her new baby, Aiden in Chicago. It was truly the first year I can remember I did not roast a turkey. We left Bryan in Utah so he ate Thanksgiving dinner with friends and with Athena’s family. [The last eighteen months  we have “abandoned” Bryan for every holiday in the year (plus two of his birthdays) while we were in Los Angeles for Ed’s lung transplant, in Australia and New Zealand, in Chicago with Diana, and in Seattle with Marlowe and his family. Don’t feel sorry for him, though; he had four different invitations for Thanksgiving when he publicized he was alone for Thanksgiving and didn’t mention Athena being here]. 

Although I have quit griping about always roasting a turkey no matter where we have Thanksgiving dinner (except for last year at Diana’s house in Chicago), I realize how grateful I am for all our bountiful blessings—material, spiritual and emotional. I am grateful for my family, being able to be together as a family at Thanksgiving and if we cannot be together then, being able to talk to them often; being able to have all we have to eat, even if I have to cook it. I am grateful that they all have jobs; that we live in a free world. 

And someday, before I die, I am going to thoroughly enjoy Thanksgiving like men do—by not preparing any of it, and just relaxing and doing what I want all day!