A Gift of Time and Chance: 50 Leroy Avenue

I'm reading my second book by Inglath Cooper, Good Guys Love Dogs. The story's hero, in a desperate attempt to rebuild his relationship with his teenage son, leaves New York City and buys a farm in Virginia. The descriptions of the old house remind me of our old house in Darien, Ct.


We had moved to Connecticut from Mission Viejo, California, leaving behind a freshly built yellow cape cod style home. We had hoped to buy in Connecticut, but in all our searching, we soon discovered that housing prices were sliding south. We decided to rent. The first house we rented sold a few months later. We wanted to stay in the same schools, but could only find a two bedroom. (We had three children.) We rented month to month, but after a short time, our landlord found someone willing to sign a two year lease. We had nowhere to go.

Larry stayed in New York while the kids and I went to stay with my dad in Washington. We came back two days before school started, but still didn't have a place to live. And then a miracle happened. A friend learned that the Pringle-Hopkins Manor house, a mansion on two acres in the center of town, was embroiled in a law suit. The city had bought it with the intent of renovating it and turning it into condos for low income housing. The historical society was suing. Fortunately for us, the house was sitting empty and the city agreed to rent it to us for a song.

The house had been added on to a number of times, but the original house had been there when the town of Darien was incorporated in 1820. (We know that's true because the house had plaque on its front pillar telling us so.) Once while working in the yard, my husband found a coin from the 1800s in the lawn. The fireplace had iron hooks for hanging pots. Many of the windows had wavy original glass. The two acres of lawn was maintained by the city's park and recreation crew. A Lutheran church sat on the street down the hill from us and church bells rang every hour. At five a.m. the bells chimed a hymn. During the Christmas holidays, it played carols. We could see the lights of the town Christmas tree from our windows.

I felt at home there, although I can't say for sure why. I remember telling my neighbors that I was from California and they refused to believe me. I think they thought every girl from California looked like Beach Barbie and spoke like a Valley Girl while I was a quiet housewife who spent a lot of time in the library.

Sometimes I think of buying an old house like our home in Connecticut, but I have to remind myself that even then we never could have afforded that house. The town had purchased it for 2.5 million dollars, and that was nearly 30 years ago. Our living there had been a fluke, a matter of being pathetic and in the right place at the right time. We happily lived there until we were transferred back to California. When we moved into our new home (again, freshly built) we were surprised to find the movers had taken the plaque off the house's pillar and packed it with our things. I still have it. (I had called and asked our landlord if they wanted it back, and they said no.)

We went back to 50 Leroy Avenue a few years ago. The town had successfully turned the property into a condo complex. The two acres where my children had played is now mostly a parking lot, but the original house with its two pillars still stands as does the old stone wall surrounding the property.

Solomon, known for his wisdom, wrote:

Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might; for there is no work, nor device, nor knowledge, nor wisdom, in the grave, whither thou goest.

11I returned, and saw under the sun, that the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, neither yet bread to the wise, nor yet riches to men of understanding, nor yet favour to men of skill; but time and chance happeneth to them all. Ecclesiastes 9:10-11

Our living at 50 Leroy was a gift of time and chance. I wish I knew how to create those rare bursts of good fortune, but I don't know how. It must be, as Solomon said, time and chance and (sometimes) out of our control.

Acceptance- Learning to Love Others inspite or Maybe Even Because of Flaws

Sometimes letting go doesn't mean letting someone go. Sometimes it may mean letting go of your own expectations, and your own frustrations. Because the sad reality is we all have weaknesses and flaws. And yes, it would be great if our beloved didn't do x, y, or z, but that really isn't our choice. The only choice we have is whether or not to love them. To walk away or stay.

It's simple, really, but we complicate things with emotions. Sometimes we've invested so much time and energy into a relationship we think if we only work a little harder, be a little smarter, or talk a little louder they'll be able to see what you see--they person they could be if only they'd give up the x, y, or z, or embrace the a, b, or c. 

But their choices are never our choices. We have to love each other and the letters we each carry in our pockets. We're all messy packages, products of our beliefs, our environments, and our training.

Walking away from a relationship is an option. But usually the best choice is to walk away from our own false expectations and allow our loved ones to realize their own visions of who they want to be.

And hope they give us the space to do the same.

But, of course, sometimes the only choice is to walk away, knowing that if we do we'll have much more space than we ever wanted.

Grandma's Funeral

My mother-in-law died last week. We went to her funeral on Saturday. Here's a copy of her life sketch. She wrote it herself and asked for it to be read. (See below) She also planned the program. It went something like this.

Life sketch

Musical number I'm Trying to be Like Jesus and I Feel My Savior's Love, preformed by grandchildren and great-grandchildren. 

Remembrances by her seven children

Musical number, In My Father's House are Many Mansions

A short talk on the Plan of Salvation (don't know what that is? You can read about it here.)

After the funeral service, we drove to the top of the Salt Lake City Cemetery where we placed flowers on Grandma's casket, and Steven offered a prayer to dedicate the grave. We drove away, leaving that chapter of our lives.

And it was all lovely.

But the thought of my niece's cancer haunted me. Grandma had a long and wonderful life. But that's not a guaranteed blessing for all of us. My niece Kira has stage four cancer. You can donate to her here. Or buy a t-shirt--all proceeds will go directly to Kira. The dog on the shirt is a picture of Kira's pug.

Nadine's Life Sketch

Nadine (Call) Tate 89 years, graduated from this life on Monday, July 18, 2016 at Lakeview Hospital following a stroke, a massive brain hemorrhage. She had family at her side at her passing. She is survived by 7 children and spouses, 40 grandchildren and 83 great grandchildren. She was preceded in death by her husband, parents, 2 sisters and 2 brothers, a daughter-in-law, and 2 great-grandchildren.

Nadine Call was born of goodly parents, Horace Arthur and Leona May (Papworth) Call on February 10, 1927, in a small white house in Tucson, Arizona. The doctor proclaimed that she was premature, weighing in around 8 pounds because her eyebrows and finger nails weren’t yet developed. I remember her telling me that they thought she was Native American because she had pitch black hair and very olive skin, however there is not genealogical connection to that claim. She was the youngest of 5 children.

Nadine was born with a testimony of the Gospel of Jesus Christ and never ever questioned it. In Arizona water was precious and so there had to be enough individuals getting baptized to warrant filling up the small font. Her dad was the Superintendent of the Sunday School so she often accompanied him early on Sunday mornings to the church. In June following her 8^th birthday when her father was checking the church building he noticed that the missionaries had filled the font for a convert baptism. He asked Nadine if she had been baptized yet? “No”. He asked her, do you have white underwear and slip on, “Yes”. He told her to take everything else off. He went up got the two missionaries for witnesses and her dad baptized her. Then he called her mama to bring some dry under things, telling her he had just baptized, Nadine.

 Nadine dad’s brother married her mother’s sister. She loved it when they would come down from Afton, Wyoming. She said the Call family really didn’t know how to just laugh and have fun but the Papworths (her mama’s family) did.. She said she would quietly sit under the piano and listen to her mother and aunt talk and laugh. They would laugh until tears rolled down their cheeks. None of the kids knew how to laugh out loud. Nadine knew how to project her voice because of singing so she developed a “cackle”. She said her brother Vaughn, would open up his mouth but nothing would come out and his nose would quiver. Nadine preferred her “cackle”.  

 Nadine was very intelligent, with an IQ of 140 and attended the University of Utah when she was 15 years old. Despite her intelligence she was a slow reader and later the cause was identified as dyslexia. Math was her best subject. It was while attending the U of U she met Willard Richards Tate.  While registering for school at the “U”, Nadine ran into her boyfriend and his response was, what are you doing here? He was upset that she would only be 1 quarter behind him as a Freshman. While they were arguing on the front steps of Kingsbury Hall, along came his close buddy, Willard, who sided with Nadine and said “if she’s smart enough, why not.” Nadine told him, “to mind his own business”.

About two weeks later during lunch she noticed Willard sitting by himself in the cafeteria, and so just like her, always thinking of others, she asked him to join her group so he wouldn’t have to sit alone.

On Nadine 17^th birthday Willard gave her his Lambda Delta Sigma Fraternity pin. Two months later his entire U of U Engineering class enlisted in the Navy to fight in World War II. Willard gave her a Diamond to “secure her.” On April 19, 1945, she married her sweetheart, Willard Richards Tate, in the Salt Lake City Temple.  They had a lot of adventures traveling all over New England as Willard was sent to one specialized training after another.

While Willard was away, Nadine worked and built up a good nest egg. On one of Willard’s leaves they bought a little white cottage with picket fence, arbor gate and all for $8000. Her dad helped with the down payment.  They never got to live in the house because of the housing shortage, Willard’s brother Ralph and his family of 5 children moved in. They ended up getting a small apartment on 3^rd South by South Temple.

 Shortly after the family moved into our new home on Northgate St. in Culver City, California the Gas man who had hooked up the gas line submitted Nadine (mom/grandma)’s name to the Mrs. America contest which the gas company was sponsoring. Nadine was selected as Mrs. Culver City.

Nadine and Willard loved to tour the United States in their camper as well as traveling all over the world.

She loved the many missionaries they worked with as she and Willard served as the office couple in 6 California missions: San Bernardino (twice), San Francisco, Carlsbad, Long Beach, and Riverside. She wrote “Those years in the mission field were most satisfying. Wonderful people, great working conditions, being needed and appreciated, and most of all working side by side 24/7 with Willard in the Lord’s work. It was a joy one can only experience, words cannot express it adequately.” Whether it is serving missions, serving in our wards, serving our neighbors and most of all our family. That’s what mom taught, and lived, service. 

 Nadine had a strong testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ and was steadfast and firm in keeping all of His commandments, and taught her family well. She said, “I’ve loved the Lord all of my life, I’ve loved Willard, my righteous and brilliant husband with all my heart. We have been blessed with the most wonderful and marvelous, brilliant and righteous children. Then along came the beautiful grandchildren and great grandchildren. Willard used to say it is the only Pyramid plan that really works. The Lord has been so generous with us and our life. I look forward to being with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ, His Son and to sing their praises.”

 Her posterity will greatly miss her sense of humor and her love for family.

Memory from her oldest grandchild:

I don't have any specific memories of Grandma, mostly just clips:

* The sound of her laugh

* The way she adored and dotted on Grandpa

* A whole wall in her closet neatly stacked with high heels in every color

* Candy and chocolates in all of their drawers and cupboards

* Her freezer full of dessert and telling us that they always had dessert

* Her telling me that I was most like her

* That Grandma was both smart and beautiful

Tribute from Adam, her grandson

Tribute to Grandma Tate:

"When Grandpa died, I took it pretty hard. I'm sure every grandchild feels a special connection with their grandfathers, but having lived with him for a summer shortly before he passed away, I felt especially close to him.

Accordingly, when I first heard that Grandma's health was rapidly deteriorating, I emotionally prepared myself to go through a similar grieving process.

Perhaps, those feelings of grief are still to come - but they haven't yet. Since learning that Grandma passed away, I've felt nothing but peace and even happiness. There is something beautiful about the thought of Grandma and Grandpa being together once again. Something wonderful about the thought of them reminiscing about their past journeys together and looking forward with excitement towards their future adventures.

I am thankful for my knowledge that thfough Jesus Christ families can be together for forever. And while Mormons are not the only ones with this belief, I am thankful that my Church puts such an emphasis on it. I will miss you Grandma, but I'm sure I'll see you again someday."

Adam Tate (grandson)

 Nadine Call Tate’s testimony never waivered and she endured joyfully to the end.  I know she is happily reunited for all eternity to her sweetheart, Willard. For families are what matter most and God designed a plan that we can be together forever.

Real Life Interference and Deadlines

Real life and death concerns have been weighing down my writing for awhile now. Last week, we thought my dog was dying. You can read about that here. And then the cat disappeared. We worked really hard to keep one pet alive only to have the other vanish. Today, I took Grendel (the dog) in to the vet to have her stitches removed. The vet and her assistant were both really surprised to find Grendel had survived and was even perky.

Yesterday, my mother-in-law died. She had suffered a series of small strokes over the past few months and then on Monday another struck, leaving her partially paralyzed and unresponsive. She was 89. Because it was time, it wasn't tragic, but it is sad. And I find myself thinking of all the wonderful weekends and holidays we spent at my in-law's home. Last night, in her honor, we watched old home movies where my husband was young, skinny, and had shoulder length hair, and my in-laws were younger than either my husband and I are now. We watched the family dog tease the cat. Life hasn't changed so very much, except that now, of course, both of my in-laws are gone, as is my mom, and all of my aunts and uncles. And my cat.

In the midst of this, my nonsmoking niece who is only 36 years-old and has a beautiful family with three young children has been diagnosed with stage 3 lung cancer. You can donate to Kira here.

Tonight, I'm going to dinner with friends. One of them recently lost a son in a tragic car accident. He was on his way to a family wedding when he was struck and killed by a drunk driver. I can hardly think about my friend without getting teary-eyed. I'm not sure how I can sit with her and eat a salad with composure.

Life isn't fair. Fairs, I've been told, are for horses, pigs, and pie-eaters. And real life is not an apple pie. It's hard. As my 95 year-old dad likes to say, growing old isn't for sissies. The longer we live, the more we have to watch our loved-ones leave us.

And in the wake of all these deaths and brushes with death, it's been hard to focus on my writing. There are a hundred and one decisions to be made. Travel plans to be arranged. Dog sitters. An estate to be settled. Death brings life more sharply into focus and the fictitious world loses it's pull.

I've told myself that I have three weeks to finish Menagerie. But nothing tragic will happen if I don't meet that deadline. In fact, the word deadline has taken on a whole new meaning for me. It's hard to believe a writing deadline has any real significance at all.

Making Time to Write Verses Taking Time to Live

Last week was spring break and my daughters had the opportunity to travel to New York with their choir. I thought I would use the week to write. And I did. Some. Maybe not as much as I had thought because I was invited to the beach and that took all day and on another day I went to lunch and that was too much fun to hurry through...and so it went. But no matter, here is another week. The girls are in the thick of play rehearsal, so even though they sleep, they do little else and my husband is away on a business trip—my life is one big empty slate. But on Monday morning my daughter has a dental appointment and she didn’t go to school until it was over (3:00—for play rehearsal.) No problem. I promised myself that I would write in the evening. No one would be home. So I take a quick trip to the mall…something that I never do. I come home with dinner from Paradise Bakery thinking that I’ll have hours and hours of a quiet house perfect for writing and dinner from Paradise Bakery. My oldest son, the attorney, who is never home, walks in. He had to pay his taxes. And he had questions.

Today my house is quiet. I wrote until I don’t want to write anymore. Know why? Because yesterday's tragedy in Boston made me rethink how I balance my life and my writing. My husband and I ran a marathon once. It took me more than five hours, but it took my husband almost exactly four. Which means that if he had been in Boston yesterday, he would have been there for the blast. 

And I think that maybe sometimes, maybe most times, what we do isn’t nearly as important as who we happen to be standing beside. 

There will always be time for writing and life will always (if we're lucky) get in the way.