Ardis Ann Anderson Alder

When you read this you'll know I've traded my body, that was ready to leave, for a new experience. I am Ardis Ann (Irving) Anderson Alder. I died peacefully on Monday, May 9, 2016. I was the daughter of Mae Erickson Anderson and William Walton Irving. I was born in Logan, Utah on August 30, 1930. I had one half-sister, Betty Fifield and two half-brothers, Thomas Kenneth Anderson and Wendon Nellie Anderson.

The best thing I ever did was to marry my lifelong love, Val Dean Alder, on May 1, 1953, in the Logan LDS Temple. The most holy thing I've done was to have my three children: Ryan Val Alder, Leanne Alder Smith and Marianne Alder Kittleson. The words aren't there to express the heart songs they brought me.

My membership in the Church gave me opportunities to grow spiritually and fed that part of me that yearned for a closeness with Heavenly Father and my Savior, Jesus Christ. The smartest thing I ever did was to start my college education at age 48. I graduated in 1984 with honors and a sense of pure joy. Cheers to that happy decade: my 50's!

The most soul-satisfying thing I've ever done was to realize my insatiable, ongoing discovery of the world and of life through my love of reading. Words have been my souls blessing. My love of gardening came because I couldn't not do it. It was part of me. My favorite season, Fall, was a replenishment for me, a reward for endurance, a time of quintessential beauty. To all friends I've loved, thank you, thank you!! "Think where mans glory begins and ends, and say my glory was to have such friends."

Ardis was preceded in death by her husband, Val; and an infant son, Rob. She is survived by one son and two daughters: Ryan Val Alder (Kevin) of SLC, Utah; Leanne Smith (Lynn) of Bedford, WY; and Marianne Kittleson (Stephen) of Preston, ID. She has eight grandchildren and seven great-grandchildren.

A celebration of Ardis’ life will be held at the Whitney, Idaho LDS Church on Saturday, May 14, 2016 at noon. As per Ardis’ request, there will not be a viewing. Interment will be in the Whitney Cemetery.

Verla wrote: “I thought her obituary was well written and heartwarming.” She told Ryan she was going to use it for her own; just change a few names.

I lamented that I didn’t have her write mine before she left this frail existence.

Ed, in his usual sweet sensitive way, said: “I love Ardis, Mom. I can’t believe she died today. You know what that means? She doesn’t have to suffer anymore. Another thing, she will be missed.”

When Ed was little we bumped into Ardis at Bowman’s. As we chatted, Ed interrupted, asking Ardis if she could come over to our house and play.

Aridis and I wrote roadshows and skits together. I think she was the genius behind  all of them and I was good at the productions. That was back in the day before correlation when more talents were utilized and free expression was valued. Now the most anyone can do is mimic a general conference talk in general terms.

In the prayer at the cemetery, the x-bishop in describing her, among other things called her quirky. “Quirky?”  Is that what we call someone who doesn’t always fall for the party line, and believes in her own access to inspiration? Is that what we call an intelligent, decisive, and independent woman? She taught me to think for myself; to reason things out; to not accept the status quo just because the brethren said so.
   When Marianne called to tell me that she had died that morning, she read me a note that she had left me: "To Jeanette Hugh. Friend of my soul, who helps me realize who and what I am."
   An interesting side note: When Marianne went over, she was sitting on the toilet with her head back, her feet firmly planted on the floor, with toilet paper still in her hand. She was still warm. Marianne felt her presence. She told her that she would be OK, for her to go ahead and go. She managed to get her on the floor, pull her pants up, put a pillow under her head and a blanket over her. As soon as she was presentable, Marianne felt her mother leave. When emergency personnel arrived, they scolded her for moving her. "My mom was dignified. She would not have liked to be seen with her pants down," Marianne explained. Her dad died on the toilet too (in the hospital), nine years ago.
                         Goodbye, my friend, goodbye.

It was harder to see her go than I thought it would be. I haven’t seen or talked to her in four years. She didn’t answer her phone when I called; didn’t respond to my cards. At one time, I thought we would be like John Adams and Thomas Jefferson and correspondent to the end. It didn’t turn out that way.* The friend who influences your critical thinking and most cherished values is the friend who leaves a void in your life.

Goodbye, my friend, goodbye

It’s good to need you so

It’s good to love you like I do

And to feel this way

When I hear you say, goodbye.

Hello, my friend, Hello

Neil Diamond Lyrics

The Jazz Singer 1980

In my Lifetime 1996

President Ezra Taft Benson is buried

in that small cemetery in Whitney, Idaho;

as well as Ardis and Val Dean Alder;

and my sister Shirley's granddaughter,

Whitney Hart.
One more according to Shirley Corless:: an x-ward member,, Jack Winward.
We can't figure out why the Alder headstone is behind the graves. 
I asked Marianne about this. She said it used to be
in front of their graves but for some reason the city moved it to the rear.
I asked her when her mother decided to be cremated. Last I heard she
wanted to be buried in a plain pine box. Marianne said her Dad knew
so it's been at least 15 years. She said her dad's burial was about $10,000;
her mother's $3,000. It only cost $100 to be in a vault in the cemetery.

*Marianne explained

that she was beginning to repeat herself and forgetting things.

She knew it.

She had always prided herself on her intelligence

and she was ashamed.

She felt comfortable with the simple folks

in her ward in Preston

and so she shut everyone else out the last few years.