Red Suspenders

To my brother, DeLoy,

On his 80^th Birthday

July 5

Distinct people have a trademark.

Do you think yours is red suspenders?

(Even when you change the color;

evidently RED was a Skyping experience.)

They do more than hold your pants up.

They represent your smile and your good nature;

your optimistic attitude and gentleness.

They spell service, leadership, and willingness to help;

integrity, love, hope, faith, and testimony.

They reek of tenacity, excellence, comprehensiveness

as in genealogy and amassing a complete list of Mama’s descendants.

And steadfastness in compiling and distributing the Esplin Round Robin

for more than 24 years without compensation.

They classify your fun games at reunions

where you always had the farthest to travel.

They mark your extensive writing talents;

editing, clarifying, intensifying.

I haven’t seen it with my own eyes,

but I’m sure they identify you walking around Lake Los Carneros

with Forest Service buddies,

counting the egrets, ducks, gulls, and crows.

They are the symbol

of a life well lived

as a son,

Daddy, DeLoy, Lynn abt 1935

Army, Hawaii 1955

a brother,

Lynn James, DeLoy 1935

Lynn James, DeLoy, Lucy LaRee, Shirley 1935

Shirley, Lynn James, Daddy, Jeanette, Lucy & Happy DeLoy at the herd. 1937

Lynn James, Jerry, DeLoy 1940

Lynn James hold dogie lamb, DeLoy; Orderville 1937

Lynn James, DeLoy all dressed up barefoot! 1939

Lynn James, Jerry, DeLoy 1940

Mama always said you were the one to pull faces in pictures.  Some of the rest of us didn't do too bad in this one. 1939


First day of school:  Jeanette, DeLoy, Lynn James, Lucy, Shirley 1945

DeLoy and Jeanette 1948

Lynn and DeLoy Utah State 1954

Back:  DeLoy, Lucy LaRee, Shirley, Lynn James. Front: Jerry, Jeanette, Carol Lee, Verla 1948

Mama, Shirley, Lucy, Lynn James, DeLoy Heaton, Jeanette, Jerry, Carol Lee, Verla 1956

DeLoy, Jeanette, Jerry, Lucy, Lynn; Shirley, Verla, Mama, Carol 1960

Eddy Hugh, DeRay, Grace, Lana, Shirley, Jerry, Lucy, Lynn, Juanita; Jeanette, Carol, Verla, DeLoy 2003 Island Park

Siblings 2003 Island Park

Verla, DeLoy, Shirley, Jeanette, Jerry, Lynn, Carol Nephi 2006

a husband,

Newly Weds 1960 Orderville.  DeLoy and Grace Esplin

DeLoy and Grace Nephi 2006

 father, grandfather, and great grandfather.

DeRay, Jeanette, DeLoy, Mama (Amy), Henry and Gene Goebel (Grace's dad and step-mother), Grace; Brent, Keri, Carl. California. 1965

Carl, Keri, DeLoy, Brent, DeRay 1965 California

Connie, Carl, Keri, Grace, DeLoy; Goleta, California; 2012

EIGHTY YEARS NOW.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

Eddy isn’t the only one who loves you.

Life

    Several years ago, my oldest sister Shirley, who was born in 1929, wrote:

 I have no memory of the Great Depression and didn't know we had one until I read about it in school.  In my hometown, we were all equally poor or rich, whichever way you wanted to look at it.  At any rate, there wasn't great suffering.  People farmed their small farms as they always had.  The sheepmen must have had some hard times but I was oblivious to it.  It took something bigger than a worldwide depression to dampen Mama's spirits.

As I listened to Toni Morrison book “Home” on my trike ride this morning, I found the answer to why Shirley, or any of us, never knew about The Great Depression even as we lived through it.  The story in the book takes place in Georgia.  A group of older black women have been nursing a younger woman back to health.

Quoting from the book:

As she healed, the women brought their crocheting and their embroidering.  They used Ethel Fordam’s house as their quilting center, ignoring those who preferred new soft blankets.  They practiced what they had been taught by their mothers during the period that rich people called the Depression and they called life.

There was no excess in their gardens

because they shared everything.

There was no trash or garbage in their homes

because they had a use for everything.

They took responsibility for their lives

and for whatever whoever else needed them.

The absence of common sense irritated

but did not surprise them.

Laziness was more than intolerable to them;

it was inhuman.

Whether you were in the field, the house, your own back yard;

you had to be busy.

Sleep was not for dreaming;

it was for gathering strength for the coming day.

Conversation was accompanied by tasks:

ironing, peeling, shucking, sorting, sewing, mending, washing, or nursing.

You couldn’t learn age

but adulthood was there for all.

Mourning was helpful

but God was better.

And they did not want to meet their Maker

and have to explain a wasteful life.

They knew He would ask each of them one question:

“What have you done?”  

Black or white;

Georgia or Orderville;

We were taught by our mothers

during the period that rich people

called The Depression

and we called Life.

Right, Shirley?

Oops

This is the last page of a longer story from the past.

Amy, K'Leena and I had been sightseeing in Washington DC for 8 or 9 days.  We stayed in Virginia in a hotel with a complete kitchen.  The shuttle from the hotel took us to catch the Metro into Washington DC each day.  We were scheduled to fly out on Monday, which happened to be Labor Day.

United States Capitol

K'Leena, Amy, Jeanette Washington Monument

Amy at Mt. Vernon

K'Leena, Amy.  White House

 "You don't have to blab to everyone that we went to the wrong airport," Amy scolds, "the stationmaster, the lady sitting next to you on the bus, Dad, Brent, Aunt Verla. . ."

"It's our best story and I can't tell it?  I guess I can't tell them that you left your wallet on the counter either. . ."

Because it was Labor Day, the shuttle and the metro didn't open until 7 AM.  Our plane left at 7:50 AM.  We had called a taxi, which was to cost around $25, unless it was more with the price of gas going up.  For some unknown reason the shuttle driver showed up at 6 when we went down to wait for the taxi.  He said that he thought we could make it since we were only 8 miles from the airport if he took us over at 7 and we caught the first metro.  He agreed to take us over at 6:45 so we cancelled the taxi.  Serves him right for being late.  The nice shuttle driver took us over around 6:40.  We had 7-day passes for the metro but Amy had thrown hers away.  K'Leena and I had ours.  Picking up a key at the front desk, I went back up to our room to scrounge for her pass.  In the bottom of the last garbage can I looked in, I found it.  We caught the metro about 7:07 and got to the airport around 7:25.  That's cutting it pretty close.  We can't find Delta.  We rush here, we rush there, we ask Traveler's Aid, and finally find Check-in. 
     "We have no plane leaving for Salt Lake City at 7:50.  Are you sure it's Delta?"

"Positive."  Amy handed her our computer printout.

"You're at the wrong airport."

We were at the same airport we came in on.

Arrival  Washington DC (DCA); Departure Washington DC (IAD).  Washington DC was in bold.  The initials that don't mean a thing to us were underneath in small print.  Dulles is 38 miles away.

“You can't make it.”  She called them on the phone.  They had already given our seats away.  Click.  Click.  Click.  She mulls and tries this and that.  Who knows what she's doing?

“It will cost you each $216 to transfer to this airport.  Dulles has a direct flight to Salt Lake at 3:12 in the afternoon.  I suggest you do that.  I will waive the $25 fee.  You can take a taxi or the airport shuttle; check to see which is cheaper."

We decide to try the metro.  The stationmaster told us where to get off to catch a metro bus for the airport.  While we are waiting for the metrorail--Blue to Rosslyn--Amy's name was called over the loudspeaker.  She had left her wallet at the Check-in counter.

The bus comes every hour on a holiday.  We didn't have to wait much longer than 1/2 hour.  Sixty cents for seniors; $3 each for Amy and K'Leena.

I can't believe I got clear out to Dulles for sixty cents from our hotel; and since I didn’t have any change,  K'Leena paid that.  That was the best part.  It easily could have cost $100.

They told us to be two hours early.  We were six hours early and that was just fine.

     It was a beautiful and interesting ride out and a relaxing day at the airport.

Dulles Airport

And I can’t tell this story to a soul?

I can’t tell the stationmaster, the lady sitting next to me on the bus, Dad, Brent, Aunt Verla. . .  I can’t even tell you.