Finding the Blonde Girl with Red Shoes (Grown Up.)

When I was four years old,  my dad accepted a teaching/research position in New England.  
                   Mom, true to her nature, accepted this as an adventure,

 

until she found herself on bed rest expecting her fourth child in a house which had been vacant for a year, complete with foot high grass and dead flies lining the window sills.

It was in this era she would read to us a book filled with stories of Latter-day Saints called No More Strangers.  But having grown up in a farming town in Southeastern Idaho, and now surrounded by winding roads, and "N'Hampsha" accents, a bit less trusting or accepting of those with a western drawl, too often, she felt like a stranger.

When Daddy was called to serve as branch president in a "twig" of a branch with eight children in the Primary (including her three) she bargained  in her prayers one summer when we followed Daddy to Connecticut for his summer research position, that if God would send her a friend, she could face going back to New Hampshire.

After a fast and furious drive "out west" to connect with cousins,

back we went, to New Hampshire, with no promises.
The first day of school, 
however, my sister and I came home with big news.  For two years, we had been the only children in our grade school who belonged to our church.  That first day of second grade, in Mrs. Whitehead's class,  I looked up to find a blonde-haired girl who liked my red shoes and who somehow transmitted a message that we both belonged to the same church.  This was breaking news.  And my sister had a similar story, only the new friend was a boy named Mike, and he did not notice her shoes.

Our assignment for the following day was to bring home a phone number, which promised a prize of a nickel.  So, we spent the whole bus ride home copying the number, hoping to augment our earnings.  Only a single nickel per each was allotted, but the reward came in our visit that night to an apartment complex on Main Street.  The door of the gray upstairs flat opened up to Tippy and her four children,

who matched the ages of ours.  Tippy and Mom became fast friends.  And our families shuffled together like a deck of cards.  Good thing we had a big car minus laws for seat belts.  And good thing Dad could deflect the eyebrows he got with such a big crowd of children followed by two ladies his age--a good joke.

Yes, he ultimately chased down a bigger car.

On the 20 December 1969, in a borrowed brick Portsmouth chapel, Joann and I were baptized.  It was winter and the hot water tank was either not functioning or not remembered early enough.  My father baptized us both, and Joann's mom brought a warm afghan to explain what to expect when we were confirmed members of the church.  The gift of the Holy Ghost is like a warm blanket. ..a gift that we can draw on to wrap around our hearts and our minds when things are difficult, when we were in need of Heavenly comfort.  Counselor. Comforter.  Coupled with conscience, our path could be kept.  Safe.  Complete.

Yes, I must have still liked red, turning 8.       A real live chapel, further away--the branch with a building!

Joann's mom, Tippy,  is in the middle (with Mom and Sister Marden on the right--Sister Lemke and Sister Dorothy on the left)

After Tippy came, friends rooted and blossomed like flowers.  Only somehow they seemed to last much, much longer.

 I think Mike doesn't mind that we aren't wearing red shoes.

 

  Tippy still loves her "other girls."                  TV repairman Dick,  waltzed onto "the scene," married Tippy, joined

                                                             the church,  loved Adam, Amy, (Joann) and Mike and brought Karen and David                                                                      into the picture. After we moved, Dick served in helping to lead the branch and 

                                                          Mike loved the youth into activity (with boats and skis)  in Stake young men's and later                                                               as their Stake President.  They each taught us how to serve and extend a hand.

Here is Carma with Joann bringing lemon bars to us when Joann was sad.  

Fast forward forty four years plus a few months.  ("Fahty fah" with a N'Hampsha accent.)

Val and I had planned with Amber and Jake, to spend our only Saturday in Utah with them.
This would have been the day prior to little Kevin's blessing day,  two days before the adventurers handed their white gloves and keys to their Provo apartment on their way past Moab National Monument, and further southeast to an Air Force base 1,684 miles away.

Our plan:  family games would follow dinner at Grandma Starkey's, 
after drying off from swimming with niece and nephews.

This, after a tour of Layton's Air Force museum to follow lunch and a morning visit to Bountiful temple.  Early.

               

President Cazier had kindly researched some Hillman names to help fill the upcoming Wednesday evening session we had reserved to honor Grandpa and Grandma Hillman.  President Cazier is not shy.  I had some 137 Hillman names, with several left to complete, and Amber and Jake were game.  A generous temple recorder had indicated if we hoped to view the newest film, we should try the 7:15, 8:15 or 9:30 am sessions.  Lines were very long.  7:15 would be pushing it...what if you try for 8:15?  8:15 it was.  Amber and I waited together--not a better together time--than to sit in white, not in a rush, in a special place. (Her sister, Kristen taught me in her first years of college, perched barefoot on the baptismal bench with arms around her knees that even in growing up years, we can sometimes find a place like the tree house of our childhood, to be wrapped with imagination in sacred space.)

Completing an initiatory session, we made our way to the second floor chapel, where Val met us.  "Aren't you going to greet the couple at the front?"  (Why should I do this?)  I looked up toward where he had pointed.  Of all the things we had planned for our one week in Utah, the only place that we expected to find anyone but family (or doctors or dentist) was at church.  Tomorrow. For a few hours. And nothing else. Period.

I looked up to find Bryan Jenkins, an Alaskan-raised BYU-trained Calculus teacher married to my friend Joann--yes, my twin from second grade.

I called Joann to ask for a childhood picture--she said, "Oh, just use one of you--we looked enough alike!"  She also mentioned that our moms would just count the blonde heads (in order to go anywhere) and would check the faces later!  Her response about New Hampshire accents:  "Please remember, the country started in the East and as people moved West the language was corrupted!"

So, here is happily driving home--that ever familiar steep 400 North hill from Bountiful temple--with a view of the lake and the valley!

Val likes airplanes.  Sometimes when our skies are filled with clouds, it is possible to look up and find our names written in the sky.  In silver--you know, the lining from the clouds.  Megan has taught me (through Gerald Lund) that moments when you are tempted to "Call it Coincidence but Can't"  that our sky writing might be called a Divine Signature:  "Someone knows my name, and for whatever reason, it is written in the sky today." 

I hear it happens to the least suspecting--be watching!

A  P.S. from Joann (a note to our Mom later)

Dear Mom...

I almost didn't go to the temple [Saturday], thinking I needed a little more sleep.  I suddenly felt I had to get there.  Once I arrived, I thought of Laurene and was trying to figure out if there would be any chance to visit her while she was home.  Imagine my surprise a few moments later to see Val standing in the back of the chapel.  I could only hope Laurene was there too.  That could only be orchestrated long before, for us to be there in the same session.  Whenever I see a Gee family member my mind goes back all those years ago and remembers how [this] family blessed my life eternally.  Thank you once again for the role you have played in my life and the lives of my family.  I heard recently, and you may have, too, "You only live eternally."  I am... grateful for the blessings of eternity, more so now than I have ever been.

Love Joann, your other 52 year old daughter.  

The sentiment is mutual. Here's to hoping that not just families can be for the long term--
We are voting for the friend thing, too!