1970s Furniture

Monica recently commented that she loved some of the furniture we had in our family room and how she has recently looked for it online. I confessed that I had recently referenced it and hoped we could amass some individual photos that might have them in the pictures, so as to get a look as a whole. I want to say that mom said they were Scandinavian. As I remember, there were 3-4 pieces to them made out of wood about 8 inches from the floor. They were deep set so that a 3 inch black cushion could fit in the crevice as pictured in the photo of Darron and Tony. The unique thing about them was that they were completely versatile so black mats, orange chairs or aqua blue chairs could go in any given space. So mixing and matching colors or one black cushion and one chair could be arranged next to each other. We could also take out the chair part and place on the floor and sit there to watch tv. May seem trivial, but these were pretty slick at the time, almost like our modern day Ikea furniture. Hoping others have photos of our furniture and can add.

In the picture entitled Darron 3 you can see the white table with matching white swivel orange space aged chairs. The table was one piece of hard white space aged material. This matched the family room set of benches.

Baby Out With the Bath Water...

I am hoping others have photos of bath time situations. Mostly because I am hoping I was not the only one who had this done to me. The photo of me on the kitchen table reminds me of the story she told of how she made me sleep. If I was restless at night, she would bring me in to the kitchen and run me up and down the table which was cold and I would cry like a banshee. I would ultimately tire, and go to sleep.

Cherry Hill Living

This was the first home I lived in, in New Jersey. It was located in Cherry Hill, New Jersey and I have no recollection of it. Nor do I know if they owned it or not. Shortly after this photo, they purchased a new home in Delran, New Jersey; circa 1970.

When Life Was Good

Here is a picture taken on July 22, 1970 at Yellowstone National Park. Pictured is Tony in a classic 1970's sweater, Monica- with a belly shirt and a fancy poncho that matches Loni's! I think Mom might have made these. Darron is there in his fancy brown duds and a rolly-polly belly! Then there is Mom- looking sooooo beautiful! She was so classy looking! And the other gal is Alicia- our nanny from Uruguay or another Latin American country. Funny story I heard about that situation. Apparently Mom and Dad hired her so we could all learn Spanish, but she came to America to learn English! So funny! She almost pierced my ears... which I think Mom would have had her deported for doing. Thankfully, I went and checked with Mom before letting Alicia ice my earlobe and shove a needle through it. Mom's answer was a resounding "NO!" No surprise there.

Classic Smith Family Pic- Summer 1982

(Back) Adam, Darron, Kurt, Loni, Tony
(Middle) Ray-Dad, Lois-Mom, Danielle, Mark, Monica
(Front) Tiffani, Donnie

Cute Baby Lois

Lois Ann Call- born February 18, 1937. She is approximately 6-10 months old here.

Here Comes the Bride- July 20, 1957

Lois Ann Call Smith- married on June 20, 1957, to Leslie Ray Smith, in the Salt Lake City Temple

Engagement- Spring of 1957

Leslie Ray Smith- age 22, and Lois Ann Call- age 20. I think this is their engagement picture- taken during the spring of 1957.

My Memories of Mom's Last Christmas

I was 15 years old when my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer. I remember when my parents called my 9 brothers and sisters and me into the living room and I remember coming in with a surly attitude, insulted that I had been called away from something I was doing, for this “stupid family meeting.” I recall her face when they told us. I don’t remember her crying. I remember how she and my dad just reassured us that although cancer was very serious, they were sure mom would be just fine. She had such faith. Now that I am the same age she was then, I know she must have been absolutely frightened on the inside. Her mind must have been reeling at the thought of all the possibilities: death, surgery, chemo-therapy, radiation, hair loss, her children and my dad.

How frightened she must have been, especially when she held her little three year old daughter. She must have looked into her “baby’s” big blue eyes and wondered what the future would bring.

I was there with her in the hospital when she saw herself for the first time after her surgery. She had undergone a mastectomy which not only took her right breast, but all the tissue and skin underneath her arm. Oh, how she cried. How ashamed she must have been of her deformed body. I don’t know how she ever faced my dad again, it’s a testimony of her faith in him as her husband and friend. She knew he loved her for who she was and he would always be there for her.

I went with her a few times when she had her chemo. She was so sick. It seemed that every day she lost more and more hair and became thinner and thinner. Her body was scarred and in constant pain. Yet, I don’t ever remember hearing her complain.

As I thought about my mom, I began to compare her life and circumstances with mine. At that time she had 10 children all under the age of 16. Her “to do list” was miles long. She had loads of laundry, piles of dirty dishes and no dishwasher, children to be taxied all over, and a never ending list of things that needed to be mended or repaired. Our family was very poor, but she always made do. She sewed many of the things we wore, not because she enjoyed it, but because she had to. There simply wasn’t enough money for all our needs. Again, I never heard her complain. I never heard her say one word that might ever lead me to think she thought her life was hard. She loved and supported my dad and never complained that there wasn’t a lot of extras.

As a matter of fact, I do remember her reply to my constant complaints about our “lot in life.” She would always say that we were “rich in love.” As one of the oldest and first in the family, I can tell you that I never ever heard her say that she regretted having any of the 10 of us. She considered her children as her greatest blessings.

My mom’s battle with cancer continued for 4 years. After graduating from high school I left home to attend Brigham Young University. The following summer, I returned home to get married and then my husband and I went back to BYU for school. As Christmas that year got closer and closer I kept feeling like I really needed to go “home” for the winter break. This was
virtually impossible since we were poor students and the flights home were very expensive. I also knew that I had been home just 4 months earlier and it seemed like a frivolous desire, but the feeling persisted and we decided to sacrifice the money for the trip. How thankful I am now for that prompting.

When I got home I found my mom up in her room in bed. I was so surprised to see the change in her. She was so skinny and frail and was having a difficult time breathing. She had lost so much weight that to walk was painful; much of the fat and muscle tissue was gone so there was nothing cushioning her feet and she could feel the floor with the bones in her heels. The worst part was that she couldn’t breathe because fluid had built up in her lungs. During the first few days of our visit her breathing became so labored that she had me take her to the doctor. There I held her as they stuck a huge needle, perhaps a quarter inch in diameter, through her back and into her lungs. I don’t recall the doctor being able to use an anesthetic during the process because of mom’s condition. The needle was attached to a hose which then began to drain the fluid from her lungs. There was so much fluid. I remember wondering how she had been able to take even a small breath with all of that fluid in her lungs. She had literally been drowning before my eyes. The process of extracting the fluid was very painful. As the fluid left her lungs and was not immediately replaced with air my mom felt as if her lungs were collapsing. She couldn’t breathe and the pain in her chest seemed unbearable. All I could do was hold her tight and tell her it would be all over very soon. Again she did not complain.

When I first arrived home for that visit I remember that mom was glad to see me, but more concerned about Christmas. It was only a few days away and she hadn’t been able to do much to prepare. She still had little ones who were expecting a visit from Santa and she needed my
help to get things ready. I sat with her as she made her list and then went in search of the toys, clothes, and other items she thought her children wanted. I wanted to just sit beside her and visit with her, but she was insistent that I get the remaining things on her list. She didn’t like being sick over Christmas, and she wanted it to be a good holiday for her kids. She didn’t want
it spoiled by her illness. Then just 3 days before Christmas her lungs again filled up with fluid and her breathing became so difficult that the doctors felt that she should be hospitalized. On Christmas Eve day I went to visit with her and-- again there was a list. One of the little ones had asked for roller skates and it was important to my mom that I get them. There were a few other things needed and as I left her hospital room I had no idea that it would be the last time that I would see her alive in this life. Looking back now, I should have known. She weighed only about 80 pounds and had tubes in her mouth and nose to help her breathe. Earlier that day she had undergone the same fluid extraction process as she had undergone earlier and I knew she was in a lot of pain. She spoke in a whisper, because she lacked the air for a true voice. She had to remove the oxygen mask in order to utter anything at all and it was difficult to hear her.

I was in K-mart shopping for the few things left on the list... it was Christmas Eve. I remember
seeing my dad come quickly into the store, asking me to come with him to the hospital because the doctors had called and told him to come right away. As we traveled to the hospital I prayed with all of my heart that she would be alive and alright. I selfishly pleaded with our Father in Heaven not to take my mom. I explained that we all needed her so much. I cried as my thoughts turned to the “little kids” who needed the love of their mother. My heart broke as I thought of the “big kids” too. Those teenagers still needed the loving guidance that I had received from my mom when I had been their age. I thought of my older brother on his mission and how much she had loved him and sacrificed for him. He needed her too. We all needed her and I just knew it wasn’t time for her to go, but it was.

When my dad and I arrived at the hospital we were told that she had passed away just a short time before. I went into her room and sat by her side and held her hand. I told her I loved her
and kissed her face and said good bye. I felt her spirit in that room.

As I sit in my home with my many comforts, surrounded by those that I love, with my healthy body and with my loved ones nearby, I know I would not want to walk in my mom’s shoes. I realize I could not walk in her shoes and ever do it with as much faith, hope and charity. She did not complain. She loved her children and to her dying breath her thoughts were of those she loved most.

Christmas is one of the most special times of the year for me. I often think of the many wonderful examples my mom set for me, especially during her last Christmas on earth. Looking back now I recognize that she gave me many precious gifts that did not come in pretty wrapped packages set under a tree. Instead, the gifts I am most thankful for are those she gave with her heart and her life. She gave me her love and acceptance. She taught me right from wrong and shared the true and everlasting gospel with me. She set a magnificent example for me of one who endures to the end, keeping a hope in Christ. It is my prayer that I will not waste these gifts. I feel tremendously blessed to have known her and felt of her love.

Mom's Special Rice Pudding

This recipe has a funny story that goes with it... and I swear, it is absolutely true!

One Sunday or Monday, when I was in my teens, my mom asked me to make rice pudding for Family Home Evening. I followed the recipe as outlined in Mom's big red Betty Crocker Cookbook. This is the recipe I followed until something surprising happened... (please see the end of the recipe for the rest of the story)

Ingredients:
6 C milk
1 C white rice
1/2 C white sugar
2 T butter
1/4 tsp. salt
2 tsp. vanilla
1/4 tsp. ground nutmeg
1 C raisins

Directions:
1. Add milk, rice, sugar, butter, and salt to a 3-quart saucepan.
2. Over medium heat, heat milk misture until tiny bubbles form around the edge, stirring mixture frequently.
3. Reduce heat to low; cover; simmer 1 hour or until rice is very tender, stirring occasionally.
4. Stir in vanilla and raisins.
5. Refrigerate for about 3 hours.

Story continued...
So, I followed directions #1-3. Then I began on number 4, adding in the vanilla. Then I got the container of raisins down from the top shelf of one of our cupboards. I opened it up without paying too much attention and proceeded to pour the raisins directly into the rice pudding. (You see, I had picked up some bad cooking habits from my mother- I didn't really care about measuring the ingredients- I just poured it directly from the package into the pudding.) Imagine how surprised I was when I looked at the rice pudding and saw that many of the raisins seemed to be moving. The raisins were covered with ANTS! Horrified, I told me mom what happened and asked her what to do. My thrifty mother, who was never one to waste food, said- without any hesitation- "Don't tell anyone, we are serving it anyway!" I thought she was kidding. But she assurred me that the ants would all die- since the rice was still very hot, so there was no worry that anyone would be eating live insects.

Suffice it to say that I went without dessert that night, but I must admit I was witness to everyone else eating the best rice pudding they had ever tasted!

Puffed Wheat

This is one of the cereals we all used to hate. I think Sandy the dog ended up eating more of this than any of us! However, I tried it again recently and really like it!

Ingredients:
Whole Wheat Kernals
Water
Salt (optional)

Directions:
1. Measure out wheat kernals and pour into a blender or food processor.
2. Pulse it to your preference (play with the pulsing to determine how much pulsing you prefer)
3. Pour pulsed wheat into a crockpot.
4. Add water- 1 C of water for each 1/4 C wheat kernals.
5. Add salt.
6. Cook on low overnight (about 6-8 hours)
7. Serve with brown sugar and milk.

Mom and Tiffani's "Great" Brown Bread

Ingredients:
10-12 C wheat flour
4 C very hot water
3/4 C sugar or honey
3/4 C oil
2 pkg. yeast
1 C warm water

Directions:
Using the warm water, follow the directions on the yeast pkg. Mix well 6 C flour, hot water, sugar/honey, and oil. Let cool down a bit and then add in yeast mixture. While beating, add rest of the flour till the right consistency. Knead for 5 minutes. Let rise 45 minutes. Knead again. Form into 4 loaves and put into greased pans. Let rise for 45 minutes. Bake at 400 degrees for 40 to 60 minutes.

(Although I am posting this recipe, I am in no way endorsing this recipe. Mom's bread was notorious for being hard to chew! I can't remember what embarrassed me more whenever I had a peanut butter sandwich for lunch... the fact that it was made with 3 inch wide slices of mom's wheat bread or that it was packaged in a very worn, obviously recycled Wonder Bread plastic bag! I usually only had time to take about 3 or 4 bites of my sandwich since it took so long to chew and swallow a single bite.)

A Tribute to My Precious Mother

I am so grateful for the blessing of being adopted into the Smith family and having the gospel in my life. I just reread my mother’s short journal that my sister Loni typed up and had bound for all of us several years ago. It covers only about 2 years of her life, but still it gives a glimpse into how she felt about each one of us and her feelings about my dad, our family, and her faith.

She writes about me and the trials I was going through and the trials I caused her because of my behavior. I was about 16 when the journal begins and I was almost 18 when she wrote her last entry. Those were difficult years for me, full of sin, stupidity, and pride. I remember feeling unloved, only because my mom was so sick, she could not be there for me. I was such a needy, demanding child. I spent those years trying to fill the void with worldly things: boys, money, clothes, popularity, etc. Much of the time I lied to my mom so she would think things were better than they were. However, I could not lie to myself.

Throughout my mom’s journal she talks about how worried she is for me, and her hope that I will see my way through to do what is right. Although she was very naïve at times, and I doubt she knew all that I was doing (for which I am thankful- it would have broken her heart), she was so faithful. She continued to teach and urge me to remember who I was and to grasp a hold of the gospel.

As I read, I felt such gratitude for her example of faith. I continued to make mistakes, then repent, then make mistakes again, then repent. I knew what I was doing was wrong, but really thought I would be able to repent when I went to BYU and all would be well. Little did I realize that although I could repent of my sins and be forgiven, the damage to my spirit and my self-worth would take a long time to repair. I ended up making bad choices about marriage because I did not repent fully, and I did not give myself the time needed to repair my spirit and self-worth before getting married. Instead, as a broken, very flawed individual, and without much spiritual depth, I entered into a marriage covenant with someone who was also flawed and not ready for marriage. That choice had such a profound impact on my life- and continues to have an impact on my future generations as well. Without the example my mother set, I may have continued down a bad road, leading my children to a life without the gospel.

I got married the first time when I was 18, 1 month shy of being 19. I had Kai 10 months later, and was pregnant with Savanah 3 years after that. With a 3 year old that I loved more than life itself, and pregnant with my second child; I began to think about my testimony and how I was going to teach my own children. I realized that I did not know for certain like my mother seemed to know. She was my example. It was her faith, her strength, her willingness to be obedient, her love for the Lord, that I knew I wanted to have. I knew I needed to have those things in order to be the kind of mother I wanted to be. So I began a quest to find out for myself. My parents had read to us from the illustrated Book of Mormon. I knew from their teachings and from seminary of Moroni’s promise that if I read and studied, and then prayed with faith, I would know for myself through the Holy Spirit.

I spent the better part of that year studying the words of the prophets in the Book of Mormon. I read, I read the Book of Mormon, I followed a study guide, I pondered, I took notes, and I prayed. I did this while carrying my sweet Savanah in my womb. I continued after she was born and laying in her bassinet beside my kitchen table. I read as Kai played with his toys or took a nap. At the end of my spiritual journey, I remember praying to know if it was true. No pillar of light descended from heaven. No clear voice came to me proclaiming a heavenly message. No visions of angels or spiritual manifestations of my mother or other loved ones now passed visited me. Instead, a clear message rang in my mind as a feeling of peace enveloped my heart and soul. The message was, “It is true and you have always known it.”

I thank my mother for her example- which spurred within me a desire to know for myself so that I could be the same kind of mother she was to me. I thank my Father in Heaven for the blessing he bestowed upon me that I might have the opportunity to be raised in the gospel. I am so thankful for the opportunity to repent and be forgiven, and for the Lord to remember my sins no
more. So much so, that He would bestow upon me the blessings of a testimony so strong and true, that I could pass it on without doubt to my own children. “I stand all amazed at the love Jesus has for me, confused at the grace that so fully he proffers me. That He should extend his great love unto such as I. To rescue a soul so rebellious and proud as mine.”

How grateful I am for such a mother.

Corrections to Darron's "Firsts- Standing Room Only"

I have two corrections to this article:

1. Jackson 5 who????? ...It's the Santa 5 now!
Darron, you are not wearing pajamas- you are wearing a santa costume. Mom made these
for the following kids: Monica, Tony, Loni, Darron, and Kurt. We wore these in a ward Christmas program. You're right, the boy's tops did not have buttons or clasps. They wrapped around
you and then were held together by a big black belt. I remember spending evenings practicing
singing the song and dance. If I remember correctly, and I may not- but I'm sure Loni will correct me if I'm wrong, we sang "Up On the Housetops." Mom taught us a dance that involved doing these motions in the following order: Jump up with hands over head, jump to your belly, do a push up, and then return to our feet. This was repeated several times during the chorus. I can't remember anything after the push-up... probably because I was so out of breath by then... We were a huge hit at the show. It was all an attempt by mom to turn us into the Mormon version of the Jackson 5! (Dad wasn't the only one dreaming of hitting it big one day!)

2. The True Creator

I am the unequivocal creator of Goblins and Goodguys... the best game on Earth! Although I have no witness to my setting the game up for the first time as Darron and Loni claim, I, as the eldest, always did everything first and best... and lead the family in all cool things- so it stands to reason that I was the creator of this game. However, please let me set the record straight. Having fun with the debate over who created the game is not equivalent to being sensitive to its origination. For the sake of family peace, let me just say that I don't really care who invented
it, I just want it to live on. One of my bucketlist items is to play it again with my brothers and sisters and have my kids there as well. Anyone interested? We need a house with access
to the backyard from both sides!