Do you believe in visions, angels, Sarah Pallin or one putts? To me they all take an act of faith sometimes beyond rational thinking. My mother, Ondulyn Eckersell Weiser, would tell me often about her great grandfather William Wallace Raymond who in August of 1881 had a vision about the spirit world. My conceptions about how things are there are often based on this vision. I think that a man almost ready to die wouldn’t make something like that up. He had no agenda or reason to do so. I personally believe it is true. I don’t just hope that there is a spirit world from which we came and into which will pass when we die I have faith that such is true. Faith is beyond hope.
This is what the prophets say about faith. The Apostle Paul taught that “faith is the substance [assurance] of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen” (Hebrews 11:1). Alma made a similar statement: “If ye have faith ye hope for things which are not seen, which are true” (Alma 32:21). Faith is a principle of action and power. Whenever we work toward a worthy goal, we exercise faith. We show our hope for something that we cannot yet see.
Account of Vision of William Wallace Raymond, Ondulyn Eckersell Weiser’s Great-Grandfather on her Mother’s Mother’s Side.
Early in the forenoon on the same day I was called to go and see him as he was very sick and appeared strange. After talking for some length of time with him about his affliction and what he had suffered the night previous, he said he did not think that he could stand it another night, But prayed to the Lord and had talked with Him as a child would talk with a father on earth and was satisfied that He would answer his prayers. I left the room and about twelve O’clock returned at half past two in the afternoon and found him stranger than ever. I also noticed him watching the clock and often asking what time it was. One of the family informed me that he had said there would be a change in him about 3 O’clock. At that time be became more feeble and desired to lie on the bed. He called his family to his bedside.
He lay there about half an hour. We stood by thinking every breath would be the last. His feet were cold, eyes dull and countenance much changed, but to our great surprise he arose from his bed and said, “I am a well man, no more sick, I am all right.” His appearance demonstrated the truth of his statement.
He said, “You do not know where I have been. I have been to the Spirit World and have seen many things and many people that I know. I saw Joseph and Hyrum Smith, Brigham Young and members of the twelve that are dead. I also saw my parents, children and many of our neighbors. One sister from this place, with whom I was personally acquainted, had charge of a number of small children similar to a class in Sunday School, but I did not see any that did not belong to the church but was informed that they could come and visit friends but not stay.”
“They live in beautiful cities, with fine streets pave as it were with fine carpet but it was rock. The inhabitants are numerous and are natural so much so, that I could distinguish them by their nationality. They all look young and beautiful and dress quite naturally and the material looks like white silk. They eat, drink, and hold meetings, as we do and I ate with them. They all live in perfect order such as I have never seen on earth and move quite naturally from place to place, but I did not see any one riding, but was informed that there were conveyances whenever they desired to go a distance.”
“Brother Joseph Smith presided over the Latter Day Saints. Brother Hyrum Smith has the marks of the bullets and will wear them as Jesus to show that he fell a martyr for the truth. Outside of the beautiful cities are lovely parks abounding with all kinds of animals. The people are acquainted with our doings on earth but they said it was not wisdom for us to know much about them.”
“Society is graded something as we are but money and this world’s plenty does not constitute the grade, but it is governed by ability and position in the Holy Priesthood. Should any doubt my veracity let them ask any question, and I will answer it to satisfy any reasonable person. I am still mortal and subject to imperfections and I did not have the promise of getting well or that I should tarry long on earth.”
After Brother Raymond had said what I have written and answered numerous questions to relatives and friends he put on his hat and went out in the orchard, and returned when his former affliction in part returned. He lived only one week after seeing this vision. Died 9 Aug 1881 in Plain City, Weber, Utah
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Jack of many trades, master of None.
When I start thinking about my childhood I see a picture in my head of a place or an event. One picture or memory will trigger another and then I think of things I haven't thought of for years. I don't really know if that is what really happened or just my perception of what happened. Probably most of our life experiences are our own take on things. Life as always seen through our "ME" glasses. That is a good reason to write a journal or diary so that things are recorded soon after they happen and may have a chance of being accurate.
Linda Weiser Leeper personal history. Instalement #2
I played the violin in elementary school and played with the Ricks College symphony. I hauled the violin 2 blocks to school and then 5 blocks through town, up College Ave and to my lesson from Prof Dietmar. He was patient since I wasn’t very good but I was learning the vibrato. I used to practice upstairs in the mortuary because there was a piano there and sometimes a body was quietly lying in the next room. At the time it didn’t seem unusual. I played in the orchestra in Jr. High school but abruptly quit when a friend teased me by saying it was a stupid instrument and that I should be in the cool band instead. I then started playing the French horn in the band. My friend, Elaine Ritchie, and I played a French horn duet in a competition and I was so scared I couldn’t make a sound come out of the horn. “Please give me another chance”, I pled to the judges. After several attempts I finally was able to toot a weakened rendition of what we had practiced for so many weeks. That was one of my worst childhood memories.
I crashed the symbols in the marching band because the French horn was not a good marching instrument. Early one morning I did a terrible thing to my father. He was bending over while getting eggs for his breakfast out of the refrigerator. I crept up behind him and crashed the symbols a few feet away from his head. He jumped so high I had to help him off of the ceiling. “ *#+$%^&*” , was all I remember him saying, He was very mad at me but we later laughed about it when his hearing finally came back. Sometimes I do things out of impulse without thinking though the consequences you know like sticking my tongue on ice cube tray.
Music adds much joy to my life. Besides the violin and French horn I played the guitar and piano. If I had only stuck with one instrument I could have been good but no I had to keep trying different ones. Part of my personality demands lots of different things going on at once. I have had a zillion hobbies over the years and still like lots of projects. In fact there is hardly a subject which doesn’t grab my attention and make me want to participate. Favorite interests of mine include genealogy, gardening, cooking, golf, knitting, reading, movies, stained glass, hiking, photography, grandkids, gospel study, birds, crossword puzzles, travel, bridge, yada yada, zzzzzzzzz.
When I was 12 an event happened which had a marked impact on my use of time. My brother, Paul, had returned from his mission to Mexico and Guatemala. He was in Medical school at the University of Utah. When my parents and I visited him in 1952 a passing comment he made caught in my mind and has influenced my life ever since. Paul said of his roommate, “He is always busy and never wastes a single minute.” I don’t know why but I thought to myself that I want to be that way. As a result I have never let my time pass idly unless that is part of my plan for the day. I am hyperactive and over programmed most of the time but that is when I am the happiest. I may be busy for business’ sake but later in my life I have tried to stay involved with things which have eternal consequences. I’m not sure how golf fits into this scheme but I use the excuse that it is one of the few things that Larry and I have in common besides the children and a love of dark chocolate and movies.
Linda Weiser Leeper personal history. Instalement #2
I played the violin in elementary school and played with the Ricks College symphony. I hauled the violin 2 blocks to school and then 5 blocks through town, up College Ave and to my lesson from Prof Dietmar. He was patient since I wasn’t very good but I was learning the vibrato. I used to practice upstairs in the mortuary because there was a piano there and sometimes a body was quietly lying in the next room. At the time it didn’t seem unusual. I played in the orchestra in Jr. High school but abruptly quit when a friend teased me by saying it was a stupid instrument and that I should be in the cool band instead. I then started playing the French horn in the band. My friend, Elaine Ritchie, and I played a French horn duet in a competition and I was so scared I couldn’t make a sound come out of the horn. “Please give me another chance”, I pled to the judges. After several attempts I finally was able to toot a weakened rendition of what we had practiced for so many weeks. That was one of my worst childhood memories.
I crashed the symbols in the marching band because the French horn was not a good marching instrument. Early one morning I did a terrible thing to my father. He was bending over while getting eggs for his breakfast out of the refrigerator. I crept up behind him and crashed the symbols a few feet away from his head. He jumped so high I had to help him off of the ceiling. “ *#+$%^&*” , was all I remember him saying, He was very mad at me but we later laughed about it when his hearing finally came back. Sometimes I do things out of impulse without thinking though the consequences you know like sticking my tongue on ice cube tray.
Music adds much joy to my life. Besides the violin and French horn I played the guitar and piano. If I had only stuck with one instrument I could have been good but no I had to keep trying different ones. Part of my personality demands lots of different things going on at once. I have had a zillion hobbies over the years and still like lots of projects. In fact there is hardly a subject which doesn’t grab my attention and make me want to participate. Favorite interests of mine include genealogy, gardening, cooking, golf, knitting, reading, movies, stained glass, hiking, photography, grandkids, gospel study, birds, crossword puzzles, travel, bridge, yada yada, zzzzzzzzz.
When I was 12 an event happened which had a marked impact on my use of time. My brother, Paul, had returned from his mission to Mexico and Guatemala. He was in Medical school at the University of Utah. When my parents and I visited him in 1952 a passing comment he made caught in my mind and has influenced my life ever since. Paul said of his roommate, “He is always busy and never wastes a single minute.” I don’t know why but I thought to myself that I want to be that way. As a result I have never let my time pass idly unless that is part of my plan for the day. I am hyperactive and over programmed most of the time but that is when I am the happiest. I may be busy for business’ sake but later in my life I have tried to stay involved with things which have eternal consequences. I’m not sure how golf fits into this scheme but I use the excuse that it is one of the few things that Larry and I have in common besides the children and a love of dark chocolate and movies.
Saturday, January 29, 2011
Snappy Beginnings
Snappy Beginnings
I have a friend here in Coronado, Roslyn Kirk, who taught English writing at the U of Utah. Tuesday I asked her for some help in writing an interesting autobiography. Her first suggestion was that you have to start with an attention getting story instead of ‘I was born 20 Nov 1939 in Rexburg, Idaho.’ Well I have already blown it, but what if I would start all over again with a really snappy beginning? I could start a new section with an interesting intro. That might capture your interest and you would read on. I have been wracking my brain all week for some “snappers” and hope the following beginnings will be worthy of your time. This is good information for you too when you begin a conversation, your blog, a journal entry, an article, an essay or a talk for church or work.
Snappy Beginning #1
Seven of us ‘Beehive Girls’ had escaped from girl’s camp and were hiking along a dusty trail on the western side of the Grand Tetons. It was a beautiful July day with a fresh forest full of animal sounds and the giggles of us girls. Through the trees I spied the glimmer of sunshine off of water and lead the pack to the edge of a lonely mountain pond. The water was so clear you could see the moss and pollywogs on the bottom. I couldn’t stand to let the opportunity go and tore my clothes off and dived in naked. The water was near 40 degrees and I almost went in to shock but I paddled around anyway yelling, “Come in you chickens the water feels great.” There were no takers and in a few minutes I was getting numb and climbed up the slippery bank. One of my so called friends seized the Kodak moment and snapped a picture of me in the buff. (but that’s another story) This is a type for my life for I am impulsive and I like to fill each day with adventure. Living with Larry for low these 50 years has settled me down a little and kept me out of jail.
Snappy Beginning #2
The Schaffer Switchbacks in Canyon Lands have a thousand foot drop and are the dramatic start of the White Rim Trail. Why would a 70 year old granny think she could negotiate those hairpin turns and come out unscathed? Well I am the granny who tried.
For 15 years our family has biked and 4-wheeled through the tough 100 mile Trail and I had never gone down the switchbacks. If I could just follow Sidney I knew I could do it. The deal was to follow but no; about half way down I wondered why she was going so slow for the road wasn’t that scary. I took off ahead and was feeling proud and exhilarated by the steep drop from the edge of the trail. Just as I came around a tight right turn the dry dirt put the front wheel into a skid. I panicked and crashed in to a geriatric heap on the trail. With an alarmed look on her face Sidney yelled, “Mom, are you OK?” I was able to stand up immediately but the blood was already down my shin into my sock. She tenderly squirted the dirt out of the wound with her water bottle and dusted me off. “I’ve got to get back in the saddle now before I chicken out”, I said and lumbered on my gel seat and took off much more slowly this time. At the bottom I looked back up at the steep cliff we had just descended and it was hard to believe they could even cut a road up there.
This is a pattern I have used in my life of taking risks, having new experiences and continuing to try to grow and learn. I love life with all of its adventures, switchbacks and fun.
Snappy Beginning #3
Can pigs fly? Can dogs climb trees? Well my dog Prince could as Billie Sommers is my witness. My beloved rust colored cocker spaniel followed me everywhere around town. That day he had followed me to Billie’s house to play. Against a tree in her backyard leaned an inviting tall ladder. Billie climbed up first and hollered, “Come on up this is a great view.” “Wouldn’t it be cool to get Prince to climb the ladder and join us in the tree?” I thought. Putting his front paws on the first rung I coaxed him to keep going. Much to my surprise he didn’t hesitate and was up three rungs before I knew it. Slowly he inched his way up the 12 foot ladder and into Billie’s arms. I followed him up and we all sat together in the crotch of the tree laughing at the strange picture a dog in a tree must have made.
Shortly we grew bored and descended leaving Prince whimpering in the tree. “Come on down boy”, we pled. Climbing up was easy but going down a ladder forwards or backwards was beyond his skill set. I couldn’t lift him down because he was a big dog and I was a little girl. We finally pulled an old door over and leaned it up the tree. I carefully tugged Prince on to the door and we slid him down. Adventure over, we laughed that next time we would have a better exit plan.
Snappy Beginning # 4 From The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls
I was sitting in a taxi, wondering if I had overdressed for the evening, when I looked out the window and saw Mom rooting through a Dumpster. It was just after dark. A Blustery March wind whipped the steam coming out of the manholes, and people hurried along the sidewalks with their collars turned up. I was stuck in traffic two blocks from the party where I was heading.
Mom stood fifteen feet away. She had tied rags around her shoulders to keep out the spring chill and was picking through the trash while her dog, a black-and-white terrier mix, played at her feet. Mom’s gestures were all familiar-the way she tilted her head and thrust out her lower lip when studying items of potential value that she’d hoisted out of the Dumpster, the way her eyes widened with childish glee when she found something she liked. Her long hair was streaked with gray, tangled and matted, and her eyes had sunk deep into their sockets, but still she reminded me of the mom she’d been when I was a kid, swan-diving off cliffs and painting in the desert and reading Shakespeare aloud. Her cheekbones were still high and strong, but the skin was parched and ruddy from all those winters and summers exposed to the elements. To the people walking by, she probably looked like any of the thousands of homeless people in New York City.
I just started reading this book and it is pretty good. Has anyone read it? Jeannette Walls also wrote Half Broke Horses. Anyone read any good books lately?
If you don’t have a Snappy Beginning at least have a Snappy Come Back.
I have a friend here in Coronado, Roslyn Kirk, who taught English writing at the U of Utah. Tuesday I asked her for some help in writing an interesting autobiography. Her first suggestion was that you have to start with an attention getting story instead of ‘I was born 20 Nov 1939 in Rexburg, Idaho.’ Well I have already blown it, but what if I would start all over again with a really snappy beginning? I could start a new section with an interesting intro. That might capture your interest and you would read on. I have been wracking my brain all week for some “snappers” and hope the following beginnings will be worthy of your time. This is good information for you too when you begin a conversation, your blog, a journal entry, an article, an essay or a talk for church or work.
Snappy Beginning #1
Seven of us ‘Beehive Girls’ had escaped from girl’s camp and were hiking along a dusty trail on the western side of the Grand Tetons. It was a beautiful July day with a fresh forest full of animal sounds and the giggles of us girls. Through the trees I spied the glimmer of sunshine off of water and lead the pack to the edge of a lonely mountain pond. The water was so clear you could see the moss and pollywogs on the bottom. I couldn’t stand to let the opportunity go and tore my clothes off and dived in naked. The water was near 40 degrees and I almost went in to shock but I paddled around anyway yelling, “Come in you chickens the water feels great.” There were no takers and in a few minutes I was getting numb and climbed up the slippery bank. One of my so called friends seized the Kodak moment and snapped a picture of me in the buff. (but that’s another story) This is a type for my life for I am impulsive and I like to fill each day with adventure. Living with Larry for low these 50 years has settled me down a little and kept me out of jail.
Snappy Beginning #2
The Schaffer Switchbacks in Canyon Lands have a thousand foot drop and are the dramatic start of the White Rim Trail. Why would a 70 year old granny think she could negotiate those hairpin turns and come out unscathed? Well I am the granny who tried.
For 15 years our family has biked and 4-wheeled through the tough 100 mile Trail and I had never gone down the switchbacks. If I could just follow Sidney I knew I could do it. The deal was to follow but no; about half way down I wondered why she was going so slow for the road wasn’t that scary. I took off ahead and was feeling proud and exhilarated by the steep drop from the edge of the trail. Just as I came around a tight right turn the dry dirt put the front wheel into a skid. I panicked and crashed in to a geriatric heap on the trail. With an alarmed look on her face Sidney yelled, “Mom, are you OK?” I was able to stand up immediately but the blood was already down my shin into my sock. She tenderly squirted the dirt out of the wound with her water bottle and dusted me off. “I’ve got to get back in the saddle now before I chicken out”, I said and lumbered on my gel seat and took off much more slowly this time. At the bottom I looked back up at the steep cliff we had just descended and it was hard to believe they could even cut a road up there.
This is a pattern I have used in my life of taking risks, having new experiences and continuing to try to grow and learn. I love life with all of its adventures, switchbacks and fun.
Snappy Beginning #3
Can pigs fly? Can dogs climb trees? Well my dog Prince could as Billie Sommers is my witness. My beloved rust colored cocker spaniel followed me everywhere around town. That day he had followed me to Billie’s house to play. Against a tree in her backyard leaned an inviting tall ladder. Billie climbed up first and hollered, “Come on up this is a great view.” “Wouldn’t it be cool to get Prince to climb the ladder and join us in the tree?” I thought. Putting his front paws on the first rung I coaxed him to keep going. Much to my surprise he didn’t hesitate and was up three rungs before I knew it. Slowly he inched his way up the 12 foot ladder and into Billie’s arms. I followed him up and we all sat together in the crotch of the tree laughing at the strange picture a dog in a tree must have made.
Shortly we grew bored and descended leaving Prince whimpering in the tree. “Come on down boy”, we pled. Climbing up was easy but going down a ladder forwards or backwards was beyond his skill set. I couldn’t lift him down because he was a big dog and I was a little girl. We finally pulled an old door over and leaned it up the tree. I carefully tugged Prince on to the door and we slid him down. Adventure over, we laughed that next time we would have a better exit plan.
Snappy Beginning # 4 From The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls
I was sitting in a taxi, wondering if I had overdressed for the evening, when I looked out the window and saw Mom rooting through a Dumpster. It was just after dark. A Blustery March wind whipped the steam coming out of the manholes, and people hurried along the sidewalks with their collars turned up. I was stuck in traffic two blocks from the party where I was heading.
Mom stood fifteen feet away. She had tied rags around her shoulders to keep out the spring chill and was picking through the trash while her dog, a black-and-white terrier mix, played at her feet. Mom’s gestures were all familiar-the way she tilted her head and thrust out her lower lip when studying items of potential value that she’d hoisted out of the Dumpster, the way her eyes widened with childish glee when she found something she liked. Her long hair was streaked with gray, tangled and matted, and her eyes had sunk deep into their sockets, but still she reminded me of the mom she’d been when I was a kid, swan-diving off cliffs and painting in the desert and reading Shakespeare aloud. Her cheekbones were still high and strong, but the skin was parched and ruddy from all those winters and summers exposed to the elements. To the people walking by, she probably looked like any of the thousands of homeless people in New York City.
I just started reading this book and it is pretty good. Has anyone read it? Jeannette Walls also wrote Half Broke Horses. Anyone read any good books lately?
If you don’t have a Snappy Beginning at least have a Snappy Come Back.
Sunday, January 23, 2011
Personal History Beginings
Thanks for looking at this whom ever. Think about your first memories and perhaps start writing them down so that your personal history will be more accurate and interesting when the time comes for you to put pen to paper or fingers to keyboard. It is a good exercise to think of one's life and organize it in your psyche. We are so fortunate to have the Gospel perspective to add meaning to where we have been and where we are going. Here Goes
Personal History of Linda Weiser Leeper
Preface:
Why am I writing this personal history one might wonder? I’m not so sure myself even as I write. I feel guilty that I have waited so long. I am 71 years old as I begin this effort and know or hope I will add chapters for decades to come. One always pictures oneself as living forever or at least a long time. What is it in us that says, ‘I am immortal’ – I will go on and on forever. Truth? I believe we each have little glimpses through the veil of eternity that makes us realize we lived long before we reached this earth and will live for ever after we leave this existence. Perhaps it is the spark of the divine which gives me the feeling of eternal optimism. I don’t think I am afraid to die for I got over that fear long ago as my testimony of God’s plan grew and my life was more in line with God’s desires for me.
I have begun my history many times and then never followed through to finish the effort. Some were lost on old hard drives or discs of an ancient computer. This attempt was hand written because no computer is available to me. I write out of a sense of obedience knowing it can be a cathartic experience to analyze and organize a life. Not that that alone can give meaning or import to it but that it may serve the reader to some small extent. Many addendums were added in 2011 as I began a blog and decided the Linda Story needed a little more meat.
Much of the history was written when we staying on Maui, Hawaii for January and February 0f 2003 to escape the cold of Utah. This brings to mind my take on past events may well be influenced by the peace and calm I feel here in this lovely place. However, one tends to soften the pricks of ones past through the process of selective memory no matter where one lives. I personally am a great “Pollyanna” who sees the good and forgets the sad parts of any event or circumstance. This ability hasn’t always come naturally as I might just as easily dwell on the negative such as the failings of my own and other’s personalities. It’s so easy to point out that mote in another’s eye when ones self is harboring a beam (fault) even larger. I have had to ask God for help to see the positive of situations and people in my life. Just when I think I am being nonjudgmental then I am finding fault or wishing for events or people to change to my way of thinking. So my point is that this remembrance may not be a factual account but my take on what happened and how it affected me at the time. As a reader the only thing I hope for you is that you may learn something to improve your life and the relationship you have with our Savior.
Birth and Heritage
I was born a third child to kind and loving parents through a Western European genealogy. My Mother, Ondulyn Eckersell Weiser, was of Scotch/English lines. One line came to the United States through William Bradford who was on the Mayflower in 1620ish. Others like the McPhails came from Scotland as Mormon converts. Archibald McPhail lost his wife in Scotland then remarried and came to America to be with the Saints in the West. He and his family were on the ill fated Willey Hand Cart company when an early snowstorm caught the company in Wyoming. My mother told me the story that Archibald helped an old woman across a creek after she refused to cross and then he died of hypothermia that night of Nov 6 1856. He was buried near what is now Evanston, Wyoming. Henrietta, his 16 year old daughter survived and lived with Brigham Young’s family for 4 years until she was married in 1861.
Rolland Weiser, My father, told stories of the Weiser family’s flight from Germany in the early 1700s. They went to England and then immigrated as indentured servants to America. The Koonce line through Larry’s mother came to America in this same time period from Germany to North Carolina. My Dad was proud of Conrad Weiser who as a young boy lived with Indians, learned their language and later became an interpreter for General George Washington. Both my parents were proud of their ancestors and instilled that pride in us children.
My older brother, Paul, was 9 years my senior and we didn’t have a close relationship due to the age difference. My sister, Ann, was 4 years older and has been a good friend all my life. I admire her kindness to everyone in her life including me. When we would quarrel as children she was always to one to make up first.
20 November 1939 was the day of my birth in a hospital on College Avenue in Rexburg, Idaho. My mother like most women at that time was hospitalized in bed for 10 days following childbirth. I had all four of our babies on a Friday and was home by Monday, which seemed a more reasonable time to me. Today women are home within 24 hours if they have a normal birth.
You may notice I have a hard time staying on track without editorializing about each event but then that is my personality. My children always felt as if I gave them too much information when a simple answer would do. I know there was a lot of eye rolling when I was going on and on.
Growing up in Rexburg, Idaho, a small Mormon farming community was a pleasant and fun. During my early years World War II and the Jewish Holocaust were happening. In fact it was only two months before I was born that Germany invaded Poland to begin that horrific chapter of history. It sobers me to think of the hundreds of thousands of Jewish children who went to the gas chambers and death camps white I lived in such a safe place. I have never had an answer but know as ‘Church Doctrine’ goes that “when much is given, much is expected. “
We were free to do many activities by ourselves in Rexburg and weren’t afraid of bad people harming us. I walked all over town alone while going and coming from school, violin lessons and friend’s homes and never felt afraid. Walked is the key word here as the town was small enough to perambulate edge to edge in 20 minutes.
Elementary School Years
My earliest memories are of grade school days in the Adams School. My November birth date was past the dead line to start school but my mother was a beautician and did the first grade teacher’s hair in a home beauty shop. Mrs. Bitters, the teacher, observed by developmental level and suggested I start school at age 5. I was therefore always the youngest person in my class which really didn’t seem to make much difference socially or academically. My first memory is of my sister, Ann, walking me to the Adams Elementary school which was two blocks away. I was upset that my mother wasn’t taking me on my first day of school. I think lots of first memories for people are connected to a traumatic or singular event like a little brother or sister coming home from the hospital to nudge them off of their thrones.
Adams elementary school has a few special memories for me as I picture the two story red brick building with a classroom on each corner of the building. When I walk around the building in my mind I discover things I haven’t thought about for decades. First I am propelled back by thoughts of the smell of linseed like oil that was used to treat the wooden floors. Its smell was warm and very rich and made the floor shine with a deep luster. Now the clouds of eraser dust billow through my mind as I think about clapping erasers together to clean them. There was also a wheel with brushes to clean chalk off but if you let go of the eraser it would fly around and land in the dust bin at the bottom which was hard to retrieve. Students were assigned to eraser duty as well as bell duty as a reward for good behavior. I remember feeling very proud to ring the bell for the dismissal of school when the clock above the stairs reached the proper time.
Mrs. Tuescher was my feared third grade teacher. She would whack misbehaving children’s hands with a ruler. I was a good girl in third grade unlike first grade when I talked several children in to leaving at recess to go to my home for a party. I got in trouble for that one. Blaine Hilton was a blond haired boy whom I adored in 3rd grade but not as much as his mother’s sugar cookies. She would make them for our class each holiday and they were cleverly shaped and covered with colorful icing. We never had these at home so it was a special treat and sugar cookies remain my favorite.
Darker Memories
A sad thing happened at Adams Elementary when an auto flush toilet swished away my new topaz ring which slipped from my finger when I stood up and triggered the flush. Another time I jumped off of a teeter totter just to see what would happen to the person on the other end. They came crashing down and let me know that was not a kind thing to do.
The biggest deception I can remember is when I was about 8, I wanted an Easter Chick the worst way. They were so cute and fluffy and I knew one would make a perfect pet. My parents said no way and so I schemed up a plan. There was an Easter Egg Hunt at the Ricks College and I went in hopes to get an egg which would have a prize of a chick. Well I found eggs but no chick prize. There were little stickers on the eggs to tell what prize if any one won. I got a sticker and wrote ‘chick’ on it. I then presented it at the King’s Store where the chicks were sold. They didn’t question the tag and gave me a cute chick. I don’t remember if I named it but it grew rapidly and followed me all around the yard like a dog. My father had a mortuary upstairs in the house were we lived. Once there was a Japanese wake upstairs all around the dead body and my chicken wandered in to the middle of the crowd. My father was aghast but the people told him not to worry that it was very good luck and a great omen for the family. I was off the hook. My conscience by then was too much so I saved up the money for the price of the chick and took it back to the Kings Store. My debt paid I don’t think I ever stole or lied again, well not much.
As I read what I have written here I feel uncomfortable with all the “Is and mes”. I am dismayed by people who always turn the conversation back to themselves. Oh well, this is “My Personal History” and you aren’t being forced to read it although I do have sympathy for you as you could probably be doing something much more useful with your time. Remember though that someday you should write your life’s story for your posterity to know what life was really like way back then.
Personal History of Linda Weiser Leeper
Preface:
Why am I writing this personal history one might wonder? I’m not so sure myself even as I write. I feel guilty that I have waited so long. I am 71 years old as I begin this effort and know or hope I will add chapters for decades to come. One always pictures oneself as living forever or at least a long time. What is it in us that says, ‘I am immortal’ – I will go on and on forever. Truth? I believe we each have little glimpses through the veil of eternity that makes us realize we lived long before we reached this earth and will live for ever after we leave this existence. Perhaps it is the spark of the divine which gives me the feeling of eternal optimism. I don’t think I am afraid to die for I got over that fear long ago as my testimony of God’s plan grew and my life was more in line with God’s desires for me.
I have begun my history many times and then never followed through to finish the effort. Some were lost on old hard drives or discs of an ancient computer. This attempt was hand written because no computer is available to me. I write out of a sense of obedience knowing it can be a cathartic experience to analyze and organize a life. Not that that alone can give meaning or import to it but that it may serve the reader to some small extent. Many addendums were added in 2011 as I began a blog and decided the Linda Story needed a little more meat.
Much of the history was written when we staying on Maui, Hawaii for January and February 0f 2003 to escape the cold of Utah. This brings to mind my take on past events may well be influenced by the peace and calm I feel here in this lovely place. However, one tends to soften the pricks of ones past through the process of selective memory no matter where one lives. I personally am a great “Pollyanna” who sees the good and forgets the sad parts of any event or circumstance. This ability hasn’t always come naturally as I might just as easily dwell on the negative such as the failings of my own and other’s personalities. It’s so easy to point out that mote in another’s eye when ones self is harboring a beam (fault) even larger. I have had to ask God for help to see the positive of situations and people in my life. Just when I think I am being nonjudgmental then I am finding fault or wishing for events or people to change to my way of thinking. So my point is that this remembrance may not be a factual account but my take on what happened and how it affected me at the time. As a reader the only thing I hope for you is that you may learn something to improve your life and the relationship you have with our Savior.
Birth and Heritage
I was born a third child to kind and loving parents through a Western European genealogy. My Mother, Ondulyn Eckersell Weiser, was of Scotch/English lines. One line came to the United States through William Bradford who was on the Mayflower in 1620ish. Others like the McPhails came from Scotland as Mormon converts. Archibald McPhail lost his wife in Scotland then remarried and came to America to be with the Saints in the West. He and his family were on the ill fated Willey Hand Cart company when an early snowstorm caught the company in Wyoming. My mother told me the story that Archibald helped an old woman across a creek after she refused to cross and then he died of hypothermia that night of Nov 6 1856. He was buried near what is now Evanston, Wyoming. Henrietta, his 16 year old daughter survived and lived with Brigham Young’s family for 4 years until she was married in 1861.
Rolland Weiser, My father, told stories of the Weiser family’s flight from Germany in the early 1700s. They went to England and then immigrated as indentured servants to America. The Koonce line through Larry’s mother came to America in this same time period from Germany to North Carolina. My Dad was proud of Conrad Weiser who as a young boy lived with Indians, learned their language and later became an interpreter for General George Washington. Both my parents were proud of their ancestors and instilled that pride in us children.
My older brother, Paul, was 9 years my senior and we didn’t have a close relationship due to the age difference. My sister, Ann, was 4 years older and has been a good friend all my life. I admire her kindness to everyone in her life including me. When we would quarrel as children she was always to one to make up first.
20 November 1939 was the day of my birth in a hospital on College Avenue in Rexburg, Idaho. My mother like most women at that time was hospitalized in bed for 10 days following childbirth. I had all four of our babies on a Friday and was home by Monday, which seemed a more reasonable time to me. Today women are home within 24 hours if they have a normal birth.
You may notice I have a hard time staying on track without editorializing about each event but then that is my personality. My children always felt as if I gave them too much information when a simple answer would do. I know there was a lot of eye rolling when I was going on and on.
Growing up in Rexburg, Idaho, a small Mormon farming community was a pleasant and fun. During my early years World War II and the Jewish Holocaust were happening. In fact it was only two months before I was born that Germany invaded Poland to begin that horrific chapter of history. It sobers me to think of the hundreds of thousands of Jewish children who went to the gas chambers and death camps white I lived in such a safe place. I have never had an answer but know as ‘Church Doctrine’ goes that “when much is given, much is expected. “
We were free to do many activities by ourselves in Rexburg and weren’t afraid of bad people harming us. I walked all over town alone while going and coming from school, violin lessons and friend’s homes and never felt afraid. Walked is the key word here as the town was small enough to perambulate edge to edge in 20 minutes.
Elementary School Years
My earliest memories are of grade school days in the Adams School. My November birth date was past the dead line to start school but my mother was a beautician and did the first grade teacher’s hair in a home beauty shop. Mrs. Bitters, the teacher, observed by developmental level and suggested I start school at age 5. I was therefore always the youngest person in my class which really didn’t seem to make much difference socially or academically. My first memory is of my sister, Ann, walking me to the Adams Elementary school which was two blocks away. I was upset that my mother wasn’t taking me on my first day of school. I think lots of first memories for people are connected to a traumatic or singular event like a little brother or sister coming home from the hospital to nudge them off of their thrones.
Adams elementary school has a few special memories for me as I picture the two story red brick building with a classroom on each corner of the building. When I walk around the building in my mind I discover things I haven’t thought about for decades. First I am propelled back by thoughts of the smell of linseed like oil that was used to treat the wooden floors. Its smell was warm and very rich and made the floor shine with a deep luster. Now the clouds of eraser dust billow through my mind as I think about clapping erasers together to clean them. There was also a wheel with brushes to clean chalk off but if you let go of the eraser it would fly around and land in the dust bin at the bottom which was hard to retrieve. Students were assigned to eraser duty as well as bell duty as a reward for good behavior. I remember feeling very proud to ring the bell for the dismissal of school when the clock above the stairs reached the proper time.
Mrs. Tuescher was my feared third grade teacher. She would whack misbehaving children’s hands with a ruler. I was a good girl in third grade unlike first grade when I talked several children in to leaving at recess to go to my home for a party. I got in trouble for that one. Blaine Hilton was a blond haired boy whom I adored in 3rd grade but not as much as his mother’s sugar cookies. She would make them for our class each holiday and they were cleverly shaped and covered with colorful icing. We never had these at home so it was a special treat and sugar cookies remain my favorite.
Darker Memories
A sad thing happened at Adams Elementary when an auto flush toilet swished away my new topaz ring which slipped from my finger when I stood up and triggered the flush. Another time I jumped off of a teeter totter just to see what would happen to the person on the other end. They came crashing down and let me know that was not a kind thing to do.
The biggest deception I can remember is when I was about 8, I wanted an Easter Chick the worst way. They were so cute and fluffy and I knew one would make a perfect pet. My parents said no way and so I schemed up a plan. There was an Easter Egg Hunt at the Ricks College and I went in hopes to get an egg which would have a prize of a chick. Well I found eggs but no chick prize. There were little stickers on the eggs to tell what prize if any one won. I got a sticker and wrote ‘chick’ on it. I then presented it at the King’s Store where the chicks were sold. They didn’t question the tag and gave me a cute chick. I don’t remember if I named it but it grew rapidly and followed me all around the yard like a dog. My father had a mortuary upstairs in the house were we lived. Once there was a Japanese wake upstairs all around the dead body and my chicken wandered in to the middle of the crowd. My father was aghast but the people told him not to worry that it was very good luck and a great omen for the family. I was off the hook. My conscience by then was too much so I saved up the money for the price of the chick and took it back to the Kings Store. My debt paid I don’t think I ever stole or lied again, well not much.
As I read what I have written here I feel uncomfortable with all the “Is and mes”. I am dismayed by people who always turn the conversation back to themselves. Oh well, this is “My Personal History” and you aren’t being forced to read it although I do have sympathy for you as you could probably be doing something much more useful with your time. Remember though that someday you should write your life’s story for your posterity to know what life was really like way back then.
Monday, January 17, 2011
My FIrst Blog ahhhhhh!
What am I doing? I had talking about myself and disclosing "stuff". This is so not me but I know I must stretch myself and try new things. Might be that I have something someone somewhere will find useful. I guess I will talk about knitting, genealogy, golf, Larry, grandchildren, children, books, gardening, cooking, Coronado, gospel, movies, bridge, and walking sticks. Hey, maybe I will have something to say. Right now this will be short because the beach awaits and it is 80 degrees the 17th of January on Coronado. It just isn't right when the rest of the nation is sooo cold.
Saw a great movie last week. The Kings Speech. Don't miss it as it is both educational and heart warming. King George VI was a stammerer and didn't want to be king anyway. He was the present Queen Elizabeth's father. The story is about him and his commoner speech therapist. Colin Firth plays the king and won a Golden Globe for best actor.
Also just finished the book , Unbroken, which is about Louie Zamperini a WWII flyer. Such resilience of the human spirit amid the horrors of the Japanese prison camps. Worth the read. Below a short synopsis.
The Story of UNBROKEN
By Laura Hillenbrand
Eight years ago, an old man told me a story that took my breath away. His name was Louie Zamperini, and from the day I first spoke to him, his almost incomprehensibly dramatic life was my obsession.
It was a horse-the subject of my first book, Seabiscuit: An American Legend-who led me to Louie. As I researched the Depression-era racehorse, I kept coming across stories about Louie, a 1930s track star who endured an amazing odyssey in World War II. I knew only a little about him then, but I couldn't shake him from my mind. After I finished Seabiscuit, I tracked Louie down, called him and asked about his life. For the next hour, he had me transfixed.
Growing up in California in the 1920s, Louie was a hellraiser, stealing everything edible that he could carry, staging elaborate pranks, getting in fistfights, and bedeviling the local police. But as a teenager, he emerged as one of the greatest runners America had ever seen, competing at the 1936 Berlin Olympics, where he put on a sensational performance, crossed paths with Hitler, and stole a German flag right off the Reich Chancellery. He was preparing for the 1940 Olympics, and closing in on the fabled four-minute mile, when World War II began. Louie joined the Army Air Corps, becoming a bombardier. Stationed on Oahu, he survived harrowing combat, including an epic air battle that ended when his plane crash-landed, some six hundred holes in its fuselage and half the crew seriously wounded.
On a May afternoon in 1943, Louie took off on a search mission for a lost plane. Somewhere over the Pacific, the engines on his bomber failed. The plane plummeted into the sea, leaving Louie and two other men stranded on a tiny raft. Drifting for weeks and thousands of miles, they endured starvation and desperate thirst, sharks that leapt aboard the raft, trying to drag them off, a machine-gun attack from a Japanese bomber, and a typhoon with waves some forty feet high. At last, they spotted an island. As they rowed toward it, unbeknownst to them, a Japanese military boat was lurking nearby. Louie's journey had only just begun.
That first conversation with Louie was a pivot point in my life. Fascinated by his experiences, and the mystery of how a man could overcome so much, I began a seven-year journey through his story. I found it in diaries, letters and unpublished memoirs; in the memories of his family and friends, fellow Olympians, former American airmen and Japanese veterans; in forgotten papers in archives as far-flung as Oslo and Canberra. Along the way, there were staggering surprises, and Louie's unlikely, inspiring story came alive for me. It is a tale of daring, defiance, persistence, ingenuity, and the ferocious will of a man who refused to be broken.
The culmination of my journey is my new book, Unbroken: A World War II Story of Survival, Resilience, and Redemption. I hope you are as spellbound by Louie's life as I am.
Saw a great movie last week. The Kings Speech. Don't miss it as it is both educational and heart warming. King George VI was a stammerer and didn't want to be king anyway. He was the present Queen Elizabeth's father. The story is about him and his commoner speech therapist. Colin Firth plays the king and won a Golden Globe for best actor.
Also just finished the book , Unbroken, which is about Louie Zamperini a WWII flyer. Such resilience of the human spirit amid the horrors of the Japanese prison camps. Worth the read. Below a short synopsis.
The Story of UNBROKEN
By Laura Hillenbrand
Eight years ago, an old man told me a story that took my breath away. His name was Louie Zamperini, and from the day I first spoke to him, his almost incomprehensibly dramatic life was my obsession.
It was a horse-the subject of my first book, Seabiscuit: An American Legend-who led me to Louie. As I researched the Depression-era racehorse, I kept coming across stories about Louie, a 1930s track star who endured an amazing odyssey in World War II. I knew only a little about him then, but I couldn't shake him from my mind. After I finished Seabiscuit, I tracked Louie down, called him and asked about his life. For the next hour, he had me transfixed.
Growing up in California in the 1920s, Louie was a hellraiser, stealing everything edible that he could carry, staging elaborate pranks, getting in fistfights, and bedeviling the local police. But as a teenager, he emerged as one of the greatest runners America had ever seen, competing at the 1936 Berlin Olympics, where he put on a sensational performance, crossed paths with Hitler, and stole a German flag right off the Reich Chancellery. He was preparing for the 1940 Olympics, and closing in on the fabled four-minute mile, when World War II began. Louie joined the Army Air Corps, becoming a bombardier. Stationed on Oahu, he survived harrowing combat, including an epic air battle that ended when his plane crash-landed, some six hundred holes in its fuselage and half the crew seriously wounded.
On a May afternoon in 1943, Louie took off on a search mission for a lost plane. Somewhere over the Pacific, the engines on his bomber failed. The plane plummeted into the sea, leaving Louie and two other men stranded on a tiny raft. Drifting for weeks and thousands of miles, they endured starvation and desperate thirst, sharks that leapt aboard the raft, trying to drag them off, a machine-gun attack from a Japanese bomber, and a typhoon with waves some forty feet high. At last, they spotted an island. As they rowed toward it, unbeknownst to them, a Japanese military boat was lurking nearby. Louie's journey had only just begun.
That first conversation with Louie was a pivot point in my life. Fascinated by his experiences, and the mystery of how a man could overcome so much, I began a seven-year journey through his story. I found it in diaries, letters and unpublished memoirs; in the memories of his family and friends, fellow Olympians, former American airmen and Japanese veterans; in forgotten papers in archives as far-flung as Oslo and Canberra. Along the way, there were staggering surprises, and Louie's unlikely, inspiring story came alive for me. It is a tale of daring, defiance, persistence, ingenuity, and the ferocious will of a man who refused to be broken.
The culmination of my journey is my new book, Unbroken: A World War II Story of Survival, Resilience, and Redemption. I hope you are as spellbound by Louie's life as I am.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)