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Show 204 "It's like I tell Will (Will was her husband), every pig has to stick its own snout in the mud. Now you've tied a knot with your tongue you can't untie with your teeth. " I hadn't tied the knot, yet. I didn't point out to her that many such a knot is untied with the tongue, though. The next day we were married in our parlor, with Mary Shipp and Eldon as witnesses, and Papa performing the ceremony. It was noon of their twenty-fifth anniversary, and Mama had prepared chicken dinner for thirty plus people there. Eldon drove us back to Salt Lake City two days later and we went our separate ways. Our grandiose plans for future education, my future as a sculptor, were defeated by two factors: 1. Biology. 2. The depression, which was even now in the making. We stuck it out apart until the end of the Winter Quarter, but our study time was devoted to writing passionate letters to each other, sometimes several a day. In March I went to Bingham Canyon to live with my romantic young husband. He continued his education, though, and I got to see him off to work, pack his lunch and kiss him between class-room and afternoon shift, and watch him study at night, loathing his books all the while. Although we didn't have a piano, an obliging neighbor did. I started taking piano lessons from the high school music teacher, who introduced me to Chopin. This activity was cut short early one morning before we were up. I went to the window to look out and met a cloud of smoke face to face. |