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When we fifty-two seniors from North Sanpete on a balmy evening in May, 1935, to be graduated, we believed our highest destiny was being fulfilled. All about me were newly-pressed suits, frilly, gauzy formals, lilacs and iris, and a fragrant white gardenia for my date, valedictorian Norma Nielsen, whose long blond hair and billowing white dress made her smile even more radiant. The motto on where shall we anchor?" Our chorus sang, "Blessed His message? Other than those responsible for his coming, who could calm down enough to hear it? After all those long years of work and anticipation, I was almost giddy with the realization that I had now arrived exactly where I should be. But who the song when I'm shaking so? Where are my parents. This one evening climaxed the boyhood paradise which had been mine, surrounded as I was by mountains which protected and inspired me while walking beneath Yes, WPft and NRA were also real, but not for me. The last of four children living at home, I was blessed to be surrounded by affirming beliefs, in her various forms, the endless excitement of inwardly learning and growing, and the Keys to the family car in my pocket. My theme song for these and Ella Schmidt chorus: Take all it can give. . . In my naive innocence I knew I had arrived, and I was grateful. But where to from here? Decisions decisions. Because she had had a mastectomy before 1 was born, my mother's level of wisdom was deeper 117 |
