- April StricklandI always loved this picture of Grandpa Rulon. I thought he was so handsome!
When I was a little girl, I was afraid of him, though. He was sickly and slept in a little bed in the room between the bathroom and Grandma Rubie's room. (Hers was always cold for Thanksgiving because she left the window open.) Grandpa was so tall, you could look up at him and barely see his face.
He would suddenly appear just as I was tempted to swat the string of little metal bells that hung down from the door jamb of the entry to the kitchen. They were the most exotic looking little metal bells and sounded like something from Katmandu.
After Thanksgiving, I would slip underneath the long white table cloth that covered the buffet because no one could see me hidden there while I listened to the grownups tell scary stories about relatives on their death beds who saw and spoke to people who had already died.
When I was in the 4th grade, I got an A+ on a paper about Julius Caesar and my teacher gave it back to me just before the Thanksgiving holiday. We drove up to the "wet farm" - the dairy farm outside Ashton, Idaho. I remember sitting in the luggage compartment of my Dad's Volkswagen bug, reading my report to the family as we drove along.
As soon as we arrived, I went to pat Grandpa's bronze statue of Massasoit by Utah artist Cyrus Dallin that stood on the mantel over the fireplace. Then I went to gaze at Grandma's painting of the woman on the patio with the peacocks - it was painted by Hermann Rudisuhli. (Thanks to the wonders of the Internet, I have a copy of both of these treasures now.)
On the way back home, later that night, it was raining and storming through Logan Canyon. My Dad spotted a car on the side of the road and started to watch for someone walking. Sure enough, there was a man! Daddy got him in the car with Mom holding new-born Liz on her lap while she sat on the gap between the two front seats and Daddy shifted the gears up and down the hills. We dropped the man off at a garage that would take care of him and his car and continued on our way back to our home in Halvern, Roy, Utah.
Posted by Robin Jeppson Pettett
When I was a little girl, I was afraid of him, though. He was sickly and slept in a little bed in the room between the bathroom and Grandma Rubie's room. (Hers was always cold for Thanksgiving because she left the window open.) Grandpa was so tall, you could look up at him and barely see his face.
He would suddenly appear just as I was tempted to swat the string of little metal bells that hung down from the door jamb of the entry to the kitchen. They were the most exotic looking little metal bells and sounded like something from Katmandu.
After Thanksgiving, I would slip underneath the long white table cloth that covered the buffet because no one could see me hidden there while I listened to the grownups tell scary stories about relatives on their death beds who saw and spoke to people who had already died.
When I was in the 4th grade, I got an A+ on a paper about Julius Caesar and my teacher gave it back to me just before the Thanksgiving holiday. We drove up to the "wet farm" - the dairy farm outside Ashton, Idaho. I remember sitting in the luggage compartment of my Dad's Volkswagen bug, reading my report to the family as we drove along.
As soon as we arrived, I went to pat Grandpa's bronze statue of Massasoit by Utah artist Cyrus Dallin that stood on the mantel over the fireplace. Then I went to gaze at Grandma's painting of the woman on the patio with the peacocks - it was painted by Hermann Rudisuhli. (Thanks to the wonders of the Internet, I have a copy of both of these treasures now.)
On the way back home, later that night, it was raining and storming through Logan Canyon. My Dad spotted a car on the side of the road and started to watch for someone walking. Sure enough, there was a man! Daddy got him in the car with Mom holding new-born Liz on her lap while she sat on the gap between the two front seats and Daddy shifted the gears up and down the hills. We dropped the man off at a garage that would take care of him and his car and continued on our way back to our home in Halvern, Roy, Utah.
Posted by Robin Jeppson Pettett
