I was "home" on Tuesday, the home of my youth at the foot of Y mountain. I grew up in the Oak Hills area of Provo, close enough that we could walk to our elementary school, Wasatch. My memory is clouded now by time and a loss of essential hormones that allow me to recall my past quickly and in accurate detail (and to actually see this screen without magnifying aids).
I do remember the day that my elementary class, somewhere between 2nd and 6th grade took the long and winding road to the Y on "my" mountain. I remember some of the hike, which from my couch in Salt Lake some 40 odd years later doesn't seem so hard, although I'm sure I could never replicate the event today!!!
What I do remember with such clarity is finally reaching the top, sitting down with Sandra Tippetts, my best friend and following my mother's instructions started searching for my house. I could see the church, Carson's Market, Gene's Texaco, Wasatch, Kiwanis Park, I followed all the roads, up Briar, down Locust, got lost somewhere near Maple, (we had to find Sandra's house too). Finally there she was exactly as she described standing in our front yard waving Anne's white cloth diaper.
Anne's diaper has waved many times in my head over the years pulling me back to my home at the base of Y mountain. On my mission when I thought I would never survive a companionship I looked for the diaper for comfort. When I needed to make difficult decsions about work, moving myself back to Utah I looked for the diaper for direction. When Betsey, Richard, myself, and all the kids made the long road trip back after news of Dads death I looked for the diaper for strength.
Me
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