Sugarhouse

Growing up in Sugarhouse, Utah was an adventure for a little person growing up in the early 70's. There are a few people that I remember.

My first best friend was Cheryl Peterson. She and I loved to do everything together. We attended kindergarten at Hawthorn Elementary and our teacher was Mrs. Rogers. Until about three years later I believed that she was married to Mr. Rogers, the TV personality. The favorite TV show during this time was "Romper Room" with Miss Julie.

I had a "Grandma" type friend who lived next door. Her name was Zelda and when ever Julie and I went over to her house she would have a bowl of smarties and we could have one each.

Next to Zelda there was a gentleman who lived in a very unkept yard. He raised pigeons and shot any other kind of bird that showed up at his place. I never met him but in my imagination, this man was an ogre who lived in the neighborhood forest.

There were many places of interest that we frequented. One being the LDS Chapel. Back then the church schedule was different. We went to Priesthood, Relief Society and Sunday School for two hours, went home to have lunch then went back towards the evening for Sacrament. Primary was held on Wednesdays. It wasn't even a block away and I remember walking down the alley to get there. Three memories about this church were 1. Buying cupcakes after primary on Wednesdays in the back, outside part of the church. 2. Going with Cindy when she was practicing the grand piano and her doing tricks by walking on the backs of the pews all the way from the back to the front...sorry Cindy. And 3. Attending Priesthood with dad. It was held way, way up in the top of the church where the round window was. I remember that they kneeled for prayer.

Liberty Park and the Tracy Avery. It has changed some from what it is now. I loved going there. I could run and play on the swings, watched the birds. I remember the day I became not so excited about Tracy...That's when the duck bit my hand and gave me a "Zipper!" mark. And then I loved the amusement park. Specifically the merry-go-round and the Ferris Wheel. To this day I start getting excited when I hear that type of music.

Sugarhouse Park was a place that I loved to go and we frequented it often summer through winter. There was a path that surrounded the lake that housed ducks and geese. During the spring months the water entering the lake would be too much for the mouth and would overflow over the sidewalk. The kids would run back and forth on that side walk, splashing for many and hour.

During the winter months there would be "The Hill". It was wonderfully steep. So steep that they had to put a chain rope up to the top so you could pull yourself up. At the top I remember looking down with terror as I sat with my dad. We would start down, the butterflies would go wild and we would start yelling. Dad with glee...me with horror. I would be so happy to be at the bottom. There were many times when people would be going so fast that they would end up in the river or cross the road and splash down in the lake. Sometime after we moved there were a few accidents at the hill. The chains were removed and the hill lost about half it's height.

Many a Family Home Evening night, or when my parents needed us to be somewhat contained, would see us out at the Salt Lake City Municiple Airport, now the International Airport. Mom would get us in our P.J.'s, we would stop at 7 11, pick up 6 dogs for a dollar, drive out to the airport on the east side of the runway and watch airplanes roar in. I loved it and to this day I thrill when I hear an airplane landing. I remember my dad coming home from some sort of business trip and watching the passengers disembark the plane on the runway and watching him walk into the airport...a lot has changed.

University of Utah. My dad was studying to get his masters at this time...I'm not sure what in but the images in my mind was the smell of formaldahyde. His office was a cramped little thing that I'm sure he shared with at least one other grad student and they had fish tanks on one side of the wall.

The Easter Bunny

OK. Here's the story about the Easter Bunny. I decided to make an Easter Bunny costume out some old light blue sweats. To top of the ensemble I made a "nose", attached with elastic, and a head piece complete with long ears. I was so proud.

Saturday evening, right before we were supposed to go to bed I filled out the sweats with my pillow and hopped on the outside of the fence, inspiring my brothers and sisters to run to bed so the Easter bunny could start laying eggs.

After the desired effect was achieved I told mom that I wanted to run down to Sister Parkinson's house, who was a wonderful seamstress, and show off. Sister Parkinson ooohed and aaaahed and then, when my ego was sufficently inflated, I started home.

As I was crossing under a lightpost, at the intersection of Eastview Drive and Grove Drive, I heard a shout. I turned, looked into the darkness and saw two boys on bikes who were speeding up towards me shouting, "It's the Easter Bunny! Get it!"

Thank goodness for instinct because it was a few seconds after, when I was thinking "I'd better run!" that I realized that I was already running...no...SPRINTING up the hill. I was running so fast! Whooosh! Whoosh! Whoosh! "Get the Bunny!" Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh! "Where did it go?!" Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!

I finally ditched the dorks on bikes by ducking into the Scott's yard. I was sneaking past the their sliding glass door when I heard a high pitched squeal coming from little Marky. "Iths da EEETHOR RWABBIT!" That set my legs revving up again and I found myself stopped up by the horse corral.

The Scott kids came boiling out of the door and were jumping up and down. "It's the Easter Rabbit! It's the Easter Rabbit!" I thought to myself, "Why not?" and performed a little hop in front of the horse gate for a few seconds. I then slipped through the bars, spooked the horses and hopped into the night...It was pitch dark, I was jittery and with my imagination there was a biker boy behind every bush...It took me over an hour to get home that night.

Page Boys and Poodle Doos

I don't know what I did to deserve this curse but I know when it happened. Kindergarten. I have pictures to prove it. Up to the first part of kindergarten I had long pigtails, curls, ribbons, bows. Very girly.

Towards the end of kindergarten I have short hair...with my features I looked like a dishevled boy in a dress. In fact many an unkind girl would make a loud observation to that end.

Through the years I tried everything hair-wise to make me look girly. I was so excited when short hairstyles were in, remember Dorothy Hammil? But the problem was, and still is, that I have baby fine hair that refuses to curl for more that 10 minutes at a time. I am exagerating a bit of course. However I did go through an enormous amount of hairspray and gel every month that would make any "sniffer" delighted to be in my presence.

I hated the pink foam curlers...I can't tell you the depth of my dislike for them even to this day.

I tried pin curls...you ever seen a witch wake up in the morning?...yyyeah. That didn''t work so good. Far from the glamour poses which toted that technique.

Perms were the bane of my existence. Because of my afore mentioned hair condition, even perms would take strangely. As in "not at all on one side" and "take, but was totally frizzed and useless" within a month on the other.

There was one place where it took quite nicely, however. That would be my bangs. I remember one time when my mom had had it with my untamed hair and had it permed quite tightly on the smallest rollers available. The end result for the first month was that I had a beautiful afro. After a month or so it relaxed...except for my bangs and my ends. The resulting look reminded me of a poodle.

I'm happy to report that as of 2009 straight long hair is in and I look like a girl.

My Get-Away

One of my favorite places to "get away" was on the roof.

Mom and Dad had planted these aspens next to the house which, when they were small were just the right distance but when they grew up, seemed very very close to the house. It made a wonderful natural ladder up to the roof.

I became quite adept at climbing and would do so often when Mom and Dad left to go on a date or other function...since that was the only time I could do so without getting in trouble. I often thought it genius for people living on the ocean to make widow's landings...THEY knew that people wanted to be up on the roof.

I would often bring a big bowl of buttered, salted popcorn with me and sit on the west side of the roof. That was the best place. I would sit up there and watch the sun set, the moon, the stars, eating my popcorn and keeping an eye and an ear out for our white Toyota coming over the hill.

I would then slink over the top of the roof, down the tree, in through the sliding glass door and be, when my parents walked in, happily where ever they thought I was supposed to be.

Sugarhouse Park on the 4th of July

When we lived in Sugarhouse there was a wonderful big park up on the top of the hill. It had a lake with a walkway around it and during the spring the water, entering the lake, would be so much that it would spill over the paved sidewalk.

On the 4th we and many other Sugarhomebodies would go spread their quilts on the ground. Most of the kids would be in their PJ's and would be prancing around, with the anticipation of the magic that would be coming and the rush of legally being up late. There was a sweet smell that my dad told me was pipe smoke but what I have now come to understand was marijuana.

The night would begin by a single rocket being fired into the air and exploding with a loud cannon boom. The geese and ducks would explode into a flurry of wings, churning water and honks as they would take to the air. Parents would say "It's starting! It's starting!" and children would squeal and dive into their waiting arms and the mounded pile of blankets.

We would then be thrilled with fireworks under the stars being reflected into the lake. This was before music was put to the firework and I always thought it would have been a nice touch...I could have made my millions.

My First Memory that I Remember

The first memory I have is watching my dad feed Julie with a bottle. He had dark hair and longer sideburns. She was small enough to still be held in the crook of his arm. He had the bottle tucked under his chin and was smiling and cooing at her. I remember having a warm, peaceful feeling. Julie is about 2 years younger than me so that would put this memory when I was about 3 years old.

In the Begining

I came into this world the normal way any newborn would. September 3, 1969. I had just missed the those words that thrill me even to this day by a mere 13 days. "Houston. The Eagle has landed."

Believe it or not I don't remember a whole lot when I was an infant...an annoying quirk that I have carried into my adult life. Oh I have images stuck in my mind but I often find myself envying people whose memory capacity is more complete than mine.

As a child I remember feeling surprised and frustrated often for my inability to focus and complete, well, anything. Since becoming an adult I've learned that I have ADD and a strange auditory problem. If there is substantial noise while you're talking to me you will have to face and talk TO me or else my brain will not translate what you're saying into words. I always knew I was a mutant. Believe it or not it is nice to have a name for it other than, "You're stupid, lazy, retarded, not applying yourself, etc."

Now, I don't hold a grudge against anyone for that, another quirk that I've carried into adulthood. The fact is that I learn slow. Going through these experiences have made me who I am now. And even though I still have some flaws, and rough corners, I quite enjoy being who I am today.

But back to the begining. My mom was Lynn Jennine Sprague, daughter of Leonard Darwin Sprague and Olive Garnet Swanson. She had been married once before to a gentleman named Richard Rose and that's how I got my sister Cynthia Kay. I've always loved that name and how it flows. A few years after Cindy was born, my mom and Mr. Rose divorced. During this time mom started to investigate the church and I believe she decided that it was for her while going to a MIA meeting and hearing some of the ladies sing. My dad, who was serving as a missionary in the Miniapolis Minisota mission, happened to be the lucky man to baptize her. After she was baptized she moved to SLC with Cindy and entered LDS Business College. My father, who was released from his mission later met up with her while he was attending University of Utah and the rest is history. At this time 2009, my siblings are as follows: Cynthia Kay, Laura Lyn, Julie Ann, Jeffry David, James Darwin and Allison Rene.