He Was Something: A Tribute

I went to a funeral this week. I was about to tell you where, because it matters, but it seems to matter more that it could have been many places other than the place where it was. It could have been almost anywhere. It was something.

In the foyer of the church were tables displaying artifacts of my uncle’s life. There was his army uniform, a simple, coarse garment with corporal’s stripes and a single short row of campaign ribbons. There was a small, thick binder full of cartoons he clipped from newspapers over the years. There were photos from every phase of his long life. My favorite had my mom in it, with the rest of the siblings and my grandparents. She’s been gone twenty years now, and the photo was from a time before I knew her.

I should probably tell you his name, and I will at the end. But for now it seems important that the man I’m describing could have many names, including the name of someone near you.

Raphael’s Sistine Madonna, My Two Favorite Authors, and Mother’s Day

I recently added a small canvas print of Raphael’s Sistine Madonna (Madonna di San Sisto) to the wall of my study. (The original is nearly nine feet tall; my print is sixteen inches tall.) Much of its appeal to me is its connection to my favorite nineteenth century author, Fyodor Dostoevsky, and my favorite twentieth century author, Vasily Grossman. (I studied Russian literature quite seriously for a while.) What this has to do with Mother’s Day … we shall see.

Casting Call for American Fork, August 25, 26, and 28

Depending on how this goes, you could be locally famous when we’re done. Probably not, but stranger things have happened.

The American Fork Heritage and History Pageant is being revived this year on the evenings of Friday, August 25; Saturday, August 26; and Monday, August 28.

This is my last-minute casting call for one of the vignettes. I’ll tell you a bit about the pageant, and then I’ll tell you the roles we’re trying to fill and some information about filling them.

My Mother’s Mind

My mother’s love, her service and sacrifice, her canned peaches that were better than candy — all of these deserve their own essays. But today I’ve been thinking about her mind.

Elizabeth Babcock Rodeback and siblings
Mom and her seven siblings. She’s in the front row, second from the left.

She grew up in Lost River, a tight-knit farming community nestled in a valley just beyond Arco, Idaho. Her dad survived one of the grimmest episodes of World War I, before returning home to start a family and to raise sheep, cattle, and grain. Her mother served an LDS mission to the Southern States, but not before setting an example of sacrifice in pursuit of education.

So my tale begins with Grandma, since it must begin somewhere.