Argentina, Turning Into My Mother, Riding Horses

 

Journal            Buenos Aires Argentina           Cordoba Mountains                   11 Jan 1999

 

Dearest Beth:

 

Thanks to all of you for remembering us at Christmas time.  I appreciated your prayers and well wishes.  I am pretty much back to my grouchy, stubborn self--so all is well.  Nathan sat beside me in Church yesterday and looked up at me with long-suffering borne of a full fifteen minutes of sitting in Sacrament Meeting.  "Mom," he whispered to me, "are you all better yet?"  Brent overheard and couldn't help but laugh.  Nate glared at him and then looked back at me.  "Well, are you?"  "Yes," I answered, "I'm just about all better."  Nate looked depressed.  "It seems," I asked "like it is taking a long time, doesn't it?"  "Yah," he agreed, then added, "Can we go home early from Church today?"  "No."  "Why not?"  "That's one of the problems with me getting better.  Now I love being at Church and I want to stay for the whole three hours!"  With that Nathan rolled his eyes and lapsed into an agonized quiet.  Every silver lining has its cloud, eh?

 

It has been nice weather down here lately.  I am beginning to get used to the metric system and the 25°C days (about 78°F) appeal to me.  Just a week ago we had a heat wave--temperatures up to 40°C (104°F)--yuck.  Rain came, though, and with it, cooler temperatures. 

 

There are lots of nicer things about living here, though.  Monday through Friday I have a wonderful woman named Ofelia come and take care of the house and the laundry.  She is a marvel.  She does more in 4 or 5 hours than I could do all day.  The children miss their old friends and familiar neighborhood, but they don't miss cleaning their rooms or having their dirty clothes returned to them the next day all ironed and folded.  Nathan (10 in March) says he misses Taco Bell and Boston Market--but he loves the beef here.  There are also a myriad of small "kioskos"--bitsy little stores hidden along every block--that sell candy, sodas, milk, small toys and juice.  He loves those and I know I will hear laments about his missing those when we return to the States.  The school is good.  It is small--classes are no larger than 18 students.  Nathan's class has 16.  He studies Spanish for two hours each morning.  There are children who speak 4 and even 5 languages all around him.  Most of the children that attend the English school do not come from the United States.  There are a large number who speak  neither English nor Spanish--they are learning both.  It must be a frustrating experience for them.  There is a whole different feeling at the school.  Pride in who you are is all wound up in your national traditions, your family ties, and your independent efforts to become an individual.  It is strange, wonderful sensation.  

 

Meg (15 years) and Lauren (13 years)  are growing quickly.  They are both taller than I am.  Megan is blossoming into a talented artist.  A teacher from Buenos Aires' University of Fine Arts lives just a few blocks from us and gives Meg art lessons twice a week.  La and Nate have also decided to enroll--they go once a week on Saturday mornings.  Lauren is the tallest of the three of us Hendry girls.  It is strange to walk along side of her and Megan--I feel old.  I remember my mom saying that us kids were growing up too fast, and I used to laugh.  Now I laugh and keep my feelings to myself, thinking that I am turning into my mother.

 

As old as I am, I am enjoying something that I never thought I would be able to.  I am taking riding lessons here from two instructors who are national champions.  The horses here are wonderful.  The barns are closed on Mondays and I spend Sundays at Church and with the family so I only ride 5 days a week.  They are glorious mornings, though.  I take Megan to her early morning religion class and Brent to the train station. Then I come back to the house and get Nathan and Lauren and take them to school on my way to the barns.  It is a good way to get myself going every day.  I am learning elementary dressage and I am jumping jumps over a meter high.  What matters most to me, though, is that I can feel myself getting better and better.  Things that I have been focusing on for months and months are finally becoming habit.  I am freed to begin working on a new list of details that the instructors have quite nimbly come up with.  I don't even mind that the number of elements they keep calling out to me remains the same--it is just enough that what they call out changes over time.  

 

Brent is busy at work.  He was able to hire another lawyer before Thanksgiving and this has freed him up just enough so that the stress level is bearable now.  He still goes in at 6:30 am and returns after 7:30 or 8 pm, but he sleeps more peacefully.  He has managed to keep his weekends free for us--and I am very grateful for this talent.  He only has to travel a few times a year, so we are indeed fortunate. 

 

Everyone is progressing slowly with their Spanish.  Mine seems to have begun disintegrating.  We went on a week and a half trip to Cordoba (about 10 hours west of Buenos Aires into Argentina's interior mountain ranges and desert plains) for our family's Christmas vacation, and neither of our guides spoke English.  I was able to hone my translation skills--I don't know how professional translators do it, though.  By the end of each day I was so tired of talking--repeating Spanish dialogue into English and English questions/comments into Spanish--that I just let everyone look helplessly at one another while I lapsed into a comma.  We trekked up mountains, hunted for pictoglyphs, rode horses, climbed up stream beds, and hunted for condors and parrots in the skies above us.  Dinner was at 9:30 or 10 pm each night (the customary Argentine time to eat).  By the time the appetizer was eaten, we had usually lost at least one child to sleep and before the main course was cleared away, all three were usually in bed--passed out.  The scenery was breath-taking.  The daily trips exhausting.  There were days of heat and dust and rain and cold.  BUT by the end of the trip, the rest of the family was at least trying to converse with our guides in Spanish.  I lost 3 kilos (7 pounds) and heard Brent, Meg, La and Nate speaking Spanish--in my opinion, every cent we spent on the trip was worth it.  

 

I hope that all is well with your family.  We are doing fine.  We miss the United States, but there are things that we are coming to love here that we will miss when we leave.

Pray for the Soldiers Who Fight For Us

 

At Walter Reed Medical Center in Washington DC recently the Sergeant Major of the Army, Jack Tilley, was with a group of people visiting the wounded soldiers. He saw a Special Forces soldier who had lost his right hand and suffered severe wounds of his face
and side of his body. The SMA wanted to honor him and show him respect without offending, but what can you say or do in such a situation that will encourage and uplift?

 

How do you shake the right hand of a soldier who has none? He decided to act as though the hand was not missing and gripped the soldier’s wrist while speaking words of comfort and encouragement to him. But there was another man in that group of visitors who had even brought his wife with him to visit the wounded who knew exactly what to do. This man reverently took the soldier's stump of a hand in both of his hands, bowed at the bedside and prayed for him. When he finished the prayer he stood up, bent over the soldier and kissed him on the head and told him that he loved him.

What a powerful expression of love for one of our wounded heroes! And what a beautiful Christ-like example! What kind of a man would do such a thing?
It was the wounded man’s Commander-in-Chief, George W. Bush, President of the United States.

This story was told by Sergeant Major Mark Tilley, at a Soldiers Breakfast
held at Red Rock, AL, and recorded by Chaplain James
Henderson, stationed there.
You may want to pass it on...the press won't.

Thanksgiving in Kansas 2002

 

                    Libby and Dallan Hendry

Journal Thanksgiving in Kansas  9 Dec 2002

Dear Dad and Cindy:

 

Thank you so much for the Christmas gift.  It came as such a surprise amidst the bills and flyers and doctor statements.  I liked your direction for Christmas eve to read Luke 2 and sing Away in a Manger.  Megan and I think that's a wonderful idea. 

 

Our Thanksgiving was quiet and satisfying.  Brent's sister, Kathy, drove to Topeka from Colorado Springs with her three children.  We drove over to Dallan and Libby's home on Thursday.  Everyone brought or cooked exactly what they wanted to eat.  There were no sweet potatoes.  The rolls were a freezer-to-oven variety.  I made a cranberry jello salad with nuts and whipped cream, so no one opened the traditional can of cranberry sauce.  Libby made a wonderful hot dip that she served in a hollowed out round loaf of pumpernickel bread.  Instead of any lettuce salad, I brought a relish tray filled with green pepper strips, baby carrots, celery pieces, orange sweet pickles (they were a great hit!), sweet spiced crab apples and LOTS of black olives.  No dill pickles.  No green olives.  LOTS of dip.  There were 6 kinds of pie provided by Libby and Kathy.  The turkey was juicy and tender--nice.  My only complaint was that Dallan boiled up all the gizzard, giblets and guck that they wrap in paper and stuff inside the turkey for you to take out of the turkey and throw away--and then he cut it up and PUT IT IN THE DRESSING . . . ugh.  So I didn't eat any dressing this year. 

 

Best things about Thanksgiving?  Six teenager cousins together--no diapers, no strollers.  Time for me to hear Brent talk about his family/growing up with his parents and his sister and no interruptions.  On Friday everyone came to Kansas City to see the lights the city puts up every year in a certain part of downtown.  They had lunch at the house and then came home to tacos/taco salad.  Dallan stayed home with me--he's not much of a walker lately.  Nathan and his cousin Kyle also stayed home for the 4 or 5 hours everyone was gone.  It would have been great to say that the two of them became better friends or better acquainted or ever better able to recognize the likes/dislikes of the other; any of these, however, would not be telling the truth.  What happened was that that they remained glued to the Nintendo for the entire time.  I think that they made use of several game cartridges.  They did change from sitting up cross-legged to sprawling on the floor to sitting up with one leg tucked under them and the other stretched across the hallway.  I know this because I checked on them several times.  Anyway . . . The lights downtown were beautiful, the weather was mild, the cousins had a good time with each other, Brent got to see his sister, and the whole thing was laid back and relaxing.  It has been such a blessing being close by Libby and Dallan so that we could get to know them better.

 

I have overspent for Christmas again this year.  I find a little each month and then November comes and WHAM-O! Brent gets involved.  When he is the bread winner, I have a hard time saying "no."  Meg and La will be ready for school as far as computers go.  Nathan is taken care of, too.  The house gets new carpet.  I get one of those nice purses with a duck on it--the kind that they keep behind the counter that has to be unlocked before you can get a good look at it.  Brent is going to read this, so I can't tell you what Santa is going to bring him.

 

This has been a good growing time for us.  We are learning better that we do not have to know the end from the beginning.  Brent used to laugh when I would complain that I wanted a letter or a telegram each morning telling me what to do each day--but now he is wishing for the exact same thing.  There are so many options that could play out so many different ways.  It is impossible to prepare for each and every one--like trying to walk every path at the same time, it would tear Brent and the family to pieces.  The only solution is to do as Elder Packer counseled:  unpack where ever we are, live each day to its fullest, and wait for further orders. 

 

It Doesn't Matter and Recap

 

 

It Doesn’t Matter

Original 17 May 1987

 

She nurtured me through cradle time,

I babbled—she replied.

She held me in her arms and rocked

To soothe me when I cried.

 

She fed and bathed and dressed me warm,

She watched me stand and fall;

And as I learned to say her name,

She came when I would call.

 

It doesn’t matter who she is—

Queen or president.

What matters is my memory of the

Mother heaven sent.

 

He held me nights when I was sick

And blessed me to be strong.

As audience, he listened to my

Simple, piano songs.

 

He lead us in a family prayer

Both morning and at night—

And when I made mistakes

He lead me gently with his light.

 

It doesn’t matter who he is—

King or president.

What matters is my memory of the

Father heaven sent.

 

She drove me to activities.

She taught in Primary.

She helped me to love books and took me

To the library.

 

She sewed my costumes for the plays

She came to sit and watch.

She gave me time when she had none-

I’ll never know how much.

 

It doesn’t matter who she is—

Queen or president.

What matters is my memory of the

Mother heaven sent.

 

From carpet tubes, he made lights for

A dance he chaperoned.

I learned to shun the practices

That he did not condone.

 

He wrote me letters when I left

To try a college life.

He sent me love and courage to help

Conquer fear and strife.

 

It doesn’t matter who he is—

King or president.

What matters is my memory of the

Father heaven sent.

 

She came to see me graduate.

She sewed my wedding dress.

When Meg was born, she came to love

And clean a baby’s mess.

 

She sings with me.  We play our flutes.

We talk of future fears.

She brings me gifts and tender care

And comforts, still, my tears.

 

It doesn’t matter who she is—

Queen or president.

What matters is my memory of the

Mother heaven sent.

 

He offers timely, sound advise

And gives a father’s blessing—

And he listens calmly when his

Patience I am testing.

 

He brags about my children and

About the things I do.

He loves me lots, I hope he knows

How much I love him, too.

 

It doesn’t matter who she is—

Queen or president.

What matters is my memory of the

Mother heaven sent.

 

It Doesn’t Matter Recap (after 2007 and before 2020)

 

Today I think about the children

Heaven sent to me—

How we read books and cared for pets and

Climbed up tall, tall trees.

 

Do they recall the walks we took? and

scriptures that we read?

And how each night I heard them talk as

     They were tucked in bed?

 

It doesn’t matter who I am, Queen or President –

What matters are the memories of the children heaven sent.

 

When they stand before the Lord

And all their lives review –

Will I, as mother, be revealed

As one who loved them true?

 

Will they be glad they knew me?

     Did they want to be near me?

Because within my eyes they saw

     Their own divinity?

 

It doesn’t matter who I am, Queen or President –

What matters are the memories of the children heaven sent.

 

 

 

Geneology of Mother's Mothers

 

 

 

 

 Lauren Nichole Hendry Garcia  1985-

Megan Christina Hendry Rytting   1983-
 

                    Carolyn Eva Wagstaff Hendry   1959-

 

             Nancy Kathleen Burton Wagstaff   1935-1997

                Ellen Kathleen Powell Burton  1901-1988                 

                                         As I knew her.

 

              Ellen Kathleen Powell Burton  1901-1988 

                                    As a young woman

                        Margaret Elizabeth Burt Powell  1880-1953