This Instagram reel is an experiment to make my Grandpa Stewart’s home movies more accessible to my family.
One thing I have learned from watching his movies is that my grandmother was the star. ♥️
This was taken at the Spencer home in Salt Lake City at Christmas time in the late 1960’s/early 1970’s. My mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother are beautiful in this clip. Carol is in the pale pink dress, JoAnn is in hot pink, and Lucille is in red.
I don’t know, I just really needed to see this film today.
I will post more short clips with music now and then. I look forward to sharing some very special family times with you.
After reading through my 2023 blog posts, I’ve decided that I want to end the year by listing one daily, one weekly, and one monthly thing that helped me get through a year which was actually very challenging.
A daily practice that helped:
I took the counsel of President Nelson and I kept a journal of impressions that I had while I prayed, and I acted upon those impressions. This created a leap in progress in my understanding of how revelation works and how interested God is in my life.
A weekly practice that helped:
Friday dates with Richard
A monthly practice that helped:
I tried to do a variety of work in the temple. Richard and I were able to complete temple ordinances for several ancestors with the help of our children, my brother, and my parents.
I have also looked over my reading list from 2023 to see where I have been. I have a special shout-out for Charles Dickins’ David Copperfield and Annie Dillard’s Pilgrim at Tinker Creek.
As I prepare for 2024, I don’t have any major resolutions. I do have plans to keep my good habits, while giving myself the grace to just do one thing at a time, including new things.
Wishing you a gentle look back at your 2023, and a hopeful look forward to your New Year.
The most extraordinary thing in this world is an ordinary man and an ordinary woman and their ordinary children.
G.K. Chesterton
The end of all activity in the Church is to see that a man and a woman with their children are happy at home and sealed together for time and for all eternity.
Boyd K. Packer
Many who knew her, thought it a pity that so substantive and rare a creature should have been absorbed into the life of another, and be only known in a certain circle as a wife and mother. But no one stated exactly what else that was in her power she ought rather to have done…
Her finely touched spirit had still its fine issues, though they were not widely visible. Her full nature…spent itself in channels which had no great name on the earth. But the effect of her being on those around her was incalculably diffusive: for the growing good of the world is partly dependent on unhistoric acts; and that things are not so ill with you and me as they might have been, is half owing to the number who lived faithfully a hidden life.
Thursday is when I try to spend an hour doing family history. This week, I read a personal history about the Trembaths, written by this grandfather, pictured above. The Trembaths are my dad’s ancestors, and they came from Cornwall, England. They were miners and farmers.
The first Trembath to arrive in America came in rebellion against his controlling father. One day, while farming the poor land, he decided he would not stay another day. He abruptly left home, found passage to America, and he continued mining here. Funny detail: the bossy dad and the rest of the family ended up following him to America. 😂 There was no shaking this father.
They mined in the Great Lakes area, then they made their way to California, where they mined for gold in the early 1850s. They found a good gold mine, and it is too bad that they were swindled out of that. So much for riches.
This week’s story reminded me that our Trembath ancestor had hopes for riches through mining, but his family found them in different ways, including growing almonds. What he didn’t know is that America’s greatest riches weren’t in mines or almond groves, but in the Restored Church of Jesus Christ, and the sealing keys. These blessings were possible because of the inspired religious liberty of the land, guaranteed by the Bill of Rights.
The gold that would sustain his posterity wasn’t in the seams of rocks, but in buried gold plates. It wasn’t a goldsmith who would work the gold, but a “Smith,” just the same, who translated the words found in the Book of Mormon. Their great-great-grandchildren would be the first to benefit spiritually from the Restored Church of Jesus Christ, founded in this land.
Our ancestors sought a better life in America, but Heavenly Father had bigger plans than riches or even religious liberty. He had plans to seal this family together through all generations, for eternity, through the atonement of Christ and temple covenants. He wants to give them all He has. It is a blessing to do temple work for these ancestors!
I have a temporary workspace set up in Paige’s empty bedroom where I am sorting through family history documents and photos. I have two main goals: identify individuals in the photos so we can attach them on the FamilySearch website, and assemble a family tree of Great-grandmother Cerie’s Swedish relatives.
I have found a lot of incidental treasures in the process:
A collection of squares of toilet paper from various countries throughout Europe from 1957. These vary in quality and composition, ranging from waxed paper to gritty and rough-ridged. Strange souvenirs.
A lengthy journal which described a long journey from California to Sweden, only to be almost silent about the relatives they visited there.
A photograph of a great-great-great grandmother that I do not recognize. She is merely labeled, “Mormor,” which means maternal grandmother.
Menus from the Swedish American Line from 1957 with artwork so beautiful that I framed them to display in my house.
Hair samples of loved ones.
A scrapbook of sensational stories and pictures from newspapers from 100 years ago, highlighting the cute, macabre, and cultural. I think of this book as “Cerie’s Pinterest boards.”
It is a big puzzle, and I have spent many hours studying, reading, and cataloguing these things. It is incredibly slow work. I have learned that in 100 years, when your great-grandchild is sorting through your photos, she will not know the identities of your close loved ones. Please, label your photos with care, including first and last names and locations.
I discovered a list of journals that Joseph Smith kept for different purposes. Knowing this about him makes me feel some companionship in my quirky habit of keeping several journals at once.
He kept a journal of observations. He kept a personal history and kept track of his letters. He made sure that the things discussed in Church councils were recorded. He kept a record of the names of the faithful and wrote tributes about many people.
This is my current stack of journals, and each has its own topic. I think that they’re important in my process of becoming, whether or not anyone else benefits from them.
We tend to find what we seek, especially in the temple. Today, I took spiritual shelter there, and I lingered for a long time. I was seeking rest in the midst of some concerns, and I noticed there was a comfortable chair waiting for me in the celestial room.
If you need some shelter, there is a chair waiting for you at the temple, even in the waiting area or on the grounds. The Spirit feels the same, wherever you are within the gates. Perhaps you could find your own comfortable spot under the shelter of a temple spire. It’s not about the building, though. Just like a grandmother’s house, the feeling stems from the one who lives there.
For thou hast been a strength to the poor, a strength to the needy in his distress, a refuge from the storm, a shadow from the heat, when the blast of the terrible ones is as a storm against the wall.
I am having one of those weeks where almost everything I planned to do has slipped off the list. For some reason, I have been drawn to finishing things that have been on the long term list: Forgotten things, procrastinated things, things that require the kind of attention only a person trapped inside on a winter day can give. That is this week’s story.
I finished a book I started reading 10 years ago. It was a difficult book, despite its short length, but worth reading. It was a 17th century text of religious meditations. In case you are wondering, I don’t know why I get myself into these things.
I finished a huge Shutterfly photo book project that I have been working on for 15 months.
Today, Thursday, is my family history day, and I hope to finish transcribing dates to a spreadsheet from an old birthday book kept by my great grandmother. I have had this book for either 2 or 5 years (I forget) with the intent to do this.
I hope I am not the only one who has projects that have been put off for years. To celebrate the week, I am erasing the original to do list and giving myself a star for facing some of those monsters under the bed.
These were my grandmother’s books. On this anniversary of her death, I have been looking at photos I took of little corners throughout her home. I can still find her wisdom and her voice folded away like a sachet that sometimes gets jostled and leaves a subtle scent. She was so good at imparting family stories, gifting us with a sense of who we came from.
In 2018, I overheard her telling my mom about her father Axel’s passing. Assigned to the shift that night was a nurse who could speak his native language, Swedish. The nurse was not just able to speak words of comfort, but do it in the language of his parents and childhood. She spoke to him, quietly and tenderly, easing his fears during his final hours.
My parents and my aunt were with my grandmother on her last night. They told me that they read to her from the book of my dad’s childhood memories. I don’t know what she heard or understood, but I am glad that there were words of comfort and memory in the room for her, too.
