18. I Found my Lost Marbles (personal narrative)

Taking care to tip toe past my mothers room while she was working on genealogy was always a good idea. If she heard me I would be trapped and have to listen to another long boring story about a dead person I am supposedly related too. I had things to do, living people to see, and it was important for my social life to go out with my friends. I could hear the printer printing out what I was sure was another pedigree chart that would sit on the stacks of papers she had everywhere. I had no idea how she even knew where anything was. My college money was being spent on ink cartridges and white paper.
I peaked in as I snuck by and saw the same scene. Her hair a mess and still in her pajamas sitting on a couple of pillows piled on an office chair. She was clicking away on her prized possession, the new computer my dad had begrudgingly bought her. Of course their was always the glass of diet coke half full on her desk. I had almost made it down the first two stairs when I hear, “Kat, come in and hear my good news!” It was to late and I was trapped. How long would my friends wait for me? I knew this would go faster if I acted interested and happy to hear all about it. One problem was remembering and keeping track of all the stories she had told me. If she sensed that I did not remember she might be tempted to repeat it all over again. When she saw me come in she had a glow of sheer joy and exclaimed, “I found my lost Marbles”. Oh no not the lost Marbles joke again. I could not even count how many family or neighborhood parties we had been to that my mom had told the story about her working on the Marble family line and joke about her “lost Marbles”. Then she would pierce our ears with her cackle of a laugh.
“Mom, that is great”, I said in as enthusiastic of a voice I could muster up. “Let me tell you how I found them” she went on. My eyes instantly glazed over and my body went limp. I heard something about a book falling off a shelf in front of her but got lost as I kept glancing at the clock. I really had to go! ‘Mom I am going out with my friends tonight and I am really late, maybe I could hear the rest later, see ya.”
Did I really just get a calling from the bishop asking me to plan a Trek for 85 people? Their is no question I love hanging out with the youth, and I am good at organizing things, but each person is suppose to represent a pioneer. How in the world am I going to know anything about pioneers? Then it happened very quickly; a feeling swelled up in my heart and I felt a great desire to learn more about my ancestors. I knew just who to call.
I was hesitant about going over to my moms to work on genealogy; not because I didn’t thirst for the stories, but because my mom had been very sick. Her mind was not the same as it use to be and she would get very confused. Her body was not being nice to her and it seemed she was in pain all the time. I also got very frustrated with her hearing problem and tired of repeating myself over and over again. I am sure she was sick of my hearing problem in the past and hopefully ready to repeat the stories she had told over and over again to a more willing ear.

 When we first sat down to start looking over the pedigree charts, I was really worried this was not going to go well. She looked very ill and could not even remember what she had eaten for breakfast. As soon as she opened her mouth to talk about her great great grandmother, the change was instant. Her countenance glowed like a light switch went on, her mind was going as quick as the computer that stored 40,000 pioneer names, and her body seemed like she had been resurrected. I sat there listening to story after story feasting on her words. My pen was scribbling down notes all over the charts to help feed the hunger I felt for knowledge about my ancestors. The dessert was when we had checked the names for temple ready and I was holding real peoples eternal destinies in my hands. Were they ready to be released from a spiritual prison? Even if they were not, I was ready to do there work and felt like I had been set free from my own blind confinement.
Rain drops were dripping down my bonnet, the mud was pasted to the bottom of my skirt, and I dreaded walking across the coming river. With these conditions my mind was still focused on the laminated story I had made into a necklace which was about my ancestor, Jena Bertelsen. It hung about my neck and flapped in the wind, but it kept me going. I could not believe she was only 10 years old, left her parents behind in Denmark, and had walked these plains all on her own. Had my spirit been there to help her push her handcart when she felt like she could not go on anymore? Was she pushing my handcarts of life when I felt discouraged or depressed? All I knew was that she felt more real and alive to me than all those silly friends I had in high school. Her life breathed air into my soul more than the fresh air of the Wyoming plains. I knew at this moment that no rubies, diamonds, or gold could replace the Marbles I had found.