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Show Wednesday, October 22, 1997 The Park Record A-13 Sunday in the Park D Light show-redefined I fear admitting I love rainbows immediately puts me in the category of loving unicorns and collecting ceramic animals with human expressions and driving a car with I-heart-any-number-of-mun-dane-things bumper stickers. Having spent the past 20 years as a bit of a cynical journalist, I realize, too, the mind-numbing effect this discourse could take. Nonetheless, I'm gonna venture out here in the world of light infraction and explain my own personal per-sonal rainbow connection. Movie critic Rick Brough, would no doubt, remember the film, Pollyanna, with greater detail. The name, on its own, has come to represent icky, sticky, too-good-to-be-true, happy happy happy behavior. But I remember the film for a scene (and I think it happened this way) where Pollyanna goes to visit the neighbor who is a curmudgeon and washes wash-es his crystal chandelier to reveal hundreds of "rainbow "rain-bow makers." The cut-crystal prisms catch the light and there are bouncing rainbows all over the formerly for-merly formal stuffy dining room. (If this really didn't did-n't happen in the movie, on second thought Broughie, don't correct my memory.) When my children were little, we had great fun hanging "rainbow makers" in assorted windows of various homes where we lived. At a certain age this seems to have mutual gender appeal and later gets transferred to the girl side of the equation though I never understood why. Still, I like to think one of the reasons my son studies physics was from his early exposure to understanding how light and water and dust particles combined to create a light show. This summer has been a riot of rainbows in Park City. Double rainbows even a triple rainbow (though it was a bit faint) have been easily visible from my home in Park Meadows. Regardless of how dark and dreary and frustrating your day, I have discovered, dis-covered, universally, it is very hard not to involuntarily involun-tarily smile when you see a rainbow. Recently, I went on vacation to an island far, far away and one afternoon after a tropical storm I found myself inside a rainbow. I don't know how to explain it any better than that. The combination of being near the water's edge, being near the equator and, I guess, the right atmospheric conditions, resulted in the phenomenon of being surrounded by a spectrum of colors. I was in awe to be included, in such an intimate way, in nature's light show. The added bonus of being absolutely alone on a forsak- By Teri Orr en windswept beach where the lava rocks spilled into the ocean only added to the magic of the moment. I think it was probably a once-in-a-lifetime experience and I eventually drove away feeling somehow altered by the event and appreciating the gift. The entire vacation, I should add here, was one of awe for nature's entertainment factor. One afternoon, after-noon, I sat on a beach in a little bay where maybe 20 other unrelated people sat watching the giant orange ball of the sun sizzle into the ocean. It was perfectly still as those gathered reverently watched the sun set. And then, at the exact moment the sun disappeared completely in the water, spontaneous applause broke out on the beach. It reminded me of an old Ziggy cartoon I had seen years before, where the little character is watching a sunset and cheers "Go God!" Last Christmas a friend gave me a beautiful cut-crystal cut-crystal wizard, made from different shaped prisms. On it's own, it is a lovely thing, but when placed on the window ledge in my room it catches the early morning sun and makes rainbows on my walls and closet doors. This week when I returned from my vacation the rainbow makerwizard performed a bit of magic with the beveled mirror in the room. From the precise angle of my bed, looking into the edge of the free standing antique floor mirror, the rainbow separated and there was just red light. By moving my head ever so slightly, there was only green light reflected and then purple if I shifted yet again. Each color was intense on its own but when I got out of bed and the whole rainbow came into view, the individual indi-vidual colors were again muted. I couldn't get back in bed and find the same angle to repeat the separation separa-tion of colors. It was just a moment I had been given and then it was gone. I suspect that happens to us all from time to time. We are shown, with amazing grace, beautiful things we cannot wholly understand or explain. We can either dismiss them, ignore them or embrace them. After the light show in my bedroom the other morning, morn-ing, I surprised myself by looking over at the wizard and spontaneously applauding. It could have happened hap-pened any day, maybe any place, but I'm grateful it was waiting here for me, this Sunday in the Park. Teri Orr is a former editor of The Park Record and currently is director of the Park City Performing Arts Center, which is scheduled to open this winter. Tales from old Park City By Justin L. "Jack" Fuell Mustard pickles Three or four years ago we spoke of the many widows who lived near us in the Uintah Basin, and of the important roles they played in my childhood. We had lots of widows in those days because those high, cold, Utah mountains had their way of reducing the numbers of the bread-winning males of the area. Three of the most influential of those widows, to me, were: Grandma Fuell, Aunt Tildy Bryant and Aunt Minnie Peterson. I never knew my Grandpa Fuell because he died a couple of years before I was born in 1925. He and Uncle John Bryant both died from Rocky Mountain Tick Fever. That had something to do with shearing sheep. I did know my Uncle Jesse Peterson, though. Uncle Jess was one of the giants in my early life and I'd have to say that he and I were soul mates. Uncle Jess died of ruptured appendix on Christmas Day of 1927, and two years later I fought my own mortal battle with ruptured appendix, and survived. During my early years the memories of these men were fresh and painful to our family and so we gathered each year, on the 30th of May it was then called Decoration Day, and some even called it Flag Day and remembered our departed loved ones. Aunt Tildy drove up from her homestead on Indian Bench, Aunt Nina motored in from Leeton, and we gathered at Grandma's home in Neola and then traveled together up to the Old Cemetery, rushed out into the sagebrush flats and picked armloads of Indian paintbrush and bluebell wildflowers. We cleaned up our many graves, spread a carpet of newly-cut lawn and fresh flowers on them and returned to Grandma's house for one of the best feasts ever set before mortal man. Grandma and her daughters had a special gift for preparing a banquet from the simplest materials. We gathered on Grandma's huge lawn and kept alert so we could rush into her house and get out of the rain it always rained cats and dogs on Decoration Day while we waited for her call to the table. Grandma never disappointed us, and we sat down to hot biscuits that melted in our mouths, creamed new potatoes, garden peas and tiny carrots that would have tickled the palate of a king. And we enjoyed a special treat of Grandma's famous "mustard pickles." pick-les." Those pickles were Grandma's coup de grace. Mom and Grandma got along quite well in those days, but that hadn't always been the case. They split the blanket back when Grandma, on the wedding wed-ding night, instructed Mom that Dad was accustomed accus-tomed to having hot biscuits for breakfast every morning and she offered to share Dad's favorite recipe with Mom. Dad was the loser in that round because in the 60 years that he and Mom were mar- ried, I'll bet that he didn't get his favorite hot biscuits bis-cuits 200 times. Well, Mom also bottled mustard pickles, but they weren't quite as famous, it seems, as Grandma's. I ate mustard pickles at home and I munched on Grandma's pickles and quite frankly, I couldn't tell them apart. The years rolled by and we ate our pickles, pick-les, and then came the explosion. A neighbor asked Grandma for her recipe. Grandma was willing enough to share but revealed that the real recipe should come from Mother because Mom was the author of those fabulous pickles. The last 20 years of Grandma's life was spent in a back and forth tussle between Mom and her. Each insisted that she had obtained the recipe from the other. Their issue was never resolved in this life. The gathering for Decoration Day peaked with Mom sitting at the piano, and Aunt Nina bringing her guitar from the car while the Fuell family and they were all better-than-just-passing singers joined in a hearty sing-along of Grandpa's and Uncle John's favorite songs. Grandma and Aunt Minnie lived near us up in Old Town. They had the upstairs apartment when we lived at 121 King Road, and occupied one of the several houses that were part of the 17 King Road complex. Grandma never adjusted to the reality that she couldn't have a garden up there on King Road, so she moved off the mountain and spent her last few years living in Salt Lake City where she couldn't have a garden either. Most of you know that I'm a genealogy nut. I caught that disease back about 1964 and haven't rested since. My cousins and I have a collection of 100,000 Allred Mom's side of the family relatives listed on one little CD ROM. Grandma Fuell was born a Martin, to an Irish father and Scottish mother. moth-er. Grandma was so very proud of her heritage and during her declining years she tried every trick in the book to get me to sit down and listen to the details of her family life from back in the 1870s and 1880s I was just too busy, and sat reading The Grit as Grandma talked. I have some glaring holes in the accounts written about the Martin family because I was just too busy to listen while she tried so desperately desper-ately to get my attention back in the 1930s and 1940s. What I'd give today to have a few hours at her feet with my little tape recorder running. No telling what I might learn maybe even the origin of their famous mustard pickles. Justin Fuell, a former Park City resident, has written two books of his early recollections-Jackie and Beeba and Me. He lives in Marana, Ariz, with his wife Beeba. Get dressed up and fight leukemia When you visit your local merchants mer-chants on Friday, Oct. 31, you may be in for a surprise or a spook! Employees are dressing in costume for Halloween, but not just for fun and games. Costumed For A Cure is an annual benefit for the Leukemia Society of America where employees collect "votes" for the best costume by having customers cus-tomers and clients make a donation in a Leukemia Society canister. "It's nothing new to take a day away from the corporate image and dress up on Halloween," said Gail Meyers, marketing director of Luke Federal Credit Union and Costumed For A Cure chairperson. She adds, "Companies do it all the time. What is unique about this program pro-gram is that it also helps others who are very much in need of that help." Leukemia is the No. 1 disease killer of children and it is the No. 1 fatal malignant disease of men under 35 and women under 25. With the funds raised from programs pro-grams like Costumed For A Cure, research has resulted in an increase in survival rates for victims of leukemia and its related diseases of Hodgkin's, multiple myeloma and lymphoma. Program materials are available now for any company wishing to participate in Costumed For A Cure. To get your, contact the Leukemia Society offices at 1-800-568-1372. What's on Tom Clyde's mind this week? Don'l miss 'And so II goes' In Saturday's Park Record! 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Member of OJPJPlCJi l,OCATIOJNS ADA We are now open 6 days a week Monday thru Saturday with extended hours American Dental Association Park Meadows Plaza 1500 Kearns Blvd. SUITE C-100 PARK CITY, UT 84060 8016470860 BY APPOINTMENT FINANCING AVAILABLE O.A.C. CASH DISCOUNTS MAJOR CREDIT CARDS ACCEPTED 370 East South Temple SUITE 350 SALT LAKE CITY, UT 84111 8013283167 BY APPOINTMENT MEMBER AMERICAN DENTAL ASSOCIATION UTAH DENTAL ASSOCIATION CALIFORNIA DENTAL ASSOCIATION SALT LAKE DISTRICT DENTAL SOCIETY Jl Visit us at our Web Site: www.drbjonsson.com COPY |