Grandpa Johnson

 After weeks of sorting through papers, and everything else, at my mom's house, I am back home...with papers and photos to scan and save—plus lots more—in tow.

Today I came across this gem, written by my Grandpa Johnson:

This is the first of 3 1/2 hand-written pages,
a brief autobiography of my Grandpa.

I took the liberty of correcting a few minor grammar errors when I transcribed it. It had to have been written between May of 1961 and August of 1962, because that's the time period between my parents' fifth and sixth children. And if I had to guess (which I do) I'd say it was probably written closer to May '61 than August '62.

Here's what he wrote:

"My friends and my relatives, it is not my intention to bore you with a long-winded history of dry facts and introspections that would not even keep me awake. I just want to give you a few of the highlights and a few times when the lights were low.

November 30, 1898 was my birthday. I don't even remember it, and I'm sure that not very many of you do either.

The doctor assured my mother, for about the first six weeks of my life, that I couldn't live, so I haven't had to worry about that, but I have managed to exist. Sometimes an easy existence, but most of the time an uneasy one. Horses and cattle and coyotes and rabbits and thousands of bands or herds of sheep crowd my early memories.

Among these things I finally grew up. It took me a long, long time. I had a wonderful mother and a dad who was my ideal, although I was too ornery to get along well with him.

After many years (about twenty-eight) I found, in Salt Lake City, a wonderful girl to whom I was married on November 28, 1926 in Shoshone, Idaho. The following February we were married in the Salt Lake Temple. Our first son, Louis Orlin Jr., was born in Salt Lake City, August 3, 1928.

Irene Andersen
Oh, my goodness!
Wasn't she just a darling 20's girl?

We moved around and lived in various places: Marley or Richfield, Dietrich, Gooding, and while at Gooding, where I worked in a lumber yard, our daughter Esther Loween was born on December 31, 1929. My wife was sick a lot, being in the hospital nine times in three and one-half years. After all that, she is still as mean as ever.

We leased a couple of farms at Marley, and for three or four years we raised crops and livestock and kids. Norman Ray was born April 7, 1933, and Nolan Dale was born December 13, 1934.

We eventually moved to Boise for one year—then to Glenn's Ferry for a few months, and back to Richfield. In 1937 the Stake President put me and my wife in as bishop of Richfield Ward, with Frank Sanford and Louis Crowther as counselors. In 1939, on August 3, Marvin Dee was born, but lived only one and one-half hours. His grave is in the Richfield Cemetery.

In 1941 we moved to Salt Lake City and I went to work as a green carpenter. My family lived in Salt Lake two years to the day, while I worked at St. John, Utah, and Edmonton and Norman Wells Canada. Then we moved to American Fork, Utah. I worked for Geneva Steel Company on construction of the steel mill, also later, for a short while, in the accounting department. This last job paid only about half as much as I could get for carpentering so I went back again to my trade. We lived in American Fork ten and one-half years. Two seasons I spent carpentering in Alaska, one in Arco, Idaho, and I worked in several other places. I was in business in American Fork for about six years, having started my own insurance and real estate business. Our children got most of their schooling in American Fork.

Grandma and Grandpa with my dad,
just before his mission

Orlin Jr. went on a mission for two and one-half years to Brazil, South America. There he met his wife [Dolores] and Norman's wife. Both the boys served three years in the Army. Most of that time Orlin and his wife were in Germany, where their oldest boy was born.

Esther married Dean R. Lewis and settled at 386 Clifton Ave., American Fork, where they still reside.

Norman married Helena Paes, Orlin's wife's sister who was staying with us, waiting for him when he came back from the Army.

Our youngest one, Nolan, married Donna Alec [? I couldn't read her last name] from Provo. He was killed in an accident two years ago. They had two children. Norman and Helena have three, Esther and Dean four, Orlin and Dolores five."

Grandma and Grandpa Johnson, as I remember them.
(In fact, that is me, in the front.)

I was so excited to find this little document! And I'm excited—although a little daunted—to go through all the other hundreds of pictures, and writings, and ...everything! And I'll post more, here and there, as I go.

How fun! 

Stories of my Mom

 My mom died last week, at about 9:20 p.m. on March 14. I can't really talk here about the two weeks prior to her death, or the role I played in helping to care for her in the last eight days of her life. That is personal and it runs deep. 

I can tell you that even though she was ninety and I am nearly fifty-four, I still feel like I've been orphaned. But I don't want to talk about how much death stinks, or how sad it makes me. I don't want to talk about how, despite my pain, I know Mom is OK—probably even happy. I have no deep thoughts to share with you. If you want my deep thoughts you can read what I had to say on the death of Bruce's mom, and the death of my dad.

Instead, I want to share some stories of my mom because she was vibrant, and full of life and fun.

Mom—Maria Dolores de Faria Paes Johnson—was born in Brasil on September 4, 1930. Her father is Pedro Baptista Paes, who worked for the railroad and who was a well-known musician in his town. Her mother is Maria Philomena Angelini da Silva Paes; she loved theater, did amazing needlework (embroidery and crochet), and taught needle arts at a Catholic school (probably mom mom's school). And her sister (Mom's sister) is Maria Helena de Faria Paes Johnson; Aunt Helena is married to my dad's brother, Norman.

Dedé at...three years old? maybe four?

Mom had a good life in Brasil. Because her father worked for the railroad she could pretty much get on the train and go wherever she wanted. She went to the theater to see plays, operas and ballets. She was always very smart; as a little girl (five years old, I think) she read poetry on the radio. She told us that when she played house with her friends, her husband always spoke a foreign language—one that she'd made up and could speak fluently. (This must have been a sign of things to come.) Mom learned many real languages; she was fluent in Portuguese and English, and she also spoke a little bit of French, Spanish, and Italian.

She was raised Catholic, and she attended a Catholic school where she had all kinds of fun and got into all kinds of mischief. For example, one time, at mass, Mom felt sick. She rubbed her hand across her forehead, and then passed out. After that, when she wanted to skip mass, she would rub her hand across her head and the nuns would whisk her out of the room.

At lunch, if they served something she didn't like, she would slyly pick a hair from her head and put it in her food. Then she would call the nuns and say, "I can't eat this. There's a hair in it!" She got away with it for a while until one of the nuns finally confronted the cook, saying, "This poor girl can't eat her food; it always has hair in it!" The cook angrily pointed out that she had short, kinky hair, but the hairs in Dolores' food were long and dark.

high school graduation

Mom graduated from high school at fifteen and then went on to study pre-med; she was one of two girls in that program. One day she and the other girl decided to skip classes and enjoy themselves around town. The next day their teacher, suspecting the reason both girls were absent on the same day, decided to give a pop quiz on the uses of nitroglycerin—the previous day's topic. Mom and her friend didn't know what to write, but Mom did  know a couple of uses for glycerin. Thinking they must have similar properties, she whispered to her friend something you could do with glycerin. Mom says that this professor would pompously stalk around the room, with his hands behind his back, and give students—particularly Dolores and her friend—arrogant looks. After the quiz he announced to the entire class, "I'm happy to tell you that we have discovered two new uses for nitroglycerin: for making soap [her friend's answer] and you can use it in making chocolates!" [mom's answer] Mom says that they never lived that down. Despite that, Mom graduated pre-med and as a school teacher at the age of eighteen.

college graduation
The inscription says "Aos queridos paisinhos,
pelo minha formatura, com todo a meu amor.
Maria Dolores, A sua Dedé"
(To my dear parents, I give this, on my graduation, with all my love. Maria Dolores, Your Dedé)

Although Mom was Catholic, she often attended Mutual activities with The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. She was eventually baptized into the church, and even taught Primary sometimes. One day as she was walking to the church she saw glanced up and saw a new missionary greeting people. She would tell us, "He was so cute and had so much wavy hair!" She knew then and there that she was going to marry that missionary with the glasses. She was already engaged to a young man of wealth and consequence, but that night she broke off her engagement with him.

He was pretty cute.

After Dad's mission, he wrote to Dolores, asking her to come to the United States and marry him. Although she barely knew him, she came. Her sister, my Aunt Helena, came with her to act as chaperone and later married my dad's brother, my Uncle Norman.

Mom loved to have fun, and she was adventurous! She told us a story of when she and Aunt Helena first came to the states: They had a two-hour layover in Miami, and figured that would be enough time to do some sightseeing. They'd seen movies from the States, and "everybody [in those movies] was hitch-hiking." They thought, "The only way we can go see the sights is to hitch-hike." So they stood in front of the airport and thumbed a ride from a "nice, distinguished-looking" man. He took them around the beach in Miami—not too far from the airport—told them a little bit about the United States, and then dropped them off in time to catch their flight. Mom told us how young and dumb she and her sister were, and would finish the story by saying, "I don't want anybody to do that!"

Helena and Dolores

Mom's sense of adventure (and probably a sense of humor and a lot of patience) led her to take her family of eight kids camping, fishing, and hiking. She had fun with us in water fights and hula-hoop contests. And when she was in her seventies she even rolled down the grassy hills surrounding her local elementary school with her grandkids.

a camping trip—before my time

Mom's biggest adventure was probably coming to the United States to marry Dad; until she met him, she had never imagined coming to live here. There was some difficulty about Mom's temple recommend—I think because they were having a hard time getting her church records from Brasil. But Dad was scheduled to ship out to Germany with the Army, and time was running short. He finally told his mother, "If we can't get married in the temple, we'll just go to Las Vegas!" So Grandma went to the church offices and talked to the president of the church, David O. McKay, to arrange for both of my parents to be interviewed. In Dad's interview he was asked if he intended to send for Dolores at the first possible chance, and his recommend—and the marriage—was only approved when Dad said, "Yes!" They were married on July 8, 1953, and Dad left for Germany just a few days afterward. 

Orlin and Dolores' wedding announcement picture
for the newspaper. This is their only wedding photo because they didn't have time to arrange
a big, fancy wedding.

While Mom waited for Dad to achieve the necessary promotions to be able to send for his wife (in March of 1954), she lived with her new in-laws. Mom told us, "When I lived in Brasil I didn't have to do anything besides go to school. When I took my bath I would leave my clothes on the floor and the next day they would be cleaned, put away, and ready to use. So when I was first married I was doing the same thing to my poor mother-in-law." Grandma Johnson didn't know what to do, so she wrote to Dad saying, "You'd better tell her that we don't have maids or anything." Mom says, "I decided to do the right thing and at least pick up my clothes." (Grandma still washed them.)

This is a photo (recently colorized) that Mom sent to Dad in Germany. Was it taken in his mother's garden? The inscription on the back says, "Darling, parece até que ue tenho uma grande plantacão, não é mismo? A ti, meu querido, com tôdo o amor da tua Dolores  8-5-53"
(Darling, seems like I have a big plantation, doesn't it? To you, my dear, with all the love of your Dolores)

Mom also told us that when she was first married Grandma used to make a really good soup; Mom and her sister loved it! Mom didn't know how to cook yet—she often told us that when she was married she didn't know how to do anything. She told Grandma, "Oh, give me the recipe for this soup. I really want to learn how to do it because I love it." And Grandma would smile and say, "OK. I will give it to you." After Mom had pestered her many times, Grandma finally said, "OK. I'll give you the recipe right now," opened her cupboard and pulled out a can of Campbell's Vegetable Beef Soup. Mom said, "That was one thing I learned to cook."

Grandma Johnson
I think this was taken just before
Dad's mission in Brasil.

Mom never really learned to cook until she and Dad were on their own. She often told us this story of when they were living in Germany: Dad loved marble cake, and she really wanted to surprise him with one. Since she didn't know how to make a marble cake, she asked a friend of hers how to do it. And Dad really was surprised: The cake had marbles in it!

Another time she was making a stew for dinner. She covered the pot and left it warming on the stove while she and Dad went out to do some things. When they got home and she uncovered the stew all she found was a pile of ashes.

When they were back in the States, Grandma taught Mom to do home-canning. Mom says that Grandma was very fussy about making her canned goods look really nice, so when they did whole tomatoes Mom was determined to make hers look even better than Grandma's. While Grandma pressed and squished her tomatoes into the jars, Mom artistically arranged her tomatoes. They were very pretty and not squished at all. But when they were processed, the tomatoes shrunk. Grandma had beautiful jars full of plump, whole tomatoes, while Mom's "pretty" jars were full of juice with just a few tomatoes floating in them.

One time, when Mom and Dad lived in Germany, she had done the washing—herself—but she didn't want their underwear to be hanging out to dry when Dad got home. So she warmed up the oven and put the underwear in it. When she went to check on it later she was amazed to find that it had disappeared! She looked all over the oven for that underwear, but the only thing she discovered were some hard, little, black puffs stuck to the oven. Because it was made of nylon, the underwear had all melted.

Mom loved fun, and she loved stories, and she loved jokes—even when the joke was on her, as you can tell by some of the stories she told us.

Mom did learn to keep house beautifully, and even learned to sew on her own. She made a lot...probably most of the clothes her little kids wore to school and church. And Mom became a fantastic cook, as anyone who ate at our house, or had a meal brought to them by her, can attest. Everything she did, she did well, and she was pretty much self-taught.

Easter dresses that Mom made.
I was in fifth grade and I was in love with this dress.
(Although I don't look it here.)

Mom loved to go shopping, even just window shopping. She started full-time work when I was eight, so that I could start in full-time dance lessons when I was ten. With our overlapping school/work/dance schedules we didn't spend much time together. But I loved it when she'd take me shopping with her on Saturdays (even though I got worn out long before she did). I remember walking through the mall with her when I was a teenager—about sixteen—and being a little surprised when I realized that we were holding hands, just as if I were a little girl. But I wasn't embarrassed; it was just nice. 

Mom always loved animals; she used to tell us about the pets she had in Brasil: a little monkey, a cat—which she would close inside the grand piano when she was supposed to be practicing—and she even had a pet snail. When we were growing up she let us have all kinds of pets. We had fish, lizards, horny-toads, frogs, cats, dogs, guinea pigs, gerbils, finches, rabbits, and ducks, and she loved them all.

six kids, a guinea pig, a cat, and a rabbit

Mom saw the beauty in everything. She loved rainbows, and sunsets, and even lightning. Melanie says that even after she was married Mom would call her on the phone sometimes and say, "Quick! Run outside and look at the sky." They shared many beautiful sunsets that way. Mom always pointed out the splendor of the mountains, she loved flowers, and even saw the beauty in the dandelions. 

Mom was an amazing artist. She painted beautiful landscapes, still-lifes, and portraits. She donated a painting to my elementary school, and I was so proud of her! I remember pointing that painting out to a friend and telling her, "My mom painted that." The friend wouldn't believe me, so I told her that her (my mom's) signature was on it. When she learned that my mom's name was Dolores she still wouldn't believe me because Mom signed all of her paintings with her nickname: Dedé. Although she had an offer of  $500—approximately $4,400 in today's money—for one of her portraits (a picture that all of us kids called "the old man"), she just gave a lot of her artwork away to friends. Occasionally she used it in trade for something she wanted to get for her children, and I well remember the painting of a clown that hung in my pediatrician's office when I was little. I only recently learned that she'd made it in payment for services.

Mom saw the beauty in people too—all people. Not only in different hair and skin colors, or cultures and religions, but in the people themselves. She loved everyone; all were welcome in her house. All her kids' friends called her "mom," and they were welcome at any time, night or day. She opened her house to people in need many times. She often told us the story of how she and Dad once picked up a hitch-hiker (those hitch-hiking people in the States!), brought him to their home, fed him, let him stay the night, and gave him some cash before taking him where he wanted to go. And one time, when I was a teenager, she found out that a family we knew had been living in a tent, so she let them stay in our house for a couple of weeks until they could get into a new place.

Most of all, Mom loved her family.

school pictures
1972-73, I'd guess

Growing up, Mom made me feel like I was the most amazing person ever. She bragged on me and showed off everything I did—from my sewing projects, to my dancing, to my piano-playing—to everyone. And she had me convinced that I really was as impressive as she said I was. (It was kind of a shock to be out on my own and discover that I may not have been as outstanding as she'd led me to believe.) She built a confidence in me that I couldn't have gotten in any other way.

After I was married and starting my own family I didn't see as much of my parents. They served a two-year mission in Lisbon, Portugal after I'd been married for three years. Soon after they got back home, my little family moved to Tennessee for three years for Bruce's schooling. And six years ago we moved to Vernal, away from our families in Salt Lake. But I miss her. I miss my mom. I miss the years when I could have—and should have—been closer to her.

She is an incredible lady.

Mom

 

Maria Dolores Johnson,

September 4, 1930–March 14, 2021

Maria Dolores Faria Paes Johnson, 90, of Kearns, Utah, passed away on March 14, 2021 from complications of a fall which resulted in a broken arm.

The funeral service will be held at 10 AM, Friday March 19, 2021 at the Western Hills, Utah Stake Center, 5380 W 5400 S, Kearns. Due to the Covid 19 pandemic there will be no public viewing. Burial will be at Redwood Memorial Estates following the funeral at 2:30 PM. Funeral arrangements are being handled by Memorial~Holladay Cottonwood Mortuary.

Dolores was born in Campinas, Sao Paolo, Brazil on September 4, 1930. She got the nick-name Dedé because it was the first words she spoke. She graduated from a Catholic high school in Jundiai, Brazil at age 15. She then enrolled in two colleges, Pre-Med in the morning and Teaching in the afternoon. She finished both schools by age 18.

After graduation Dolores worked for Durex in Sao Paolo. She started in accounting where she was called upon to convert currencies. She transferred to the lab where she was presented with an award for making and adhesive formula unbreakable. She suggested adding a perfune ingredient to the formula, which made it impossible for competitors to crack.

Dolores saw her sweetheart for the first time while he was serving a mission for his church. When he finished his mission, he wrote to her and asked her to come to the United States so they could be married. She was married to Louis Orlin Johnson, Jr. on July 8, 1953 in the Manti, Utah Temple of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints; they were married for time and all eternity, with 63 of thos years being here on Earth.

Dolores was a full-time wife and mother for many years. When she finally accepted outside employment all of her eight children were in full-time school. She then worked as a clerk for the Salt Lake County 3rd Precinct Courts until her retirement.

Dolores was a faithful member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints with a strong and unshakeable testimony of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. She loved God and her Savior, Jesus Christ. She strived diligently to teach these values to her children. She served the church in many callings and capacities. She was a Cub Scout den mother, Primary and Relief Society teacher, and was in the Primary Presidency of what could have been the larges Ward Primary in the Church. There were over 400 children. She and her beloved Orlin served a mission in Lisbon, Portugal from 1993 until 1995.

Dolores was very creative. She could paint and did so often. She gave many paintings away, donated others for worthy causes, and even traded paintings for piano lessons, an accordion, and payments to the pediatrician. She wrote stories and poetry in both English and Portuguese. She loved to garden and picked fresh flowers for the house almost every day. She said that weeds were just under-appreciated flowers and often used them in her flower arrangements.

She is survived by her only sister, Maria Helena Johnson, and all of her children; Peter Louis Johnson, Gregory Lee (Heidi Robertson) Johnson, Wendell Roy (Amy Mooso) Johnson, Mark Steven (Robin Gilbert) Johnson, Paul David (Fiatagata Amani) Johnson, Melanie Kay (Richard Joseph) Bailey, Loralee (Bruce David) North, and Denise Cook. She is also survived by forty-one grandchildren, many great-grandchildren, and one great great granddaughter. She was preceded in death by both parents, her husband Louis Orlin Johnson, Jr., and one grandson, Vincent Kai Johnson.

In lieu of flowers, her memory would best be served by doing an unexpected act of service taht would benefit someone else.

The family of Dolores Johnson wishes to thank Valeo Home Health and Hospice and their wonderful staff of nurses, doctors, and other caregivers for the help and support they gave during the final months of life.

Such devoted sisters

 Last week my mom fell down and broke her arm. It's not good.

Mom is 90 years old; she suffers from missing my dad (who died four years ago), osteoporosis, and from...just age-related issues. We were told that the break is a clean break—which sounds kind of good, but I didn't know exactly what that meant so I looked it up just now. Basically a "clean break" means that the bone broke, but didn't shift out of place. So, theoretically, if it was in a sling and immobilized, then gravity would help it to heal. But most likely not in a woman my mom's age and with osteoporosis. To put a cast on it, though, they would have first had to put in a surgical plate, and because of Mom's age and health, they couldn't do that. So she came home with a sling on her arm, lots of pain-killers, and a home-nurse to attend to her...every other day? or maybe every day.

That's the backstory for today's post. 

Bruce and I came to Salt Lake on Saturday to see how Mom was doing; my sister, Melanie, was worried that she was going downhill fast. When Bruce and I arrived at her house my Aunt Helena (Mom's sister) and my cousins were all here visiting. Mom was mostly awake for that visit, but slipping between speaking English and Portuguese, and sometimes talking to people who weren't there.

On Sunday she seemed to rally a little bit. At least she was able to say a sentence or two to most of the family who came to visit that day.

But Monday was scary; Mom was in terrible pain. She would be lying back, with pain written on her face and in her body, then suddenly she would jerk up, trying to sit up, because of the pain. She would plead, "Please. Please. Por favor," over and over again. She was talking to people who weren't here—many of them had already passed away. She kept trying to get out of bed, but she's not able to, and we had to try to keep her in the bed. It was so hard to watch, and we felt helpless to know what to do.

Here is where today's story really starts.

Aunt Helena on the left, and Dolores (mom) on the right
(a colorized photo)

When Mom left Brasil to come marry my dad, her parents sent her sister, Helena, with her...to act as chaperone, and make sure everything was on the up-and-up. It was. Dolores married Orlin, and later Helena married Orlin's brother, Norman.

When I was growing up, Aunt Helena's family and our family were like siblings rather than cousins. We probably went to each others' houses weekly—sometimes more often than that. And through the years Mom and Aunt Helena were always there for each other. They had times when they'd get really mad at each other, but they always made up. And in these late years, with both Orlin and Norman gone, they have been even more important to each other.

So on Monday morning, Mom's really bad day, Aunt Helena came over, not knowing how bad Mom really was. She walked into the house, straight to Mom, and tried to give her a gift of a little fleece blanket. She told her she loved her and asked her to please get better. Within minutes Mom started having one of her big, painful struggles. As she thrashed in her reclining chair, and cried out, "Please. Please," Aunt Helena instantly switched from begging Mom to stay with her, to begging God to take her and release her from this suffering.

Aunt Helena asking the angels to come help Dedé .

Here are some other things I saw my sweet aunt doing that day:

Aunt Helena leaned over Mom as she was talking to Papai (dad) and Mamãe (mom); Helena looked up and told them, "Dedé is so tired. Help her rest." Then she leaned over and, stroking Mom's hair, sang a ...I guess it's a lullaby or a nursery song...to Mom. (It's a song I recognized that Vovis used to sing to us: "Na na nene, na na bonitinha..." It translates to something like "Na na baby, na na pretty [one]"—or maybe cutie.)

In between Mom's spasms she kept talking to people; sometimes to Aunt Helena, and sometimes to others. At one point Mom asked (in Portuguese), "Are they here? Is it true?" And Helena, holding her hand, still standing and leaning over her says, "Yes. It's true. Si. Ta certo."

Later Mom asks for Papai and Mamãe again and, covering her with the little blanket she brought, Helena says, "Mom is here. See? She's covering you with this blanket. And Dad is sitting in this chair next to you." Mom asks for Sebastiana, their maid, and Helena says, "Sebastiana is here; she's in the kitchen."

And as my mom cries, pleading for help, Aunt Helena keeps praying, asking God and anyone else who might be listening to relieve her from this terrible pain. Mom kept talking to people from her past, and Aunt Helena kept reassuring her that they were there, and they were helping her; she would tell them, "Say 'hi' to Dedé." It was beautiful, and she was breaking my heart.

The good thing is that the nurse arrived in the mid-afternoon and increased Mom's pain meds, and got her to sleep. The sad thing is that Mom is declining pretty quickly; we are just trying to keep her comfortable as she moves onward.

But the beautiful thing is those two sisters...how they've always been there for each other—even through disagreements. They have always loved each other.

Oh, how I love my sweet mother and her sweet sister!

Look at this!

 It has been a thirty-year process, with the final month of work seeming like thirty years in itself (hm...kind of like pregnancy.). But I have a hardcover copy of my cookbook!

Look at that! Right there with my other cookbooks!

When I was a cute, little newlywed...  

I started collecting recipes and typing them up on my electric typewriter. I drew little pictures to go with some of the recipes, and put each thin, white page into a three-ring binder—with no page protectors. (Sadly, I don't have any of those original pages any more. Which is surprising to me, but they do seem to be gone forever.)

Years went by. I added more recipes—and added more. I bought page protectors; my binder got more and more full. I started copying the pages onto colored papers—White for Main Dishes, Green for sides, Pink for Desserts, and Yellow for Miscellaneous recipes. This made it easier to find each section of the book.

Later I retyped all of my recipes on the computer, and added more; my binder got bigger and bigger and bigger. Then, with my cookbook now saved on the computer, I decided to store my original pages in a very, very safe place. You  know, a place where even I couldn't find them again.

In 2010 I drew new pictures for the divider pages, and colored them in Photoshop on my computer. It may have been at this point that I quit using colored pages for the recipes (it was getting hard to find colors that matched what I already had.)

Old vs. New. When I first started drawing these pages (in the dark ages) stripes were pretty trendy. But it was hard for a self-taught, Photoshop newbie to draw the diagonal stripes evenly; I had to give them up. 

You can see the colored pages behind the old dividers
in the 3-ring binder. I did away with the little, scattered
food pictures on each divider page. Those pages were all drawn by hand and colored with...
...Crayons!

A lot of those little, bitty pictures made their way into
the main body of the cookbook. I have to say,
I do like the new, cleaner look a lot better.
(Hmm. Why was the "Helpful Hints" page
a "surprise"? I don't remember.)

For my 25th anniversary I spent a year editing my cookbook. Man, it was a headache! At one point my computer decided that I had a corrupt file, and would delete the entire cookbook every time I worked on it. So I had to borrow Melanie's copy of my cookbook...

...OK. I'm not sure why I had to borrow Melanie's book, because I should have had the copy that I used every day. Hm.

 Anyway, I borrowed Melanie's book, and retyped the entire thing, and jumped through a dozen hoops so that I could save it on two separate thumb-drives. At that time I'd also bought a wire-o binding machine (a craft one that I got for an entirely different project). So I got my pages printed professionally, and bound them myself. I even sold a few copies to friends and family (as a fund-raiser for Michael's mission).

the 25th Anniversary edition of Loralee's Cookbook, ©2015.

And I announce that I was done. No more adding or editing recipes!

My family laughed at me for saying that; they had seen, for twenty-five years, that this book was a living, growing, work-in-progress.

And, sure enough, I typed up more recipes within a few weeks of publication, and I had to edit things like "heat oven to 35°" or "add 1/2 cinnamon".  So I printed myself a newer copy in 2017. And then I was done. DONE!

Well, we all know how this turned out, don't we?

the 2017 edition of Loralee's Cookbook
I created the super-cute endpapers, and even found a way to bind the whole thing all together. I took this picture today (01/20/2021). The book has broken apart from the outer cover. You can see how worn the pages are—it is the most used book in the house. And all those loose papers in the back? New recipes.

Yes. In the intervening three years I started collecting more recipes. I typed them up and added them to the computer version of my cookbook. But, since my computer is in another room, I had to write or print the new recipes up when I wanted to use them. I couldn't add them to the existing book because the wire-o binding is permanent—it doesn't reopen. (Well, it would, but eventually it would break.) I would scribble recipes on Post-It notes and stick them to my cupboard doors. My kids found them a little aggravating because I didn't put the names of the recipes on the Post-Its. I didn't need to! I could tell what they were, and even how to prepare them, by reading the ingredient lists. 

I took this picture on Jan. 21. These are some of the recipes I've collected over the last three years.

Those are the recipes on the other side of the kitchen—the side I don't work at so much. (Maybe I should take all the Post-Its down now...)

And these are some of the recipes I found when I organized my spice cupboard the other day.

This is the very last page of the 2017 cookbook.
The new, hardbound copy has 524 pages.

About a year ago I found a website that would make my lifelong hobby into a hardbound book for a reasonable price. I recruited my family to check recipes whenever they made them, to make sure that they were written correctly, and I started editing again. (Again, not without a lot of trouble from writing and drawing programs.) The kids figured this would be just one more iteration of my ongoing hobby, but I was planning to give each of them a book for Christmas 2020. 

And I did! I did it! And I am so excited! Loralee's Cookbook is a real, live, hardbound book! 

Are there typos? 

Um, yes.


But it is finished—no more additions or reprints! ;-)