When I sat in Mr. Vittone's geography class in the 7th grade, and we were honed in on the Great Salt Lake, I distinctly remember thinking to myself...that's all very interesting but I bet I never see that.
I hadn't seen all that much at that point. In the 5th grade, I did get to spend most of the summer with my aunt in California. Other than that, we would go to Iowa sometimes. I think we almost made it to the Indiana border when we visited my mom's cousin in Streator, Illinois. There were places in Illinois that made me think I was in a foreign country or faraway place, like Bishop Hill and Starved Rock. So, in 1999 I was up for a promotion at Pfizer, and the position would be for an opening in San Francisco or Salt Lake City. It was our choice. My gut reaction to Salt Lake City was no. But the practical side of me (the side that would be perfectly okay with getting a laminator for Christmas but my husband refuses to buy me one) knew how horrible housing prices were in the Bay, and we would have to live in the territory. The sales manager encouraged me to fly out to Salt Lake City and check it out, and then decide.
It was beautiful. There were mountains in every direction, and it was breathtaking. I interviewed, learned a little about the area, talked it over with Randy and took the position, and soon our house was being packed up for the move. I found a realtor, who was a transplant. One of those skiiers who decided to stay. He was single, a long string of ex-girlfriends, and on one day when he decided not to shave, I envisioned he may have been a bit of a drinker. Maybe his lack of shaving that day was his way of telling me he was really tired of showing me houses. I just hadn't seen anything that I liked that we could afford. Housing there was significantly more than we were used to. Finally, we pulled up to a house in an area known as 'Canyon Rim'. It had no curb appeal, had a mish-mash of sculptures in the yard among overgrown grass, one was a big brown glob of ceramic that a neighbor would later describe as 'looking like a dinosaur crapped in the yard' (direct quote). It was the end of the day, and I told him I just didn't think so. He said he felt obligated to at least go in and make an appearance as he told them we would be by. I stayed in the car. He came out and said, "I think you are going to want to see this."
The house was as charming as it could be. An artist definitely lived inside. The owner had lived there for 30 years and came from Germany. She taught knitting and crocheting, and had a room full of beautiful yarn and sweaters. She had built an addition that had an amazing view of Mount Olympus. There was a cherry tree, a raspberry bush, a grapevine, and a peach tree. She composted. She had fashioned a sun shade on the back deck that was shaped like a sail, that could be moved as the sun changed positions. The garage was too small for a car, but housed her bike, a drill press, cross country skis, and small tools on the wall, which she had outlined with a pencil to be sure they made it back into the right place.
We said yes to the house, and our house in Morgantown was packed up. In the midst of this big move, was a phone call from Krystal's---hmmm, can't quite think of the word. Babysitter? She asked if Krystal could come out for awhile, as they were having a lot of problems. Randy and I had been in and out of court and lawyers' offices for some time trying to get custody of both of my nieces, Krystal and Katlyn. I remember him saying to me, she can come out, but if she does, she's not going back.
The moving truck arrived right around the same time Krystal did. She was such a hard worker, it was probably her way of showing her love and feeling needed and appreciated. We loved her regardless. We painted every room on the inside. We painted the outside dark brown (darker than dinosaur crap) while listening to Destiny's Child on the boombox. We had wonderful folks next door who became great friends. We went to court, and the best judge on the planet who happened to be in Utah finally listened to the three of us, and said Krystal could stay. We learned about becoming parents, Mormonism, and that Great Salt Lake.
Oh, and the former owner of the house, who was probably somewhere in her 60s...took off on her bike. She rode it from Salt Lake City to somewhere in Maine.
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