Linda Lou Peterson

5 May 1949 - 28 May 2009

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Linda Lou Peterson

5 May 1949 - 28 May 2009
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Grave site information of Linda Lou Peterson (5 May 1949 - 28 May 2009) at Evergreen Cemetery in Springville, Utah, Utah, United States from BillionGraves
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Life Information

Linda Lou Peterson


Evergreen Cemetery

1876-1998 North 2000 West
Springville, Utah, Utah
United States


May 25, 2011


May 25, 2011

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Introducing Me and My Blog

Contributor: ScottDimmick Created: 4 months ago Updated: 4 months ago

Note: this story is taken from Linda's blog, "Through a Window." It is mostly unedited and in her own words. Originally posted Sunday, 9 September, 2007. ~~~ I don't have a houseful (or even an armful) of children to provide me with humorous material for a personal blog, so why am I blogging? I have decided this is as good a way as any to get down all those stories friends keep telling me I ought to get recorded. I really do want to record them but every time I decide to write them up I can't think of any of them and I don't know who I'm writing them for anyway which makes it rather hard to get started. After all, you need to know your audience before you can write effectively. So you guys give me suggestions, stories you remember when you've said "Have you got this written down?" and I have guiltily hung my head and given all kinds of lame excuses why not; and I'll get them written up. Then you all (and anyone else who decides to drop in) can be the intended audience. While I've been typing this I have been listening to a science program on Stephen Hawkings. They are discussing whether or not information would survive being sucked into a black hole. I guess the new "information age" has made this a matter of great concern. Personally, I am not too concerned about it. Maybe they are predicting we'll get sucked into a black hole and no one will know we ever even existed, so it is imperative that the data bases survive. Hmmm ... The next program on the science channel says it appears Super Black Holes are in the center of every galaxy. Gee, that means we really are being sucked into a black hole. Seems to me I remember hearing rumors of such a phenomena back in high school physics. The idea gave me nightmares at the time. I am so curious about what is really going on out there. Scientists make such interesting guesses, some very useful guesses, but still, guess. Ahhh, here I am, already philosophizing about "What is Truth". Confession: The picture above is 21 years old. I hate having my picture taken and it is the latest one I have.

Things I Like

Contributor: ScottDimmick Created: 4 months ago Updated: 4 months ago

Note: this story is taken from Linda's blog, "Through a Window." It is mostly unedited and in her own words. Originally posted Wednesday 12 September, 2007. ~~~ (I can't necessarily still do them, but I still like them) chocolate cooking with good equipment walking through fallen leaves in the fall the smell of autumn walking against the wind the smell of rain coming hot baths meatloaf baked fish primping in front of a mirror make up good hair days nice clothes the way I feel when I have finished a knitted project I am proud of the way I feel when I find and polish a beautiful fractal learning something new giving a talk laughing a happy cry with a friend long talks with friends playing games winning games waking up after a good sleep going to bed after working hard the feel of freshly washed hair; my own or someone else’s the way a freshly bathed baby smells laughing with a baby singing with the choir feeling I have communicated with God knowing I did well in a hard class figuring things out pushing for one more lap than I think I can do when I am swimming: doing it making someone laugh watching the eyes of a student when they have finally “got it” having a student who has struggled do well on a test sharing my heart with someone and feeling appreciated, even understood knowing someone loves me knowing I love someone feeling pretty lying in the grass feeling the warm sun on my skin exchanging smart alec remarks with a friend escaping into a well crafted mystery or sience fiction or fantasy novel making up talks in my head feeling smart the smell of cinnamon rolls baking having pretty fingernails & hands with polished nails looking at something I find beautiful seeing how things work together solving a hard math problem solving a hard puzzle without cheating working cryptic crosswords with a friend watching the first big snowfall of the year sitting inside on a rainy afternoon watching the clouds roll in knowing the soup is cooking new clothes (not shopping though) going to the Shakespearian festival feeling warm & snuggled down a pain free day, hour, moment fresh vegetables from the garden playing with a child holding a sleeping child watching a snow storm with big wet snowflakes watching the clouds move in over Camel’s Back groaning & moaning & carrying on when playing board & card games watching fractals cycle colors day dreaming going to sleep meditating reading out loud with someone poetry fresh air looking at cook books looking at knitting books learning to knit new stitches visiting with a group of friends getting personal email

Linda's "Don't Eat the Peas" Story

Contributor: ScottDimmick Created: 4 months ago Updated: 4 months ago

Note: this story originally appeared in Linda's blog, "Through a Window" on Wednesday, 31 October, 2007. It is mostly unedited and in her own words. ~~~ When I was four years old (1953), we went down to Manti, Utah from our home in Washington state. I think it was a big family reunion, the first since the end of the war. We didn't have a car at the time and I can't remember how we got down there. I imagine we drove down with Uncle Bill; he had a car. My world at that time was compact. We lived in a small development in Richland built at the end of world war II to house returning soldiers and their families. Dad was working as a sheet metal apprentice "out at Hampton". I think most of the fathers worked "out at Hampton". A bus came every work day to take men and their lunch pails out to "Hampton". (Lunch pails were intriguing things. I always wanted to examine Dad's, see if there was anything good he had forgotten to eat) I didn't know what "Hampton" was, I just knew he made "ducks work." He might have tried explaining it to me but it was years before I realized the term was "duct work". Jack's school, the playground and the grocery store were all within walking distance. This was my world. Anytime we got in a car and went somewhere was a big adventure. Sometimes fun and sometimes not so fun, like going to the county health department and getting polio shots. That was not so fun. Milk came in a carton and meat came wrapped up in white paper and you got them at the grocery store. Period. That's it. There was no concept of "before" the carton or "before" the white paper. The first day we were in Manti I went out to watch Grandpa do the evening milking. When I realized that I was supposed to drink that kind of milk for dinner I was having nothing to do with it. I remember crying and insisting I wanted real milk, not that stinky cow milk. Mom and Dad were going to force the issue, insisting it was the same milk which I knew darn well it wasn't cause I had helped Mom carry our milk home from the store, not from some stinky ole cow. Dad was saying I'd drink the cow's milk or he would pour it down my throat. Grandma stepped into the middle of the uproar and said "Oh! let them have store-bought milk." She then sent someone to the store to get a quart of milk. I happily drank milk from that same carton every meal the whole time we were there. One morning Grandpa decided they were going to slaughter the pig. I, of course, wanted to watch. Anything the big cousins were interested in I wanted to be in on too. I had no idea what slaughter meant. Besides I kind of liked the pig. I went down to the pigpen with Grandpa when he fed him whenever I could. He would talk to the pig and scratch his back with a stick. I thought he was Grandpa's pet. Mom didn't want me to go but Dad said I had to learn these things sometime so I got to go watch them slaughter the pig. They had the pig in a corral type enclosure. I had to stand on a rail of the gate and hang on tight in order to see anything. First they shot it. I knew nothing about real guns and real shooting so I had no idea what they had done. I didn't even know the pig was hurt as it ran squealing around in circles until it collapsed and they strung it up by it's back legs. It wasn't until I saw the knife as they slit it's throat to drain the blood out of it that I realized they were killing it. I went berserk and started screaming and crying and telling, begging, them to stop. Dad got mad at me and sent me back up to the house. Mom was waiting at the door. It took her a while to calm me down. She explained that that was how we got meat. Grandpa bought the pig when it was a baby pig and fed it and took care of it so it could grow big and strong so he could slaughter and get meat for bacon and ham and pork chops. Mom knew pork chops were my favorite meat. That stunned me. I didn't know pork chops came from a pig. I didn't know they had to kill a pig in order to make pork chops. I asked about hamburgers and hot dogs, two more favorites. They slaughtered cows too! I started asking about other foods and other animals. I was glad to learn we didn't eat horses or dogs or cats. It took her a while to convince me it was okay to kill the pig if Grandma and Grandpa needed the meat. I did calm down and even ate pork chops the next time we had them back at home. Later, after we had returned to Washington, we were eating dinner one night. We were having canned peas, which we did frequently. Kathy, my younger sister, hated peas. She spit out the first spoonful that was ever spooned into her mouth. We weren't allowed to refuse to eat anything. We didn't have to clean our plates but we had to eat at least two spoonfuls of everything on our plates. I hated canned peas too but as long as I didn't chew them and just swallowed them whole I could meet the minimum requirements. I think eating them made Kathy feel clear sick. I just hated the yucky texture of them. That night Kathy was refusing to eat her peas and Mom was giving her a lecture about eating them so she could grow up and be big, and strong and healthy. I freaked. I jumped up, threw my spoon on the floor and started yelling, "Don't do it Kathy, don't do it! They will slaughter you and eat you" Mother and I then had another long discussion.

Hanford, not Hampton, and Making Ducks Work

Contributor: ScottDimmick Created: 4 months ago Updated: 4 months ago

Note: this story is taken from Linda's blog, "Through a Window." It is mostly unedited and in her own words. Originally posted Thursday, 1 November, 2007.~~~ Thanks Jack. In his comment on my Oct 31 post my older brother, Jack, points out it was "Hanford" not "Hampton" He is right. I did a google search to check it out. They were still building it. I don't know why I have always remembered it as Hampton. I remember it wasn't supposed to be talked about. I had visions of little ducks being forced to slave away at whatever you can make a duck do. Mom told me they were metal ducts and he made them out of metal. Then I thought he was making toy ducks and wanted him to bring me one to play with. When I was seven years old we moved to a house with a basement. One time when I talked about Dad making "ducks work", he spelled out the two words and took me down in the basement and showed me the very little bit of "duct work" that was down there. I was relieved he wasn't making "ducks work". And Jack, your sixty year old mind still thinks I'm an idiot half the time. PS This post has been amended to correct a spelling error. While I'm amending I would like to point out that back then I had never heard of television and hadn't been to a movie yet. My ideas of making people work came from bible story books Mom read to us. Some had wonderful pictures. So I had visions of long lines of ducks chained together like the pictures of the children of Israel before Moses led them out of Egypt.

Longsuffering With Joyfulness

Contributor: ScottDimmick Created: 4 months ago Updated: 4 months ago

Note: this story originally appeared on Linda's blog, "Through a Window" on Wednesday, 7 November, 2007. Sadly, it is her last entry. It is mostly unedited and in her own words. ~~~ I had a thought during my scripture study today. Right now I am doing a topical study on "light" or "Light" as it is used in the scriptures. It is slow going because I am looking up all the scriptures and going through the TG links found in the footnotes. I have been studying John 1: 1-11 today. Well, actually, just the foot notes for verse 3. I started going through all the scriptures in the Topical Guide topic "Jesus Christ, Power of" which lead me to Colossians 1:11 where Paul is telling the Colossians what he is asking for them in his prayers. "That ye might walk ..., being ... Strengthened with all might, according to his glorious power, unto all patience and longsuffering with joyfulness;" Now there's a thought "longsuffering with joyfulness". That's what I need. It acknowledges the fact that there is suffering involved and it has been long, but there can still be joyfulness and it needs to be prayed for. I think I will make it my new theme for the year, make it a matter of daily prayer and find ways to remind myself of it, often. Any suggestions on how to remind myself of it often would be appreciated. I won't wait until January 2008, I shall start now, today, November 7, 2007. Those of you who are my friends, which includes all you who help me at night, are invited to gently remind me to remember my theme when you see me obviously suffering, and not doing it with "longsuffering with joyfulness". One has to be willing to let the pain not matter. Once I've done everything I can and the pain is still there I need to let go of trying to fix it and go on and ask the Lord to make me "Strengthened with all might, according to his glorious power, unto all patience and longsuffering with joyfulness;" It will be a daily, even hourly effort until the end or whenever joyfulness becomes part of who I am. It will be like learning to knit a complicated pattern. But that's another discussion. Okay, now I'm done with my scripture study for today, not much reading today but a lot of thinking and writing. I love studying the scriptures this way. It takes me all over the scriptures in a single study period and I frequently see old familiar scriptures in a totally different light.

My "Swirly Twirly Paisley Math Thingys"

Contributor: ScottDimmick Created: 4 months ago Updated: 4 months ago

Note: this story is taken from Linda's blog, "Through a Window." It was originally posted on Friday, 21 September, 2007. It is mostly unedited and in her own words. ~~~ First I had to figure out what "swirly twirly paisley math thingys" were. (I just love the way Jenn talks. I still get my bedtime helpers to "woller" my shawls every night.) Okay Jenn, I created a web page on igoogle with some of my own "swirly twirly paisley math thingys", otherwise know as fractals. There are two main pages of fractal images. Two of the images have titles which are links to a series of similar images. (I couldn't decide which image I liked best). Click on the fractal you want to see and it will take you to a larger image. If you want to, you can double click on that image and look at the whole image in detail a section at a time. I will upload new fractals and explanations to those web pages and post links to them here on my blog. These are huge images so I don't want to post them directly on my blog. The fractal image above is a medium size file, if you click on it you will get an image large enough to use as a background. Let me know if the large images don't work with your browser. Just because it all works with my setup doesn't mean it will work with everyone's. [If you are interested, here is the url to Linda's fractal web page. You will need to highlight it, select it (copy), then paste it into your browser window to access it. It's worth the trip. And I do mean trip.]

Linda was a story teller

Contributor: ScottDimmick Created: 4 months ago Updated: 4 months ago

Linda was injured in an automobile accident in 1974 and was quadriplegic from then on. For the most part she was confined to her bed, and her room had a single window through which she could see a couple of houses across the street and a mountain beyond that is known locally as the Camel's Back. She needed a lot of help with almost everything she did, including getting ready for bed. When her mother passed away in 1992 she had to have help from the local Relief Society. Fourteen pairs of ladies would each take a turn helping get her ready for bed. It was a labor intensive project and required about an hour or so to get her situated so she could lie in bed comfortably throughout the night. Since she was paralyzed and couldn't move herself, it was extremely important that she be comfortable in order to have a good night. If she had a bad night, it was often followed by an equally bad day. All of these ladies became loving, life-long friends. One thing that endeared her to them was that she was always appreciative of their efforts, had a great sence of humor and a wealth of stories from her life. She often regaled them with stories from her childhood and beyond. They often told her she needed to write these stories down so they wouldn't be lost. Consequently, after much prodding by her friends, she started a blog in September, 2007 which she called "Through a Window." She posted several hilarious accounts of childhood experiences and some posts on her outlook on life that were really well received. Unfortunately, almost as soon as she started this project, her health began to fail. She occasionally got bedsores, and if they went undiscovered and untreated, as happened in this case, they would get infected. She needed to go into a rehab and nursing facility for several months where she could receive daily professional medical care. She came home briefly, but had to go back to another facility on a more or less permanent basis. The story blog project fell by the wayside. In May 2009 Linda's health declined rapidly. She was moved into hospice, where she passed away soon after. For many of her friends and family she was gone too soon, but I'm sure that when she slipped the bonds of mortality her spirit soared. She was free at last. Many of her friends had given her a list of favorite stories that they wanted to see written in her blog that she didn't have time to get to. Here is a partial list. God put Jonah in the belly of the whale so he could think. I never heard this story, so we'll probably never see it. The good number/bad number thing. The baby powder episode. Lance was a co-conspirator. Walking home from Primary. Quest for Primary. An account of the accident. Camp counselor in the era of free love. I've heard most of these stories and I'll try to tell them as close to her original version as I can remember. Others may have to help with one or two of them.

The Good Numbers/Bad Numbers Thing

Contributor: ScottDimmick Created: 4 months ago Updated: 4 months ago

Keep in mind that Linda graduated from Brigham Young University with honors, having majored in mathematics and minored in chemistry. She was a high school math teacher by trade. So as an adult, she was very comfortable and familiar with numbers. But as a child just learning about numbers, some numbers made a good initial impression on her, some were "iffy" and others were definitely bad. Her impressions were based on the shape of the number. Basically, round numbers were the good ones. Not round numbers like 10 or 40, necessarily, but numbers that had roundness in their shape. Let's go through the numbers one by one. 0 was a good number. See? it's completely round. Round like that equals good. 1 was a bad number. See it? It's straight, like a stick. Mean people hit other people with sticks. One is a bad number all the way, right from the start. 2 was an "iffy" number. See? It starts off at the top with a nice round curve, and then it has a stick right at the bottom. Don't turn your back on 2. 3 was a mostly good number because it had round elements, depending on the way it was written. Some people wrote the 3 with two nice friendly round curves stacked on top of each other. That was preferred. Other people started their 3 with a straight stick across the top, then finished with the nice friendly curve on the bottom, making it somewhat suspicious. That kind of three would bear watching. 4 Nope. Just Nope. See? it's all sticks and hard angles, totally an unfriendly number. Stay away from 4 if at all possible. 5 is an iffy number. It has the sticks in a corner up at the top and finishes off with a seemingly friendly round curve at the bottom. Don't trust your life to five. 6 is completely trustworthy. You see it, right? It starts at the top with a sweeping curve that circles around into a nice friendly round loop at the bottom. 7 is a no go, completely untrustworthy. Some sevens try to fool you by putting a slight curve in that bottom leg, but don't buy it. 8 is the most friendly, trustworthy number of all, two nice round circles stacked on top of each other. Eight is great. 9 can go either way depending on how it is written. If you close the loop and continue downward with a sweeping curve, then 9 is good to go. But if you form a upper loop and then tie it to a straight downward line, like a balloon tied to a stick, then that's not good. Sooner or later that stick will pop that balloon. 10 is a conflicted number with that mean stick standing there in front of the nice friendly zero. Not exactly a match made in heaven. 11 is a double stick, and twice as bad as a 1. Never, never, never give 11 the time of day. And so it goes.

Walking Home From Primary After Having Been Forgotten and Left Behind

Contributor: ScottDimmick Created: 4 months ago Updated: 4 months ago

[As told by Linda's older brother, Jack.] I remember one time we drove past the LDS Church in Richland, Washington and I made some remark about what a nice looking church it was. I was about 7 at the time. I was surprised when Mom told me that it was the church we belonged to. I had no idea. We had never attended, even after Mom had joined the Church. Dad was inactive and not interested and I guess Mom didn't want to rock the boat. I think we did attend a time or two after that, but I was not that impressed. My sister Linda, on the other hand, was. She begged Mom to be allowed to attend Primary, which was held at the church on weekday afternoons after school, usually on a Tuesday or a Wednesday. The problem was that Linda had no way of getting to Primary unless someone was able to give her a ride. Fortunately, the Primary President, Sister Jones, lived on the same street we did, just a block or two away, and she agreed to take Linda. So this arrangement worked out great for several weeks, and Linda loved Primary. But one day when Sister Jones was coming home from Primary, as she turned the corner and came within sight of our house, she realized she hadn't seen or heard Linda among the half-dozen or so kids she had in the car with her. She called out Linda's name, and one of the kids said "She's not here, mom." She hurried along the street dropping off kids as she went, then hurried back toward the church, carefully looking for Linda along the way. No sign of her. She got back to the Church, went inside, calling for Linda. No answer. The church was empty. Linda wasn't there. She got back in her car and started driving back toward our house, slowly, carefully searching side streets now for Linda. Meanwhile, Linda, who was 5 years old and quite precocious, and brimming with self confidence had struck out on her own once she realized she had been left behind. Now, in fairness to Sister Jones, it isn't likely that Linda would cling to her while she went through all the locking up and getting all the kids gathered up and safely sent home. It's possible that Linda simply wandered off to smell the flowers or something like that. That certainly would be like Linda. But no big deal, she thought; she was sure she knew the way and could walk home unassisted. She headed off in the right direction and did fine until she took a wrong turn. She turned a couple of blocks too soon, and then when she made what she thought would be the turn onto our block, she couldn't find our house. It wasn't where it was supposed to be. She realized that she had taken a wrong turn somewhere, but she had no idea where she was now, or how to get back to where she needed to be. None of the houses she saw were familiar to her. She was lost, and she knew it, and the knowledge filled her with dread. Fortunately, she had been taught well in Primary and had paid attention when the kids were given a lesson on prayer. She had learned in Primary that if you were lost or scared or needed help, you could pray to Heavenly Father and he would guide you and protect you. She realized she was in just such a predicament, and she needed to pray to Heavenly Father. She sat down on the curb, bowed her head, closed her eyes and folded her arms just like she had been taught in Primary. Then she told Heavenly Father that she was lost and didn't know how to get home. She had thought she knew the way but she had got turned around somewhere and now she was lost. She asked Heavenly Father to either show her the way home or send Sister Jones to find her. She closed her prayer in the name of Jesus Christ. She opened her eyes and looked up from her prayer, just as Sister Jones drove up in her car. Now, make no mistake, Sister Jones had been praying just as fervently as Linda had been. And I don't fault her at all for losing track of one quiet child in all the commotion of locking up the church and making sure 30 or 40 children are all picked up and taken home. But Linda learned a powerful lesson early in life about the power of prayer.

An Account of Linda's Accident

Contributor: ScottDimmick Created: 4 months ago Updated: 4 months ago

As remembered by her brother, Jack. ~~~ In August, 1974, Linda was driving to Randolph, Utah to interview for a teaching job. She said that as she came around a curve in the highway her car drifted to the outside edge of the pavement and the front wheel dropped into a deep hole that had eroded in the shoulder and she momentarily lost control of the car. Fearful that she would go down an embankment, she jerked the steering wheel to the left and slammed on the brakes. Unbeknownst to her, the jagged edge of the pavement had slashed her right front tire as her wheel dropped into that hole. The car spun violently to the left, turning completely around, sliding sideways to the opposite side of the road. Then the car rolled over. Apparently it rolled several times and came to rest on it's roof, with the wheels in the air. Dazed and confused, she crawled out of the wreckage and stood up and looked around. The car was severely damaged and she could tell the roof was crushed. She thought for a moment that she would be late for her appointment. She needed to get to a phone and let the school district know what had happened. She also needed a wrecker to tow the car. Then she was surprised to see that a person was still in the car, hanging upside down in their seatbelt. She didn't realize until later that the person she saw was herself. She looked around and saw up on a nearby bluff several people dressed in white who were looking down in her direction and conversing among themselves. Thinking they might be able to help her, and curious to hear what they had to say, she decided to go up there where they were. She rose to meet them, without having to climb or clamber up the bluff; she simply rose up to their level as soon as the thought occurred to her to go up there. When she arrived, one of them turned to her and explained that she had to make a decision. The person she had seen in the car hanging in her seatbelt was she herself, and she was severely injured; in fact, unless something happened quickly, she would die. But the choice was hers. She could go ahead and slip from mortality into the afterlife, the realm of spirits, and none would think less of her, if that was her wish. Or she could stay and live, but her life would be hard to endure. She was told that if she lived, she could accomplish much good in the lives of her loved ones and those who came to know her. She decided she would go back and live out the rest of her days, and started back down the bluff. As she descended, a car pulled up behind the wreck and two young men jumped out and rushed to the upturned vehicle. In a later conversation with one of the two men, we were told that the car appeared to be smoldering, and there was fuel leaking from the tank. They were afraid the car would burst into flames and that Linda would be burned alive, if indeed she still was alive. One of them got down and crawled partway in to undo the seatbelt. There was blood everywhere, and the roof of the car was caved in so badly that Linda's face was pressed against her sternum. Her cervical spine was crushed. She appeared to be dead, but they didn't want her to burn if the car blew up. They pulled her from the wreck, dragged her a little distance and laid her down, then stood up to see what else they could do. Her head rolled back, apparently opening her airway, and she sputtered and coughed. It startled them so badly to hear a dead person cough that they both jumped about a foot in the air. Realizing she was still alive, they rendered first aid and summoned help. ~~~ Some who have not known Linda, but only of her, have asked what great good did she accomplish by coming back and living the rest of her life, some 35 years as a quadriplegic? I think it is a fair question. It has a complex answer. I may attempt to deal with that in a later story. But for now, for a simple, quick answer, I suggest you read the stories that she wrote, and others that were written about her, then judge for yourself if her life was worth living. I will add this one comment. I believe that her life and her testimony have been bound up and sealed and placed upon the alter of Heaven as a worthy and acceptable offering before the Lord God.

Quest for Primary

Contributor: ScottDimmick Created: 4 months ago Updated: 4 months ago

Story told by Jack Charles Petersen, a brother. ~~~~ Linda loved Primary unabashedly from the very first time she attended. In those days Primary was a weekday afternoon activity held at the local meetinghouse after school, usually on a Tuesday or a Wednesday. Since she didn't have transportation she had to catch a ride with the Primary President who lived nearby. She got left behind one day and had to walk home from the church but she took a wrong turn and wound up being lost for a while until the Primary President found her after they both had made it a matter of prayer. That story appears in one of the other stories in Linda's history. You would think that would have put her off from her enthusiasm for Primary, but it didn't. We were living in Richland, Washington when Linda first attended Primary at the age of 5. Soon after our family moved to Kennewick, just a few miles away, but we didn't attend Primary or church while we lived there, about a year and a half or so. The summer before I was to start 4th Grade our family moved about an hour away from the Tri-Cities to a town in Eastern Oregon called Pendleton. Linda was in the 2nd Grade and made friends with a little girl she would walk home with after school. One day her little friend told her she couldn't walk home with her that day because she was going to Primary. "Primary! I love Primary!" and she begged her friend to run the two or three blocks home with her so she could ask Mom if she could go to Primary with her friend. Mom was reluctant to let her go because we were in a new town, and she was afraid she might get lost. That had happened before. Linda suggested that Mom could tell me to go to Primary, too, and that way I could walk home with Linda and she wouldn't get lost. Now, I could leave or take Primary; I had never been that impressed with it. But Linda insisted she wanted to go to Primary, so I got roped into it, too. So that was Linda's quest for Primary. So it wasn't long before we were attending church on Sunday as well as Primary. Dad wasn't interested. I think he married Mom precisely because she wasn't a member of the church at the time, and he figured he'd never be fussed at for not going to church. Funny how that worked out.

Jack Bach Petersen, a rough hewn working man.

Contributor: ScottDimmick Created: 4 months ago Updated: 4 months ago

As remembered by Jack Charles Petersen, his son. ~~~ Jack Bach Petersen served in the Merchant Marine as a merchant seaman in the Pacific during World War II. He sailed aboard the S.S. Edward J. O'Brien beginning on 27 September 1944 until his ship's arrival in port at San Francisco, California on 11 August 1945. It was just two days after the 2nd atomic bomb was dropped on Japan. He was discharged immediately. He was 16 years of age when he first went to sea. After the war he married Georgette Filimon and they lived in Provo, Utah for a couple of years. In 1949 they moved to La Grande, Oregon. He and his brother William were sheet metal workers. According to the La Grande city directory for 1950, they worked for Craig Brothers Heating and Air Conditioning there in La Grande. In 1951 the two brothers hired on at the Hanford plant in eastern Washington near the Tri-Cities. In 1956 Jack B. hired on at Merriman Plumbing and Heating in Pendleton, Oregon. He worked in the sheet metal shop and also was on call for furnace repairs. I remember many cold nights when he was called out to go fix someone's furnace that had broken down. Ed Merriman was Dad's employer, and he was a good boss. He tried to keep him on as long as he could, but the economy softened and Dad had to look elsewhere for work. In 1963 the family moved to Springville, Utah. Jack B. worked in the construction of the Harris Fine Arts Center on the BYU campus. In 1965 he worked on the construction of a Job Corps camp in Darby, Montana. He was the sheet metal foreman during the construction of the Provo, Utah temple. He worked on the coal fired power plants at Huntington and Castle Dale, Utah when they were being built. The photo above is of Dad relaxing in the shade of the front yard at home after work. Here he is reading the Provo Daily Herald newspaper. Dad had dozens of nephews and nieces, since he came from a large family. He had five sisters and eight brothers. He was a beloved uncle to many of those nephews and nieces. Dad was not particularly warm or patient with his children, and only seldom took the time to explain things to them in a way that small children could understand. For example, when I was four I asked Dad what he did at work. Of course, my timing may have been bad, he was just leaving the house to go to work, and he didn't want to be late. "Ahh," he said, "I make money!" And he was rather irritable about it. So I thought that's what he did, he made money, like in a mint. I didn't have any concept of how the mint worked, or even what a mint was. I just pictured Dad doing something like sitting at a workbench putting rims on pennies. That's how my 4-year old mind worked. Another time my sister Linda asked Dad what he did at work, and again, her timing may have been bad. "I make duct work," he said, as he went out the door. So, see, he went into a lot more detail with her. Progress, right? Any way, when he said "duct work," she heard "ducks work," so she imagined that Dad was making ducks work, and she wondered how that was even possible. She had seen illustrations in Bible story books that Mom had read to us that showed thousands of Hebrew slaves harnessed together moving great stones for the pyramids and other projects, while their Egyptian masters lashed them with whips. So she imagined thousands of tiny ducks chained together being made to do whatever work ducks could be made to do. Did Dad beat the ducks with whips to make them work? She was horrified. Mother explained, "No, they are metal ducts. He makes them out of sheet metal." So then she thought he was making toy ducks (out of metal) and she wanted him to bring her one to play with. Years later, Dad explained about the heating and air conditioning ducts in houses and buildings that were made out of sheet metal. So she was relieved that he wasn't being mean to ducks all those years. One thing I learned early on was to never ask Dad for help doing school homework. The one time I did he lost patience so quickly he had me in tears in no time. He had a gift for making me feel stupid. He apparently considered me a hopeless dullard, and I came to consider him an incompetent teacher, and at times, a bad dad. But that was one thing I learned from Dad, don't ask him for help unless you're absolutely desperate. Another time, when I was getting ready to enter junior high school (7th grade), I got a letter from the school advising me that I would need some items for Physical Education classes that I'd be required to take every day. One of the items needed was an athletic supporter. I asked Mom what that was. With a knowing smirk, she told me to ask my father. It was after work and Dad was sitting in the living room reading the East Oregonian. "Dad," I said, "what's an athletic supporter?" "It's a jock strap," he said, fully expecting that I would know what that was. "Um, what's that?" I asked, having never in my life ever even heard the term. The East Oregonian crumpled into a heap into my father's lap as he spread his hands a few inches apart in front of him and prepared to explain in detail one of the great mysteries of life to his abysmally ignorant son. With eyes wide and and a facial expression conveying his incredulity, he fairly hissed "A JOCK!" I blinked, knowing suddenly that I would get no more from him. I gave up on my father at the exact same moment that he gave up on me. So Dad was a rough hewn man, a man who expected his children, particularly his sons, to have a clue. Life was full of disappointments for him. In the late 1970's Mom and Dad divorced, and it was bitter and contentious. Dad made sure that Mom suffered and remained in poverty all the days of her life. His children knew it and resented him for it. Consequently, when Dad remarried in June 1981, only one of his children attended the wedding. Inexplicably, he was crushed by their refusal to attend. I will give Dad this, he was a worker, and he never failed to go to work if he was employed, and if he wasn't employed he never rested until he found employment elsewhere. He identified as a working man, and a skilled craftsman. He was respected, highly regarded and liked by coworkers, employers and friends alike. He was adored and beloved by his extended family, particularly his nephews and nieces. It was only at home that he found so little love, affection and respect. "Why is that?" you may wonder. My mom took the rap for that. Many people thought that she had turned her kids against their father. But let me set the record straight. Dad turned his own kids against him by showing them so little love, affection and respect. He was a well respected working man on the job, but he couldn't shed the rough-hewn, calloused exterior when he came home. He was a good provider, well, an average, maybe even a little better than average provider; but he wasn't a particularly good father. I'm sure some of his kids would go as far as to say he was, in fact, a bad dad. Dad's hands were calloused and rough from 32 years of hard work handling sharp-edged sheet metal. They were like 40-grit sandpaper, they were so rough. In 1981, a few months after he had remarried, he passed away. His funeral was held in Manti, where he resided. I believe all of his children, even his ex-wife attended. We all held it together pretty well throughout the services until, near the end of the service, a song was sung about a pair of rough, calloused working hands. We were all blind sided, and a wall of emotion overwhelmed us all as we wept uncontrollably through the song. All except Mom, who sat near the back of the chapel. She saw Uncle Leo sitting on the stand, looking around the chapel at all of Dad's weeping children, and then giving a satisfied nod. I know that some may read this story and consider it a rather brutal assessment of my Dad's life. But I also know that most of my surviving siblings will read it and say this is a whitewash.

How to pronounce the name "Bach"; It's "Back" not "Bock."

Contributor: ScottDimmick Created: 4 months ago Updated: 4 months ago

Story told by Jack Charles Petersen, a grandson. ~~~ Bach rhymes with Jack. See? It's easy. If you look at Elleve Kirstine Martine Petersen Bach's (K27Y-57S) family tree in "Descendancy View" you will see that every one of her 13 children were given the middle name of Bach. Over the years there has apparently been a little bit of controversy regarding the pronunciation of the name. Let me put this controversy to rest by relating this story from my youth. One summer when I was 10 or 11 (so 1957 or '58) we were visiting Grandma and Grandpa Petersen in their home in Manti on the far west end of Union Street. We were in the kitchen, and Linda, who was 8 or 9, was sitting at the kitchen table near the door to the front room. Aunt Sena was sitting next to her. Grandma was standing near the stove, facing the table. She was dressed comfortably in a flowered house-dress and felt slippers of her own making. I was sitting at the small table near the north window, so across the room where I could see this whole scene play out. Linda had a way of just jumping into whatever subject she wanted to discuss, and it was no different in this case. "Grandma," she said, "everyone knows that "B-A-C-H" spells "Bock", so why do you say it's "Back?" I noticed right away that Aunt Sena's normally big blue eyes had grown noticeably bigger, that her hand had come up and covered her mouth, and that she was starting to lean away from Linda, in apparent anticipation of some sort of drama to come. And Grandma, with hands on hips, was approaching Linda in kind of a predatory crouch, like a cat, ready to pounce on a bird. The corners of her mouth had turned downward, and her normally soft brown eyes had narrowed to slits as she lowered her face within a few inches of Linda's. Suddenly, she raised her hand and slapped the table. "It's BACK!" she said, and stomped away. Linda looked around the room in confusion. Aunt Sena nodded knowingly, and explained later that "Back" is the correct Danish pronunciation of the name Bach, not "Bock", and if you wanted Grandma to be happy, you would take pains to make sure you pronounced it correctly. So, F.Y.I. all you hundreds of descendants of Elleve Bach and Niels C. Petersen, be sure you pronounce the name of our Danish kin in the proper Danish way. We don't want Grandma Elleve rolling over in her grave, now, do we?

Life gave her lemons, and she hated lemonade.

Contributor: ScottDimmick Created: 4 months ago Updated: 4 months ago

As told by her older brother, Jack Charles Petersen. ~~~ When Kathy was little she had quite a little temper, and worse than that, she was a biter; she wouldn't hesitate to chomp down on a sibling's forearm or hand or finger, what ever was close at hand if you had the misfortune of being the one to light her fuse. She didn't take kindly to being teased, and she never saw the humor in it if the joke was on her. One day when I was six, our mom came home from the store with some groceries that needed to be carried into the house. She handed me a bag of groceries and I was proud to be asked to help, so I carefully carried them into the house. She gave Linda (age 4) a bag of groceries to carry and told her to be careful, and Linda carried that bag into the house. Kathy, age 3, held up her arms for a bag of groceries to carry, and was rebuffed. The third and final bag of groceries had the eggs and a jar of mayonnaise in it, and Mom was reluctant to trust it to a 3-year old toddler. Kathy started to cry because she was empty handed. Mom looked for a compromise and reached into the bag and pulled out two lemons and handed them to her. As Mom headed into the house Kathy stood at the curb howling in disappointment. Then the irresistible urge to bite someone reared its ugly head. Since there was no smirking sibling handy, she laid eyes on one of the offending lemons in her hands. She fairly roared as she chomped into one of the lemons and tore out a chunk. Then, as the bitter rind and sour juice hit her taste buds, she howled in rage and frustration. It was a cruel metaphor; Life had given her lemons, and she didn't like it one bite, er, bit.

Life timeline of Linda Lou Peterson

Linda Lou Peterson was born on 5 May 1949
Linda Lou Peterson was 8 years old when Space Race: Launch of Sputnik 1, the first artificial satellite to orbit the Earth. The Space Race refers to the 20th-century competition between two Cold War rivals, the Soviet Union (USSR) and the United States (US), for dominance in spaceflight capability. It had its origins in the missile-based nuclear arms race between the two nations that occurred following World War II, aided by captured German missile technology and personnel from the Aggregat program. The technological superiority required for such dominance was seen as necessary for national security, and symbolic of ideological superiority. The Space Race spawned pioneering efforts to launch artificial satellites, uncrewed space probes of the Moon, Venus, and Mars, and human spaceflight in low Earth orbit and to the Moon.
Linda Lou Peterson was 15 years old when Martin Luther King Jr. received the Nobel Peace Prize for combating racial inequality through nonviolence. Martin Luther King Jr. was an American Baptist minister and activist who became the most visible spokesperson and leader in the civil rights movement from 1954 until his death in 1968. Born in Atlanta, King is best known for advancing civil rights through nonviolence and civil disobedience, tactics his Christian beliefs and the nonviolent activism of Mahatma Gandhi helped inspire.
Linda Lou Peterson was 24 years old when Vietnam War: The last United States combat soldiers leave South Vietnam. The Vietnam War, also known as the Second Indochina War, and in Vietnam as the Resistance War Against America or simply the American War, was a conflict that occurred in Vietnam, Laos, and Cambodia from 1 November 1955 to the fall of Saigon on 30 April 1975. It was the second of the Indochina Wars and was officially fought between North Vietnam and the government of South Vietnam. The North Vietnamese army was supported by the Soviet Union, China, and other communist allies; the South Vietnamese army was supported by the United States, South Korea, Australia, Thailand and other anti-communist allies. The war is considered a Cold War-era proxy war by some US perspectives. The majority of Americans believe the war was unjustified. The war would last roughly 19 years and would also form the Laotian Civil War as well as the Cambodian Civil War, which also saw all three countries become communist states in 1975.
Linda Lou Peterson was 41 years old when Cold War: Fall of the Berlin Wall: East Germany opens checkpoints in the Berlin Wall, allowing its citizens to travel to West Berlin. The Berlin Wall was a guarded concrete barrier that physically and ideologically divided Berlin from 1961 to 1989. Constructed by the German Democratic Republic, starting on 13 August 1961, the Wall cut off West Berlin from virtually all of surrounding East Germany and East Berlin until government officials opened it in November 1989. Its demolition officially began on 13 June 1990 and finished in 1992. The barrier included guard towers placed along large concrete walls, accompanied by a wide area that contained anti-vehicle trenches, "fakir beds" and other defenses. The Eastern Bloc portrayed the Wall as protecting its population from fascist elements conspiring to prevent the "will of the people" in building a socialist state in East Germany.
Linda Lou Peterson was 41 years old when Nelson Mandela is released from Victor Verster Prison outside Cape Town, South Africa after 27 years as a political prisoner. Nelson Rolihlahla Mandela was a South African anti-apartheid revolutionary, political leader, and philanthropist who served as President of South Africa from 1994 to 1999. He was the country's first black head of state and the first elected in a fully representative democratic election. His government focused on dismantling the legacy of apartheid by tackling institutionalised racism and fostering racial reconciliation. Ideologically an African nationalist and socialist, he served as President of the African National Congress (ANC) party from 1991 to 1997.
Linda Lou Peterson died on 28 May 2009 at the age of 60
Grave record for Linda Lou Peterson (5 May 1949 - 28 May 2009), BillionGraves Record 145 Springville, Utah, Utah, United States