Obituary: Arland D. Hillyard

Arland Duce Hillyard

March 3, 1932 - March 9, 2013

Arland Duce Hillyard, 81, died Saturday, March 9, 2013, in Modesto, California. Arland was born March 3, 1932 in Richmond, Utah to Lucile Duce and Neal Jacobsen Hillyard.

Arland joined the Air Force during the Korean War. While stationed in Texas he met his bride, Mary Louise Smith. They were married September 22, 1953, and would have been married 60 years this fall.

He worked for Lockheed for thirty years and retired as a satellite engineer from Sunnyvale, California. They moved from San Jose, California to Los Banos, California in 1991 where they lived until recently.

He was an active member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and was the former director of the Los Banos Family History Center. He knowledge of and love for genealogy made him a popular lecturer at various venues in the county.

Arland and his wife have lived all over the world, from Texas to Japan, to Maryland and California. His love of people and curiosity about life took him all over the United States and to Norway and England as well. He was a loving husband, father and friend and will be missed by all who knew him.

Arland is survived by his loving wife, Mary Louise Hillyard; daughter Maureen Lee Mullis (Stanley) and sons Arland and Kevin; daughter Cheryl Anne Stejskal (Don) and children Neal Christiansen Meldrim (Linsey), Eric Christiansen (Amber, daughter Cassie), Andrew Stejskal (Dayna) and Natalie Smith (Damien, children Jacob and Angelina).

The Face Behind the Story

As we enter the holiday season, I thought it would be fun to share a couple of pictures. Last year I released my Christmas novel The Christmas to Remember. It is based on stories from the life of my paternal grandfather from when he lived in Denmark.

His birth name was Nils Peder Jacobsen (I called him Jens Pederson in the book), and his mother was Jacobina. He was the oldest of several children, unlike my novel where he was the youngest. He did have one sister who was named Ove, but I do not know much about the real Ove. He also had some brothers and another sister named Mary.

When he was very young he had to go to work to help his family. Jacobina worked hard and had many jobs -- cleaning homes, taking in laundry, etc. -- until she became a seamstress which as a good job and helped to lighten her load. There was no father in the family which I'm sure made Neal feel as if he needed to help out.

His family joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and when he was a 11 he left Denmark forever to come to America. His name was changed to Neal Jacobsen and he went to live with a couple named Hillyard who had a farm in northern Utah. He never saw Denmark or his mother again. It wasn't until he became a soldier in World War I that he added the name Hillyard to his.

This picture to the right is the photo taken of Neal when he arrived in America at Ellis Island. His recollections of coming to the United States, his train ride across the country to his new home in Utah, and his experiences learning to speak English and how to live on a farm are poignant and filled with spiritual lessons that continue to guide me.

Sometimes I think it would be nice to continue to write his story, it's so interesting to me. I think he was a very brave young boy, and a brave man. He never really had a childhood to my mind, at least not like the kind of childhood I had. He went to work when he was 8, and worked until his retirement. And even then he was always a body in motion. I don't remember him being a couch potato ever!

The photo on the left is of Neal's mother, Jacobina Jacobsen (Stina Pederson in my novel) and the woman I heard my grandfather refer to as "my little moder." In my mind she is a tiny, hard working, loving mother. Neal told the story of when he gave his mother the money from his first pay and how she cried to get it. Yet, as much as they needed every penny they got, she instructed him to make sure he paid his tithing and give thanks to the Lord for their blessings. As a child of 8 my grandfather told of how tall and imposing the bishop looked to him, yet he collected himself and paid his tithing. My mother has said that she learned of the law of tithing from him when she married my father. "Always pay the Lord first, and He will take care of you," he taught her.

He was not the only child Jacobina sent to America with members of the church. His younger sister Mary also came, though they were sent several months apart. Mary and her husband lived down the street from my grandparents, and we often would run down the lane to visit with her and have some of her wonderful cookies that she would have on hand when we would visit from California. As an adult, I think Neal and Mary lived so close because of their experience of being sent as small children away from their mother and family. I believe they needed to be near each other.

If you have read my book you may find these photos interesting to see. If not, you may want to pick up a copy and read more. Either way, Neal Jacobsen Hillyard is a man I deeply love and admire. Maybe his story will touch you as well.

One Lucky S.O.B.

Today is Stan's and my 24th Anniversary! I woke up to my favorite dark chocolates and a card that had this on the envelope:

Stan wrote me a poem for this anniversary. I love his poems, they make me feel treasured and loved. And as we now are facing a new adventure, this poem is especially sweet to me.

Every day I love you more

Sweeter than the day before

Each hug, each kiss a golden treasure

A secret trove far beyond measure

Years in the making this priceless hoard

Given piece by piece from one adored

Gratefully accepted then stashed away

Waiting silently till this special day

No need to count or weigh these riches

They fill up rooms and halls and niches

They're found throughout, in every part

And the sum of all is in my heart

I am so grateful for the past 24 years, the family we have and the love we share. The future right now is a bit uncertain. but I can't think of anyone I'd rather face it with than Stan. I am one blessed woman. Thank you Mr. Mullis!

May 21, 1988

Christmas Eve

My Irish grandmother believed that on Christmas Eve the Christ child would walk again looking for a place to rest his head. He could come in many forms: your neighbor, a friend, someone from school or church stopping by. You never knew how He would come.

Therefore, she would insist that there be a light on to guide Him (our Christmas lights) and something to eat  when he came into your home. In our case, we always had a plate of cookies at the ready, with hot cocoa, juice or milk available.

My grandmother has been gone for many years and I still carry on her old traditions. Our Christmas tree is lit, the lights on the house will turn on at dusk, and a platter of cookies awaits Him should he come to our house.

Is your home ready to receive Him tonight?

Our Christmas Star

We put up our Christmas tree today. One of the most precious things to go on our tree is our Christmas Star. I love it dearly because my boys made it. They each decorated one side of the star. AJ was 7 and Kevin was 5 when they made it, and the memory of those little boys creating this lovely tree topper lies warm in my heart.

Here is AJ's side of the star!

He was 7 when he designed this!

Kevin was only 5 when he decorated this side of the star!

This star is the most beautiful Christmas Star in the world!

Lefse!

We all have special traditions we trot out for the holidays. And, like most families in the United States, our traditions come from our ancestors who immigrated to this country long before us. My background is Irish, Danish, Norwegian and English, and my traditions are a motley collection from all of these cultures. One of my favorite is the Norwegian Lefse, from which we make Lefse Busse.

I know, what is that? Lefse is a Norwegian "flatbread" made from potatoes. My nephews always called it Norwegian tortillas, and it does resemble that. Last Christmas when we were in California my mother (whose father was Norwegian) taught the boys how to make it. To make a lefse busse you put something in the lefse, roll it up and eat it. We always had this at Christmastime and we would butter the lefse, sprinkle it with brown sugar and roll it up and scarf it down. AJ also likes to fill one with meat (preferable Christmas turkey) and eat it like that.

The boys are having an international dining experience in their Japanese class tonight and their teacher asked them each to bring a food from their cultural background to share with the other students, and the boys have spent the afternoon make lefse. This is a recipe that has been handed down through a couple of generations. It's simple, and fun.

First you start with potatoes. Okay, maybe not this big!

You need 5 large potatoes ....



Peel the potatoes and rinse them clean ....

Boil them until they are tender enough to mash.

Actually, you are supposed to use a potato ricer for lefse,

but since we don't have one we did what we could!

We mashed them up!

For 5 large potatoes, we used:

1/2 cup milk

1 teaspoon of salt

3 Tablespoon of butter

You need to mash them very finely! This is one recipe you want absolutely NO lumps!

Then, you let them cool. When the potatoes are cooled off,

you add flour.

Use 1/2 cup of flour for every cup of potatoes, and mix until you have a soft dough

Flour a board and roll out your dough.

Just like pie dough!

After it's rolled out, you cook it on a griddle.

We used a cast iron griddle ....

Spray the griddle lightly with cooking spray.

Cook until light brown spots appear.

Place between cloths to keep it from getting dry.

Looks so good!

And if you've done it right, you get to enjoy the fruits of your labors!

Now, that's some good eatin'!!!

A Fun Kids Meal

We're expecting snow tonight, and tomorrow the temps are supposed to "climb" into the mid 30s! Time to haul out the cold weather recipes!

This is one that I remember as a child, and making for my boys when they were small. Meatballs are always a hit with kids because it's food that's small like they are! These are called Porcupines because they're made with rice and it sticks out when they're cooked making them like those cute little critters they're named after!

Serve them with cooked rice or mashed potatoes to serve the sauce over and some veggies or a salad, and you'll have some happy, and well fed, kidlets!

OVEN PORCUPINES

• 1 1/2 pound lean ground beef

• 2/3 cup long-grain rice, uncooked

• 1/2 cup water

• 1/4 cup finely chopped onion

• 1 teaspoon seasoned salt

• 1/4 teaspoon garlic powder

• 1/8 teaspoon pepper

• 1 large can (15 ounces) tomato sauce

• 1 cup water

• 2 teaspoons Worcestershire sauce

Mix ground beef with rice, 1/2 cup of water, chopped onion, seasoned salt, garlic powder, and pepper. Shape porcupine ground beef mixture by tablespoon into 1 1/2-inch balls.

Place the porcupine meatballs in an ungreased 2-quart shallow baking dish. Mix the remaining ingredients and pour over the porcupine meatballs. Cover and bake at 350° F. oven for about 45 minutes. Uncover and bake porcupine meatballs 15 to 20 minutes longer.

Porcupine meatballs serve 4 to 6.

Another Recipe, Another Story

Tomorrow is the first day of fall and I've decided to share a summer recipe, and this one has a fun story behind it.

I like when recipes have a story to them. To me it makes them taste so much better. Your grandma made this dish every Easter, or Great Aunt Lida served that recipe every Sunday, or here's one that Uncle Greg invented one summer when he was out camping. This is a recipe you serve with fruit salad, and here's how I came to have it.

In the late 1940s my mother and her sister moved from Minneappolis, Minnesota down to Houston, Texas. They became friends with a large group of other single people in their church and had many, many adventures. When I was a girl I loved to hear all her stories. One of her friends had a close friend who was married. One night her husband took her to dinner at a well-known hotel there in Houston that was known not only for it's romantic atmosphere, but also for it's amazing menu.

That night the woman had the fruit salad with poppyseed dressing. She was so taken with the dressing she asked the waiter if she might get the recipe, which he soon brought to her. At the end of the meal when her husband was presented with the bill, an additional $100 was added to it for the recipe. They were shocked, and afterwards the woman decided that if they were going to charge her that much for the recipe she was going to get her money's worth and passed it around to all of her friends; one of which knew my mother.

I've always liked that story. That spunky woman passing around that fancy hotel's $100 recipe! And here it is for you to try. We always serve it on the side in a small gravy boat or pitcher so you may add as much or as little as you like. It's a sweet and sour type of dressing and is wonderful with a fresh fruit salad. Have fun!

Poppy Seed Dressing

1 cup sugar

1-1/2 teaspoons dry mustard

1 teaspoon salt

1-1/2 cups oil

1/2 cup vinegar

1 Tablespoon poppy seeds

Mix sugar, mustard, salt and vinegar.  Add oil gradually, but steadily. Add poppy seeds last.

Homesick

Today is one of those beautiful summer mornings that make you just want to spend time playing and being with your family. It's sunny, not too warm and it's a Saturday! I know it's also the day to get stuff done around the house, but it also is a day for some fun too.

When we lived in California we sometimes would bundle the kids into the car and drive to Santa Cruz, a small beach town about 30 minutes from our house. Stan has family that live there and there were many weekends in the summers that we would travel over there for family get-togethers. It was always fun to be with the "Santa Cruz Mullis' Group" and I miss those opportunities.

But there were other times we would drive over just to hang out at the wharf.  Santa Cruz is known for its Beach Boardwalk, which has amusement rides, and carnival attractions, and that's fun too. But the wharf is it's own little world.

A long walk on the wharf, checking out the seagulls and the sea lions was always fun. Maybe a walk on the beach as well, and checking out the shell shops and watching the fishermen. The Stagnaro family is a big part of Santa Cruz Wharf life offering fishing trips and chartering boats and an upscale restaurant on the wharf.

But my favorite place was owned by one of the daughters Gilda Stagnaro. A small, old-fashioned restaurant on the wharf, Gilda's Family Restaurant offered seafood in a homey atmosphere. My favorite thing to get there was clam chowder and sourdough bread. If you were lucky you got a window seat looking out at the ocean. A perfect afternoon! Gilda herself was a fixture at the restaurant, and was there every day. She died three years ago at age 83, at her restaurant.

I love living here in Colorado. The mountains are magnificent and inspiring. It's hard leaving the coast, and even after more than 11 years I still miss it. Especially on days like today.

Happy Anniversary

Stan and I were married 23 years ago today. It was a wonderful day. I was nervous, excited, happy, scared, and anxious all at once. The thing that helped me as I walked down the aisle was my sweet father. He was crying so hard I had to be strong for him so he'd be able to make it down to leave me with Stan and he could go be with my mother. I'm not sure exactly why he was crying. Probably glad to finally get me off his hands!

Here are some pictures of then, and now .....

 May 21, 1988

 Spring 2010

 With Our Family

May 21, 1988

 Christmas 2010

 March 2009

 March 2006

October 2007

We've gone through a lot of changes over the years. Three homes, two cities, and two boys taking us from just the two of us to a family of four. It's been an adventure! Looking forward to the next twenty-three years!

Remembering My Babies

I am missing my babies tonight. 

I know, my boys are here....they haven't gone anywhere, but the little guys I used to cuddle and love and squeeze have grown up.  And tonight I am missing those sweet little guys.  From the time they were little I used to tell them that they were living proof that Heavenly Father loved me.  He wouldn't have sent His most special boys to me to take care of if He didn't love me.  I truly believe that.

Tonight, as this hot summer day comes to a close, I miss those little boys.  And the things I miss are so strange to me.  I miss that musky, sweaty scent they had when they were little and would come in at the end of a summer day ready for their bath and to get into their jammies.  I miss sitting out at the picnic table in the backyard trying to read and having them yell "Watch me Mommy!" every five minutes while they played on the swing set, or climbed the apple tree, or just ran back and forth across the yard.   

Sometimes in the evenings I would put on Elvis Presley records (yes records ... they were fascinated by them) and we would dance together until I was exhausted and they were just getting started.  We would go buy five cent ice cream cones at Thrifty Drug Store then drive up to the top of the hill at the end of our neighborhood and watch the sun set.  They asked some of their most interesting questions during that time.

I miss how AJ would wear an old kerchief of mine around his neck and think he was superman, or how Kevin would carry a stuffed doggie named Shorty with him all the time and introduce him to people he liked.

Every night we would read and read and read together.  One on each side, they would sink into me as much as they could, their eyes getting sleepy as I would make the sound effects and special voices for their favorite books.  And I miss them coming into my bed in the morning.  Sometimes I would pretend to still be asleep and they would pull my eyelids up and ask if I was in there. 

If I could have one wish it would be to go back and see myself then.  Make sure I hugged them enough, kissed them often and told them every chance I had how special they were and how much I love them.  I think I did, but I'd love to make sure.

Forgive me for waxing nostalgic, but I miss my babies.  I posted these pictures, when AJ was 9 and Kevin 7, because I wanted to look at them.  You can look at them too, and maybe go hug your babies before they grow taller than you. 

Thinking About Uncle Ira

My Dad has two older brothers.  Neal, who is twelve years older, and Ira who is eight years older.  As a child I was fascinated by how they all looked alike, had similar expressions, etc.  I remember my late Aunt Nona laughing about it too.  My Uncle Ira died earlier this week, and I'm saddened by his passing, but grateful that his hardships are over.  He'd been battling prostate cancer for a while now and had been in a lot of pain.

I was thinking of my favorite story about Ira.  My grandmother used to tell stories about him as a troublemaker when he was growing up.  I guess the sheriff used to visit their house with some regularity.  It seems mild by today's standards, but Ira used to do things like steal watermellons and apples and make his mother crazy.

But my favorite story is one of triumph.  As a young man he went off to school at Idaho State in Pocatello.  As I remember the story, after a couple of months the university called my grandparents and told them to come and get their son... that he was not college material.

Well this made Ira so mad that he determined he would make them eat their words.  He went on to get his degree, then he got his masters, and eventually got his doctorate.  And then?  Then he was hired by Idaho State to be the dean of the School of Pharmacology.

He's an example to me that if someone tells you no or that you can't do it to dig your heels in and show them otherwise. 

So, here's to Uncle Ira.  You'll be remembered well.

Tribute

My Uncle, Rollin Oscar Smith, Jr., died this morning. He was my mother's younger brother; her only brother, and a wonderful sweet man who will be deeply missed. He was 85 years old.

His whole life he was known simply as Bud. Uncle Bud was a good man. He served in the Pacific in World War II. When he was wounded he was sent to a field hospital where one of the orderlies turned out to be Uncle Pete. I imagine it was a bit of a mini-family reunion there in the middle of the war. I'm sure my grandmother and his sisters were grateful to know that a family member was with him during that time.

One of my favorite stories was when he was a small boy. He and my mother were out playing one day, leaning up against a fence trying to imitate an actor they had witnessed in a movie. They probably thought there were very grown-up and cool looking as they leaned there.

Anyway, in the small Nebraska town where they grew up also lived a man who was a bootlegger. Neither of them knew exactly what a bootlegger was, but they knew it was bad, and I'm sure the word probably scared them a little. He had a teenaged son who happened to walk by as they were playing there. He looked at my uncle and said "Hiya, Bud" which scared the two of them to death.

How did he know Bud's name? What should they do? They ran home to their mother, terrified and shaking, only to be told that a lot of people called boys that. There was probably some relief, and also some question as to how other boys had that name. I've always liked that story.

He died surrounded by his wife and children. The room was full of peace and love and his passing was gentle and sweet. And I still will miss him.

A Lesson in Honesty

My grandfather, Neal Jacobsen Hillyard, was born in Aalborg, Denmark in 1894. His mother, who was a single mother trying to raise a family alone, sent Neal to America when he was 11, hoping, I am sure, to give him a better life than the one he had in Denmark. The photo to the right was taken when he arrived on Ellis Island.

Before his death in 1967 he wrote down his personal history, which is something I treasure. We have kept it with his own spelling and grammar to keep the tone of his voice. The following is from his writings, which he called "A Lesson in Honesty." It is a sweet story. I can just picture that little boy and the man who taught him a lesson that he never forgot. I never have either .......

My next job was working for an elderly Gentleman who operated A candy manufacturing store, who would sell his candy to little stores in the City. My job was to clean up pot and pans and make Deliveries. (Do you know how a stick of candy look to a young boy?) One while getting ready to make deliveries while He was busy with the orders, and he was not looking I sneaked a piece of stick in my pocket.

I nearly out of the door when He yelled out, that could have been heard all oer the city. “Come here.” “Take that candy out of your pocket.” The look he gave me, as I handed over the candy, “now get on your way with the deliveries.” My Conscience had me worried or call it the still small voice, all the way, Why did you, You’l loose your job and your mother need what help you an give her; And son be honest, you will get a whipping when you get back to the store. And realy I don’t know all that whent through my mind. Well the deliveries was made and go back I must no matter what the out come may be.

As I enter he said come back here in the back of the building sit down is voice was gentle and calm. He said “Son do you know that honest is one of the greatest factor in a mans life, there is nothing matter as much as being honest you character is based on it. Did you ever think to have ask me for a piece of candy.” After a few more minute he talk to me. He said now let get buisy and clean up. As the time for me to go home He handed me a sack to take home. And in it there was a stick candy for each of us. Many of the time I see the picture as I take that candy out of my pocket I can see him. One of the many Hero’s in my life that taught me a lesson I have never forgot.