Author: stratfam

I was there when this experience happened, so I know firsthand how this story is an example of the character and manner of Sally Stratford, my mother.  The year was about 1990 and mother and I were just leaving the Westwood Ward chapel after services.  While walking to our car, the Westwood 2^nd ward folks were arriving for their scheduled meetings.

In the parking lot we saw Ed Barner by his car talking with his daughter Elizabeth, who was probably about 12 years old.  When we went over to say hello, it was not difficult to realize there was some problem between the two.  He mentioned that for Easter he had bought his daughter a beautiful new white dress to wear to church.  He went on to say that she did not like the dress and was not going inside.

Elizabeth got out the car and I said to myself that it did not look like to me anything was wrong – it was a cute white dress.  Mother ask her what the problem was and after much coaching, she finally and shyly admitted that you could see through the white material.  She was embarrassed.

Mother sized up the situation is seconds, looked around the parking lot to see how distant she was from others, lifted up her dress, grabbed hold of her white slip, took it off and gave it to Elizabeth to wear.  She quickly put in on and that solved the problem.

The insight into Sally Stratford?  She was always eager to help others and there was no regard as to what was proper or not to protect the feelings of this young girl.

Lynn Stratford

Elizabeth, John, and Rebecca Barner

When my grandma was in her later years, she bequeathed one of her most prized possessions to me…her bee story.  She told me I have the right (and duty) to carry on this most precious story.  However, it won’t be quite as funny until I’m an old lady.

When dinner was winding down, sometimes Grandma would call everyone together to listen to her story.  She would say, “I was walking through the garden one day and a little bee landed on my finger.  As I stood watching the bee, I thought, ‘What a pretty, little bee.  Maybe it is a mother bee.  Maybe she has tiny baby bees at home waiting for her.

And as I was thinking all those pure thoughts,

The damn thing stung me.'”

(If anyone can remember a more accurate rendition of this story, please tell me!)

To all those who love Sally Stratford:

The time has come to gather our memories about her.  She was one of a kind and there are so many wonderful stories about her.  As her granddaughter, I know some of them but much of her life came before me.

If you will send your memories and pictures to me at amysbarker@mac.com, I will post them on this blog. If we can gather enough of them, I will make them into a book.

Let’s memorialize Sally so that our children and grandchildren can be inspired by her as we were.

I wrote this story about my grandma a few years ago:

I had a lot of memories of my Grandma Stratford as I was preparing for Thanksgiving. Her name was Vera Calder Stratford, but everyone called her Sally because she was as stubborn as her brother’s old mule Sally. My daughter is named Vera, my brother is Calder, and my sister is Sally. This is how much we loved her.

Every Sunday was Thanksgiving at my grandma’s house. She started preparing for Sunday dinner on Monday morning and it was always big…turkey, ham, chicken, lots of desserts. When she and my grandpa moved to Provo, she would have all the grandkids and their roommates up from BYU for Sunday dinner. Then she would seat me by the “nice-looking fellows” and any roommates who might be competition at the kids’ table.

My grandma loved to cook, and she was famous for it. Whenever people found out my name was Stratford, they would ask if Sally was my grandma, then they would rave about her wonderful hot rolls.

I spent a lot of time in the kitchen with my grandma. I remember making what seems like hundreds of lemon tarts for a wedding breakfast the next day. But by nightfall, the bride had changed her mind and ended up going with her recently returned missionary instead of the groom. So we had a lot of lemon tarts on our hands.

Grandma Stratford really wanted me to learn how to cook, but for some reason it didn’t stick. When I was about 13, she had me come to her house for a week-long cooking class. We started with white sauce and some other basics but by mid-week, we were both discouraged and ended up going shopping instead. From then on, my Sunday dinner jobs were always putting ice in the glasses and setting the table.

I guess that is why I always feel more comfortable setting the table than cooking the meal. As I got out all the china and silver last week, I thought of the hundreds of tables I set at her house. She taught me how to properly place everything and how to create a welcoming environment.

One day my brother Calder found grandma collapsed on the kitchen floor and thought she might be dead. He heard her whispering something and leaned down for what might be her last words. She weakly said, “Get the pies out of the oven.”

Her priorities never wavered.

I miss my grandma.

(This was a trip back from Utah to the Hotel Bel Air for a garden club party.  She was so happy to see her friends.)