Monday Memories—Thaine and Isabelle

 

  

Such a poor picture for such beautiful apples.  Sorry.  I had it on the wrong setting.

Cali, Grace, and I made fancy caramel apples this weekend and it reminded me of . . .

When we lived next to my sister, Lynn, and her family, Lynn and I took the kids trick-or-treating and left Calvin and Fred home to pass out the treats. We went to a dozen neighbors or so, but because there were miles and miles between our homes trick-or-treating still took a good couple of hours.

One home we visited was Thaine and Isabelle’s. They lived at the end of a gravel road about ten miles from us. Behind them were hills of sagebrush. For as long as I’ve known, and I’ve known them my whole life, Thaine and Isabelle were 65 years old. They never looked older or younger. They just always looked 65.

One Halloween our kids were all mobile and independent, so Lynn and I visited in the car while the kids ran up to the door by themselves. Thaine greeted them. He dumped lots of candy in their bags and then handed them two caramel apples and said, “These are for the drivers.”

Lynn and I were surprised at such a thoughtful gesture, especially something so labor intensive as caramel apples. Isabelle made wonderful caramel apples – smooth, silky, browned just right, and the caramel stayed stuck to the apple, too. Only Isabelle would think to give a treat to the drivers, we thought. We thought sweet things about her for several miles.

A few weeks later Thaine told us at church that he got a good chewing when Isabelle got home later that night. He’d misunderstood. Isabelle hadn’t made the apples for the drivers, but for someone else. Oh ho. Poor Thaine. He’d handed them all out.

Passing through hometown last year, I squealed when I saw Isabelle in the temple and gave her a great big hug. She still looks 65. I’ll bet she still makes good caramel apples. Only Thaine would think to give them all away.

As long as I’m thinking about Isabelle, I’ll tell you a joke. I’m terrible at jokes. I can never remember the punch line. Except this one. Isabelle told it to me one summer when we were camping when I was a little girl. I still remember it.

“On top of a hill, there is a school. In the school, there is a bell. What is the teacher’s name?”

“I give up” I told Isabelle.

She smiled and told me to think harder.

I told her I still gave up.

She said, “The school teacher’s name is Isabelle. Get it?”  And then with great emphasis, “In the school there is-a-bell. That is the teacher’s name.”

Isabelle, Thaine, caramel apples, punch-lines. Sweet memories indeed.