Kind Hearted Woman Lives Here (By Jimae Kenney Daughter)

In the earlier part of the last century, Hobos traveled the land using a system of pictures to communicate with each other. These pictures would be carved on trees, fence posts or buildings or chalked on pavement. One of those symbol pictures was of a smiling cat. That particular picture meant "a kind hearted woman lives here." That meant someone lived here that would likely extend kindness and hospitality. If you had this picture somewhere on or near your property it was called a "marked house".

I grew up in a "marked house" in downtown Salt Lake near the railroad station. We didn't ever see the mark or know where it was, or even know that such a language of symbols and signs was a part of our lives, but it was. I remember many, many times there would be a timid knock at our front door and my mother would answer it and then go to our kitchen and make a sandwich. She would gather up anything else she might have, such as an apple, some graham crackers or some raisins and then take it to the door and give it to the man that was standing there. I was taught that these were men that didn't have a home, or family, like we had and that they traveled from city to city on the trains and were called Hobos.

And so, the first time I ever heard of "a marked house" and the Hobo language, it brought back many memories and then when I saw and heard what the smiling cat sign meant, I knew that was my mother.

My mother was a kind-hearted woman and I got to live with her for most of my life.

My early memories were of her "ironing" all afternoon on Wednesdays. In those days there was no such thing was wash and wear....everything had to be ironed - and there wasn't a TV to watch while you did it either. So, for "our" entertainment we would sing songs from her never ending repretois of war songs and show songs. She also taught me to do a couple of readings that were basically long "totally memorized" funny stories. My first one was about a spoiled little girl that was bored and kept bugging her mother for things. I not only had to memorize it, but get the actions & the facial expressions and the tone of voice "just right"! (I want a piece of calico to make my doll a dress...it needn't be a big one - a yard will do a guess....and so on.)

As mentioned previously she always had a song in her heart! She was always singing or humming. I actually started learning the facts of life when I was at a young age because she kept singing this song and I demanded to know what it was about. (If you see, my darling, in some rendezvous, painting the town the a girl he once knew. Pay no attention and just let it be...but keep it, a secret, from me.)

My Mom loved to read, anything she could get a hold of. The only magazine she ever subscribed to other than the Church publications, was the Ladies Home Journal. Oh, she would be so excited when it came and hurried a little faster with her work so that she could enjoy the evening with her magazine.

And this begins the great dichotomy of my Mother's life.

In the New Testament we learn of Jesus Christ's two good friends that were sisters: Mary and Martha. Now Martha was very efficient. She had the "good housekeeping and how to get things done down pat." Mary, on the other hand loved learning and listening. She wanted to listen to every word the Lord had to say. My mother was born to a Martha (literally), her Mother-in-law was a Martha, all of her sisters were way, way Marthas, and even all of her sister-in-laws were Marthas. They had clean, organized houses. They could zip a dance costume in an afternoon. They could cook a fabulous meal for 20 people that just stopped by to visit with a few items they just happened to have in the house. Need I go on?

Oh, how she admired them all and wanted to be like them. But, her true spirit was a Mary. She craved knowledge of all types. And so began her great hobby of reading it all and then "saving" it all in her files, so that it might be of help to her or others in the future. She loved Encyclopedias. She dreamed that someday when her family was raised, she was going to read them all...from A-Z. Oh, if her beautiful mind could only have kept going a few more years so that she could reap the benefits of learning in today's world of the internet.

My Mom also was a great writer, and in those days writing was either written out by hand or done on an amazing little machine called a typewriter. This is my mother's typewriter. It was her prized physical possession. Oh, how her fingers could fly across the keyboard, never making a mistake. I loved to watch her and couldn't figure out how she could just type the right letters without ever looking down.

Very early my Mom started writing poetry. She was often asked to give one of her famous readings at church or family events and one day led to her writing about her day and then presented it that evening to her audience. (You may read that rendition on page 33.)

She would always write personalized poems to welcome new babies to the family or for a wedding or anniversary of a loved one.

Speaking of loved ones, when growing up the absolute, most exciting thing in our lives, was when our relatives came to visit. Sometimes it was a Sunday afternoon and sometimes it was for several days. Oh, how she loved it when her sisters or her nieces and nephews would come to visit and they would talk and talk and she would listen and just love to have them there in our home.

As I grew a little older and started to make friends outside our family unit, she always pointed out that I needed to be kind to all of the children at school. When we had a birthday party, everyone in the primary class was invited, so that no one would feel left out.

Her compassion for others and her love of learning led to her loving others from other cultures and she just wanted to learn everything about them that she could. When they lived in Hawaii, she became a part of them and their culture, leaving many friendships behind when she returned to the Mainland. The same when they served their mission in Liberia, Africa. She learned about their beliefs as she shared her testimony. She made many friends and it broke her heart when after they left she learned of the many Saints that lost their lives in that civil-war ravaged country.

My mother taught us through her example. She read good books. She studied the gospel. She attended to her church responsibilities and she loved her neighbor as herself.

I would like to end by sharing two of her poems. The first one that shows the intensity of her love for her children. 

You and I
As surely as I live I feel
That life can be so good
For those who know the blessings
And joys of motherhood.


When first I held you in my arms
And felt your baby skin,
I loved the way your fuzzy head
Fit underneath my chin.


I knew there must be more to this
Than just the toil and strife
When I tucked my finger in your fist
And you held on for life!


Your first time in the big bathtub
You looked so round and fat!
You kicked and splashed and swam away.
I couldn’t have missed that!


All during that first year with you
I really passed a test.
Of all the people in the world
You seemed to like me best.


You tried to walk, your hand in mine.
Your eyes with glory shone.
Then one day you let go of me
And tottered off alone.


Much later, when we took our walks,
You had so much to say.
You asked me all about the things
We saw along the way.


I still remember those bouquets
Of dandelions you brought.
“Which hand?” you’d ask, then hold them out,
(A proud and precious tot.)


One Sunday you stood up in church
To say a poem aloud.
I sat there in the audience,
And my, but I was proud!


Remember when you ran away?
I couldn’t reprimand!
You looked so small and helpless
With your suitcase in your hand,


As just inside the door you stood,
A haughty little elf;
So stubborn, and so willful, too,
And, oh, so like myself!


And when I tucked you in each night
And touched your tousled head,
I always was surprised to find
An angel in your bed!


That first day you went off to school
As if you hadn’t cared.
But that same day you sneaked right back.
“I’m homesick,” you declared.


How many things you seemed to learn!
How very fast you grew!
And just as surely as you did
Your world grew bigger, too.


It will be just as well
If you never know
How very, very hard it was
For me to let you go.


I haven’t been an opera star,
But memories I keep
Of times I sang you lullabies
Until you fell asleep.


If I said I was an artist,
The truth would be quite tainted,
But think of all the lovely pictures
You and I have painted.


I’ve made no contribution here
That man will eulogize.
I haven’t written any book;
But you’re my Nobel prize!


Inside me, ‘til the end of time
A special wish there’ll be:
That I can give you back the joy
That you have given me.

The second one is her thoughts about her life and her heaven, and how poignant it is, that she has passed on, just before another April.

"April"

Another April gone!

My years do not go

From January to January

As they do for some,

But rather from April to April.

For April is my favorite month,

When ice and snow give way

To lilacs and apricot blossoms.

Other months I make long lists

On a calendar on the wall:

“My turn to drive for the car pool”

“Make costumes”

“A birthday cake”

But I draw a line though April.

I save that month for myself,

For sitting in the sun—

Reading, writing, thinking—

And watching the robins return.

But each year interruptions seem

To steal my April away.

“May day” people call today

And go for nature walks.

I stood and watched from our window

As people walked past our house:

An old couple, side by side;

A lively family of redheads,

Laughing—enjoying the sun!

I heard, as I turned from the window,

“Did you have a bad day, Dear?”

And, “What’s the matter, Mother?”

“Another April gone,” I said;

But they did not understand.

Only twenty—maybe thirty—Aprils left.

But this morning I was inspired

By this thrilling thought:

When the thirty Aprils have passed,

And I am in another sphere,

Can it be possible—do you suppose—

That it’s always April there?

I hope you all realize that I am speaking today in representation of all eight of her children. As the eldest, I have known for a long time that this day would come. I hope that you all know that each and everyone of us was just as important in her eyes and in her heart.


Every day I thank my Heavenly Father, that I was sent to live and grow up in the home of one of the greatest, kind-hearted women in the world. I love you, too, Mom.