This, That, and a Tiny Miracle

I am pretty much done with Christmas preparation.  Our family dispensed with buying for one another, so we could all help a family who has not been able to work due to back surgery.  This decision made for a very stress free December.  No worry on what to give or buy for the adults.  My arm can now move forward, back, and a little sideways.  Therefore, I was able to make an apron for Kim's b-day, and paint a couple of snowman ornaments.  I made two, one for my friend Wendy and the other to hang on my own tree.  The ornament is of snowman couple, a snow scene, the year, and names of Walt and Penny.  On the back I wrote, Two Hearts Melting Into One.  They turned out very well, but due to their round shape pictures distort them, so I did not attempt to post a picture. 
Now for my little miracle.  I have tried  recently to be more specific in my prayers.  I asked this morning that I would be used as an instrument to help someone come closer to Him.  Short, to the point, a simple here I am.  I went to a Kitchen Center that has a great selection of storage, mixers, etc.  When I was looking at the aprons, I was standing by a lady that said while she was looking at them, "I just sent one to my niece."  We struck up a conversation and then I notice the store had put in a little soup and sandwhich cafe.  She told me the soup was great as I went to look at the selection.  As we were deciding what to have, I complimented a lady in front of us in line that was in total Christmas attire.  Red and green all over her, she looked like an elf.  After paying for my soup, I asked the "apron" lady if she would like to join me.  I  can't recall in my life ever having asked a stranger to join me for much of anything.  She said she would like to as she was alone that day.  We found a table and that is when I noticed the "elf" lady sitting alone not too far from us.  I asked if she would like to join us too.  She told us she "didn't want to interrupt us", but we both reassured her she would not, so joined us also.  She later told us that she thought we were friends the way we were communicating with each other.  She was happy to have the company.  So there we were three former strangers, now Pam, Gloria, and Penny.  We talked for about 45 minutes as we ate an amazing squash soup.   Gloria asked us if we had been to that cool store called Deseret Book and Mormon Handicraft.  She said the store was like walking into heaven, people so friendly and helpful, "such a great feeling in there".  She had moved here from Washington DC where she had recently retired from being a budget analyst for the military.  She said she did not know why she had come to St. George, it just "kind of happened".  Why were you in Deseret Book?  She then said she had an interest in genealogy and someone had told her there was info there.   Where do you live?  She then explained she was about two blocks from the temple.  Pam, the elf lady, turned out to be a nonmember also.  By the end of the hour, both women had given me their names and contact information.  What an experience!  I will submit their names for missionary work as soon as possible.  When we parted, I felt like I had said goodbye to two old friends.  Maybe they were ....a long long time ago.

Two Pure Joy Moments

After a month of hurt with my arm, I have experienced a hectic but fun Thanksgiving, several weeks of  ball games for grandson's Brad, Morgan, and Logan, and last but not least, ornament- making family home evening last night with unexpected attendance of Jessi, Cody, and Emma from Provo.   All wonderful, but I was exhausted this morning.   I took time for a short thank- you -prayer and asked to feel joy today.   After cleaning the house and gathering lost and founds, I decided to return Nati's jacket on my way to run errands.  No one was home and she asked me to just go in and leave it.  After placing it on her sofa, her beautiful tree caught my attention so I went over to see if the ornaments from last night were on her tree yet.  I soon found myself studying many ornaments from years past, most made at my home.  Brad and Morgan's name and year carefully recorded on the back.  Then I noticed older handmade ornaments Nati had made when she was a child.  She had carefully placed them at the top of the tree, some made of clay, some of wood, some of fabric.  In my minds eye, I was once again sitting with my little ones around the kitchen table, no care for perfection, but just simply guiding them as they did their best to make an ornament they would display with pride.  Little did I know back then I was starting a tradition that would stretch into the next generation.    Then it came, an unexpected saturating indescribable feeling of pure joy.  Then on my way to a fabric store, a lady caught my eye.  She was limping, but with a good arm carrying a small bag of groceries.  As I got closer, I saw she was holding the other arm in front of her, the fingers curled, her wrinkle-free face pulled lower on one side.  She was a young stroke victim obviously on her way to the low-income apartments that are behind the grocery store.  I immediately thought of my sister Robin, she having experienced a stroke only in her forties.  I was suddenly struck with the contrast.  My sister lives in a beautiful one level home that she can navigate well even since her stroke.  Even with limited use of an arm and leg, she has taught herself to drive her car again.   I thought about how blessed she has been to have a daughter living right next door, the rest of her family within close proximity, and a son and son-in-laws to help if she needs it.  Then  it came, the saturation of pure joy in my whole being for the blessings my sister has been given.  My simple heavenly request to feel joy today had been granted not once but twice.

Our Geneology Rexburg Trip

Robin and I with Elmer Park, our Mother's youngest and only living sybling

It snowed and hailed.  I was still cold in my down coat even with a warm hug.

My sister Robin and I left for Rexburg Idaho to visit with our mother's brother Elmer and her nieces.  Our purpose was to renew friendships and gather genealogy.  We arrived after dark on October 25 and as we came in on the freeway there it was.  The Rexburg temple shining brightly on the hill.  It was spectacular.  We met Uncle Elmer Park and his wife Merlene the next morning for a temple session.  Robin had not attended yet as I had the summer it opened.  It was humbling to see this manifestation of the prophesies out great grandparents had heard many years ago...that a temple of the Lord would one day be on that hill.  When the times were hard for the early Saints, general authority traveled from Salt Lake to bring hope to the discouraged saints.  The elements were "tempered" in the name of the Lord and it was promised that there would one day be  productive farms, a house of learning, and a temple.  These promises were shared with the pioneers from a wagon box.  One such account is shared in our Arnold history.  The saints sat on the floor joists of our great great grandfather's house listening to the hopeful messages shared that week.  They are now known as the Wagon Box Prophecies.  

 Elmer and Merlene work in the temple and they took us on a tour, followed by a dinner in Rigby, and a warm visit at their home during a bitter cold day.  Robin and I took pictures of our parent's homes and took flowers, provided by Elmer, to our parents graves.  The next day we met with our Aunt Ruth"s (our mother's sister) daughters Becky, Sandy, and Cheryl.  We went to dinner with them, and after having a wonderful visit with them, returned to Becky's to copy genealogy.  Becky has been gathering life histories and records for over 30 years.  We copied hundreds and hundreds of pages.  She is an amazing women.  She is and has been a blessing to the entire Park family.  Her sacrifice of time, money, and talent serves as a example for all of us.She is suffering from cancer, so we were amazed at her physical stamina while we took many hours to copy what she had so painstakingly gathered.  When I was on my way back to Utah, I called to thank her once again.  She told me that she too was amazed at the physical well being she had while we were there.  She had not experienced such good days for a long time.  She said she felt strongly that our ancestors had helped her because they wanted us to have the information.  After I returned my sweet sister back home I spent my last night at my brother Tim's house  before I left for home.  I was exhausted and my right arm was starting to really hurt me.  I had a fitful sleep, but  I awoke with the realization that I now had in my possession two hundred years of family history.  With that thought , I realized I  was humming the song from the movie Titanic...a song by Celine Dion.  The words in my head were "Far across the distance and spaces between us, you have come to show you go on. ...Once more you open the door.... and I know that your heart goes on."  The song stayed in my head for a few days.  Maybe it was a spiritual experience or triggered by pictures of great grandmothers in their big turn-- of-- the- century hats. It seemed very sweet to me.

Our Aunt Ruth Harris' daughters.  L to R Sandy, me, Becky, and Cheryl

Robin with cousins

Robin and I in Becky's living room

Oregon Trip Pictures & the Traveling Tuna

When I posted about our Oregon trip in September, my camera programs were not working with our new computer program.  I wanted to get a few visual memories of Walt, Tim, and Steve's tuna fishing trip and a few of the rest of us hanging out on the coast.  Right after they caught the tuna,  Steve had it frozen in Oregon, Tim then had his trucking friend bring it from Oregon to Boise, then Tim loaded up my cooler for it's trip to my house in Washington Utah after I returned from visiting Robin and attending Brent's homecoming.  I am referring to it as the traveling tuna.  Walt and I had some the other day and it was delicious.  I am going to can the rest eventually.

Steve looks like the Captain of his ship in this pic...complete control.

It has always made me happy that my Walt enjoys my brothers as much as I do.

Walt told me tuna were bloody.  I had no idea until I saw the pics.

Of course, A highlight for me was enjoying time with my sisters Robin, Ginny, and Sharon.  We went to a flea market while the men waited in the parking lot.  We were just going to be a minute....oh, yeah.   I think the pictures say it all.  We were not in too much of a hurry.



MY BEAUTIFUL SISTERS WITH BEAUTIFUL BERRIES.






The old duffers of the bunch (however, we were not the ones taking the elevator, ha, ha)

Five of my favorite people.

Pain is a Four Letter Word

After seeing the results of my bother Tim, his wife Ginny,  my niece Rebecca, and then a lady at the community center who had hired personal trainers, I was inspired and motivated to do the same and hopefully have a great experience like they did.   I had started resistance training with a official trainer several weeks before.  She had noticed my lack of "range of motion" on my right and explained that she would get it back and gave me a series of exercises to do,  but it went from lack of range to me wincing....but "just keep it up", she shared.    She showed me how to do pilates while I was gone to Idaho, which I did, but I noticed my range was getting smaller and now my shoulder was tender to touch.After a marathon visit to sister Robin's house, loading her stuff and  then the two of us going on to Rexburg, gathering massive amounts of genealogy, getting her back home, then pushing hard to get back home by Halloween night. By Monday night, I could not lift my arm, even an inch, without wanting to share a high pitched scream.  I could not sleep, or let it hang at my side without pain.  I tossed and turned so much that Walt had to move into the other bedroom at night.  When it became obvious it was not going to heal on its own, I went to a doctor.  After moving it forward, scream, scream, then back, scream, scream.  He said, " You have bone spurs, calcium deposits, in your should and tendon.  Nothing you can do now except have a long and painful recovery.  Scar tissue has to form over the ends then you will begin to get relief."  What?I thought.  First of all you haven't even looked at an xray and I know that some magic physical therapy will fix this.  He gave me steroids and a percocet a powerful pain pill.  I am not a pill taker, but I was very happy to get them, and had them down as soon as I could.  They barely took the edge off.  I did not sleep for most of five straight days.After the x-ray results from the radiologist came back, here is what the doctor told me.  "You have bone spurs and a dense calcium deposit in your shoulder and tendon."  He had it absolutely diagnosed before the xray.  I am such a skeptic when it comes to medical.  The extra exertion on the muscle had inflamed it causing it to irritate the tissue near the calcium deposits.  I think spur is a good word for them.  Just dawned on me spur is a four letter word too, like dragging skin backward on barbwire fence.  The perfect visual for what  I have been feeling.  So here I am,  a list of stuff I can't think of doing, Can't drive, can't read, (too fuzzy), can't sleep well, can't get dressed, Walt has to do it all, can't cook, can't, write, just barely can do key board with one hand, can't can't can't.  This healing will most likely last during the holidays.  Poor me, poor little Penny. Then yesterday during my drug induced feel sorry for myself hours, I had a revelation.   WHAT A SELF ABSORBED IDIOT I AM!  MY SISTER ROBIN HAS TO ENDURE THIS EVERY MOMENT OF HER LIFE.  She might not have the pain, but she cannot use her right arm at all.  Now add to that a disability walking.  I thought I had empathy before but now I have had a healthy dose of reality check.  She is absolutely one of the most amazing women I have ever known.  She has carried her affliction with grace and dignity.  She is and always will be an inspirational example to all who know her. As for me, what I am going through is nothing and I know that there is an end in sight.  I need to remember that just because I am in pain I don't have to be one.

Sixty-Three and Still Me

I turned 63 years old in September.  I am 63 and still me.  When I was younger, I thought by this time I would be so much more, but I am still me.  I still struggle with the same things, find happiness in the same things, truly love most of the same people, plus a few more I have been blessed to receive along the way.  I have out lived my father by 7 years and the age my mother was when she passed is fast approaching.   I cannot even see the word "slow down" on my radar screen, let alone actually initiate it.  There are a few speed bumps now days.  One speed bump recently was my trip into our bedroom closet to get my glasses, I came out with Walt's dirty pants, and while putting them in the laundry to soak realized when I could not see the stains,  I had gone into the bedroom to get my glasses, so I could write something on the calendar.  Okay, that's about three speed bumps, but I think I used to do that same kind of thing in my multi-tasking 40's.   One thing that has changed a lot, other than that image looking back at me in the mirror, is my wisdom.  I have accumulated much more of it through the years.  I have found that there really are things that simply do not matter....not one bit.  What does not matter, simply put is STUFF.    Looking back on my own grandmothers, I realize that they reached  that point too.  Grandma Park never changed her furniture, a picture on the wall, or so much as a flower pot, while I knew her.  She wore her aprons over her dresses (I never saw her in a pair of pants), used the same hair product, (a slime Mother or her sister's put in her curls), or ever asked anything to be changed.  I remember Mother reached a point where she did not want to be "bothered" with the Christmas tree.  She would remove a garbage bag from her stored small fake tree and that was her total Christmas celebration decor.  I thought that was so strange, now I think how intelligent.  Perhaps one day that image looking back at me in the mirror, if I am still occasionally looking, will be back to my 1965 hairdo wearing 1950's bright orange polka dot blouse with  1970's purple bell bottom pants.  Oh, and beads, tons of beads.  Hopefully, I will still have my hubby saying, "Honey, you haven't changed a bit".

Don't Judge My Judging

I thought I had overcome, shall I say a pet peeve.  I had purged this negative from my very being, until I heard myself recount at our Oregon family get together, the latest scar on my pet peeviness.  (I just made up that word and I think it should be one).  While discussing service in the Church, a switch turned on my memory bank and connected to my mouth.  I shared how Walt signed us up for recent apricot picking at our church orchard.  We dutifully arose at 5:30 so we could be there to pick early before the sun got hot.  We were told to pick the fruit that was ripening,  (duh) what color, (another duh), and most importantly to not pick unripe fruit.  (triple duh)  Leave it to ripen for another days picking.  Walt and I carefully picked many trees, and when we went to dump our buckets,   I heard something like this.  "There ya go Samuel, Sariah, Nephi, Rachel, and Moroni (all churchy names) go pick those.  You can reach those."  Yep, there was Sister Mommy pointing her little saints at the trees we had just picked.  She didn't say pick only the ones that HAVE AN APRICOT COLOR and LEAVE THE GREEN ONES.  Of course, the next sounds we hear are huge green apricots thudding into buckets.  Apricots that will be put into discard bins when they go to the cannery.  As I went back to the trees, I gently said "those trees have already been picked, there are some further up the row that have ripe fruit."  I may as well have been talking to the apricot tree.  Finally, we went to trees along the outside of the orchard where I did not have to watch the desecration of precious fruit.  It was getting close to time for us to leave, so Walt and I went to dump our perfect harvest, when I saw two women who had just arrived.  The older women had just applied lipstick and looked like she had her hair done for a special occasion.  It seemed as if the other one was wondering if she should have worn gloves to cover her polished phony nails.  Then they started to pick a tree that by this time did not even have a hint of color.  Mustering my smiley face and using my  softest inside voice, I said, "oh, those trees have already been picked.  There are some further up the row that have ripening  fruit on them."  Sister Plastic turned and said,  "There are apricots all over this tree to be picked." Next sound...thud, thud, thud.  When I got to the truck and slammed the door, I told Walt he was NEVER to sign me up to pick in the orchards again.  I will thin, I will weed, I will wind row after pruning, but a farm girl like me can't watch the murder of innocent fruit.  He laughed, but I meant it.  As I recaped this experience to my brothers and sisters in Oregon,  and seeing the smiles on their faces, I realized that those saintly pickers I judged, were going much further on the celestial trail than I was.  They filled their assignments, plain and simple.  They were asked, they showed up, and they will be blessed.  Just because they were agriculturally challenged, did not give me the right to judge.  And to those I share my personal pet peeve, don't judge my judging.

Oregon, a Cold Sore, and 5 lbs.

 I returned from our trip to Oregon with a cold sore and 5 lbs. ( I am not posting pics right now due to a new computer program, but if I wait to post pictures I will forget to post about the trip.  I know that a blog about a trip without pictures is boring.)  Now back to my cold sore and 5 lbs,  I can't blame it all on the trip, I started working on both a few days before we left.   Walt and I took the shuttle to Las Vegas, flew into Portland, and met my brother Tim, wife Ginny, and my sister Robin at the airport.  We then rented a car and drove to brother Steve, and wife Sharon Arnold's home near Newport Oregon.  The trip to their home takes about 3 hours, but it went quickly as we five visited and enjoyed the country as we traveled.  They moved about a year ago from another beach house they owned in Waldport, a small town about 30 miles away.  This different beach house is lovely, but is a little more challenging to get to the beach.   The trail is really down and then really up.  I did okay, but had to take a little breather about half way.  Walt, born with mountain-goat in his blood line, beat us both ways and was waiting while looking at his watch.  I never gave him the pleasure of asking him, "how much slower was I than you?"  Steve and Sharon's home has three floors, so Steve had an elevator put in, which was very helpful for Robin.  I took the stairs most of the time, but forgot the rules of the elevator twice...I forgot to close the sliding door making it not available for the next person on a different floor.  I heard a yell or two from my now elevator-user- brother from another floor.  "SOMEONE FORGOT TO CLOSE THE DOOR.  PENNY?"  I needed the exercise anyway.  We arrived on a Friday and left on a Tuesday.  Sharon was so accommodating, making two perfect meals that could have been on the menu of any Red Lobster, only her meals were better.  It was so sweet to spend time with Ginny, Sharon, and Robin.  I have seen Robin frequently, but Sharon was not been able to attend our Jessi's wedding, so I had not seen her for a long time.  Tim and Ginny have been able to come to our family events, and we have also been able to see them periodically in Boise.  The visiting was sweet.  Saturday we helped celebrate Tim's birthday.  Sunday we attended church.  I loved attending RS with my sisters.  Sharon is in the presidency and conducted.  She shared a sweet testimony of the importance of family.  We had days of  laughter, shared stories, and complete enjoyment of each other.  Monday the weather accommodated Steve, Tim, and Walt a  fishing trip for tuna 50 miles out in the ocean.  They caught 12 huge tuna and had a great time.  Tim still provided deck-hand service even though he started vomiting when his sea-sickness pill time limit was up.  Steve declared Walt an excellent deck hand.  Meanwhile, Robin, Ginny, and I had a great time in Old Newport while Sharon finished an infant seat cover for an expectant grandchild.   Later we all went to a Chinese restaurant, laughed and talked some more.  Sadly, we left early Tuesday a.m. for Portland to catch our flights.   We do not get to see each other often, but when we do it is like manna from heaven.  In my mind's eye, I see  passing into the next world, into paradise I hope, to be a little like spending time with my beloved brothers and sisters for a few days on the coast.

Eat, Pray, and Love

My old friend Ann Merkley came to St. George to help her daughter after the birth of her baby.  I was able to spend some quality time with her including going to a Julie Robert"s movie called Eat, Pray, and Love.  It is adapted from a book by the same title.  I had not read the book, but had seen an interview with the author telling of her personal experience chronicled in her tell all book.  The book has started a world-wide phenomena of "Eat, Pray, and Love" woman's groups supporting one another in the quest to find inner peace.  I am sure that the book has a lot more detail and explanation, but even though I did enjoy the movie,  it left me questioning.  The movie started off with the main character knowing she had to divorce her faithful  husband of eight years (who loved her deeply) after praying due to feeling unfulfilled, then feeling a need to discover inner peace ran off to  first, Italy, next India, then to find a Bali Guru (without any teeth).  As I lay in bed that night, I thought of my inner peace.  Sometimes I too feel empty in the peace department and need to be filled back up again.   I do not have to divorce Walt and go to the other side of the world to find wisdom.  If I am lacking peace, I can pray, read the scriptures,  and there it usually is.  If I need to find a special place, I can grab my temple bag and spend a few hours in the most scared sanctuary in the world, the temple.  Instead of divorcing my husband and running to find inner peace, I come home from the temple renewed, committed to being a better person, and that improves my marriage and my family.  After a few hours at the temple, things that seemed so lacking in others to make me happy are now trivial.  After the temple I am made fully aware that when I am pointing my finger at someone else to provide me with happiness, I notice there are three fingers pointing back at me!   I was sharing all these thoughts with Ann while we were waiting for church to start and she said, "Yeah, and we don't have to scrub the floors of the temple when we get there."  This was one of the things that was required of Julia in one of her "sanctuaries".  Ann and I had a good laugh over that.  All I can say is thank you Father for the Gospel in my life.  Thank you.  Thank you.  Thank you.

Arlene Park Arnold/ Money Mindset

Copied from email received from Steven Arnold (oldest son):
Our mother had the great trial in life of having to pay bills without enough money to pay them. In hindsight she was a saint.   Not once did I ever ask our parents for money once we moved to the farm. (in town I used to ask for a dime once in a while to go swimming in the public pool). On the farm I had my own little milk check from my own little cow that gave a little milk. She was a Jersey. The little milk check was the pay I got for working on the farm. Also, I sometimes earned other money working for other farmers. I never asked for money from our parents. I remember when I returned from my mission I worked on the farm while I took a few classes at Ricks before it came time to go to BYU in Provo. I did not have the money to go to college in Provo. Mom and Dad asked me if I was going to go to college down there and I told them I did not have any money to go. Without me asking them, they gave me $600 so I could go to BYU in Provo to tide me over until I could get a job down there. I did not consider the $600 as a gift nor as pay. When I graduated from college and mom and dad were divorced, I separately paid them back $300 each to pay back what they had given me. Our dear parents had a hard time in this old life as far as money was concerned. I remember them fighting many times about money. I did not like it when they fought about money. I bought a motorcycle for $400 when I was 14 years old and faithfully paid $15 per month payments on it for 2 1/2 years. Do you remember when I rented Mark Ricks little field across the fence that Ricks' didn't want to mess with because it was so small. I planted it in potatoes, irrigated it, harvested it, and sold the potatoes and gave Mark 1/3 for rent. I did that when I was 15 years old.
*end of Steve's email copy

My perspective on Steve's memory:
I find Steve's comments to be a validation of the Mother's mindset about money.  She was resourceful and expected her children to do the same.  It was not a lecture but was always an expectation.  The fact that at as young an age as 14, my brother had already learned the value of  utilizing limited funds to keep his word to repay a loan for a period of 2.5 years is quite amazing.  Our Mother's family, the Parks, were gifted entrepreneurs.  As I can recall,  all her brothers had their own businesses, ranging from farming, logging, bottled water, and even a trout enterprise.  I have memories of Mother selling her hand work when I was still in grade school.  I remember after all of us were gone, including Dad, she would resell a few items she bought at garage sales.  I was in college when Steve rented our neighbors little field.  I am gratified to learn this.  I am certain Mother fully expected him to run his little entrepreneurial adventure responsibly  in an excellent manner and in that, she was not disappointed.  I am certain she did not lecture, insist on progress reports, or double check on his quality of performance.  She knew the caliber of her son, knew he could do the job, and that was enough. 
My memory of asking for money was due to the fact that I did not do the outside daily milking and chores like my brothers.    I was never paid a cent for any labor nor did I ever resent it.  I wanted to get a summer job, but was discouraged due to Mother's health and the need for transportation for farm tasks.  I remember when I got home from my mission Dad gave me a pig in hopes her litter and subsequent sale would help me with expenses at BYU the coming fall, and it did.  Other than that experience, everything I earned before my senior year was most usually picking potatoes in the fall or sorting and cutting them in the spring for various neighbors.  I would try to stretch that money as far as it would go.   When I had money, I never asked my parents to finance any activity or perceived need.   If Dad would not have floated me for a movie or dance ticket during part of the school year, I would have never had much of a winter social life as a teen.  I think it was the same for my sister Robin.

Arlene Park Arnold/Money Mindset

Mother kept track of the family money and income.  She kept the bills in the kitchen cupboard above the radio or tucked neatly by the radio. She was a list maker.  She carefully kept track of money that went out and came in.  I am sure this was a daunting task of tracking the farm expenses.  I cannot recall Dad having anything to do with paying of the bills, tracking the income, or budget.  Perhaps he did, but I just never did see it.  Sometimes we heard about it, however.  It was not uncommon for my parents to have some very heated discussions about how money was being spent.  Mother was careful with her budget projections and Dad was not.  One Christmas Mother calculated carefully how much could be spent for Christmas and with that proceeded to make careful gift purchases for the children.  Dad went to town on Christmas Eve afternoon and bought gifts for all of us without talking to Mom.  I can still see him carrying in a huge card board box full of the gifts.  He was so proud of himself, because he hardly ever did the gift buying.  None of them were wrapped and he handed them out that evening.  Mother was furious.   She kept it contained pretty well around the younger ones, but she did not hide it from me or Dad much later that night.    I look back and think it rather comical now.  Mother always said she could hardly add two plus two.  She really struggled with math.  Dad, however, could add columns of numbers in his head without using paper.  I recall vividly Mother sitting at the kitchen table with paper and pencil using her fingers to tally.  This was long before calculators were invented.  Dad was a calculator.  Mother used to shrug it off.  She said he could do math better than her but she was a perfect speller.  When ever I needed money, especially in the teen years, it was usually Dad that I went to.  Mother would carefully write the amount down in a tablet she kept in the kitchen cupboard.  Often when the amount was written, it was with the assumption that it would be earned or paid back.  I think by today's standards our mother serves as an example of one who taught her children excellent financial accountability.  All of her children were taught financial responsibility by example and this  has served us well in our own lives.

Arlene Park Arnold/ Pillow Perfection

I read my niece Danielle's blog about her pillows and it brought back memories of Mother's pillows. I jokingly commented in Danielle's blog that I did not know pillow perfection was hereditary.  Mother loved them.  She hand made all her pillows.  She always matched her sofa and chairs, knew exactly where she wanted them, and heaven help the person who moved them would ever use one of the new decorative pillows for their head!  I remember Walt using one under his head when he came for a visit.  As I remember, I think a look was all it took and that pillow was right back where it was beautifully placed for decor purposes.  She did have a few old ones scattered around for use, but never ever a newer one was to be used for support of a dirty head and especially on the floor!  They were placed neatly along the back of the sofa.  She made and sold pillows in her later years.  She made checked, ruffled, quilted, or plain.  Some had lace, rick rack, or applique.  She would put them on a table downstairs for display purpose if someone was interested in purchasing.  She sold them to sisters, nieces, visiting teachers, and friends.

Trapped with Six Young Men

Okay, this is not what I bargained for.....rain, mud, and six of my grandsons trapped inside the  RV.  I guess the first omen of the weekend was when, after borrowing Sheena's larger SUV, (mine only holds 5) , packing the over head and back, I loaded in the boys, and the car would not start.  All the men were gone, we tried to get it going, decided it needed a new battery.   Cori volunteered her car that holds 8, so we repacked everything into that car, and finally got on our way about two hours later than planned.  Once on the mountain it began to rain periodically.  The rain would break  for about an hour and they are outside playing war with their soft guns.  The rain would start, and they are right back in caked with mud and soaked.  The first night we were able to do smores around the campfire, they next night the wood was so wet...forget a fire of any kind.    I brought a few "guy" movies, Sandlot, Rocky, Rocky II, The Rookie, but that was my alternate activity.  I could have taken them all home the first  morning, but they were so disappointed, I just couldn't.  They promised they would help me and be excellent young men and they were.  I didn't hear one fight or major disagreement.  They were helpful and polite.  Justin, 15 yrs and Jade 14 yrs, treated Logan 13,  Brad 12 , Morgan 11, and Jaxon with patience.  Considering the large age difference, I was amazed how well they all treated one another.  Even with the wounds of Jaxon's eye ball getting wacked with a roasting stick, a soft bullet bruise on the cheek, and a large knife cut on Logan's little finger, they still were determined to have a good time.   My plan for this weekend was to share some granny-love and testimony of the power of the Priesthood.  Besides the fun, I had planned on a few stories about honoring the priesthood during WWII told around the campfire the first night and discussing the Sons of Helaman, then next night putting out a huge quilt in a open area, a circle with our heads and while looking at the stars, I was going to share some great pioneer stories of the priesthood in action while crossing the plains.  Then Sunday morning I would take them all to Alton ward, the little country church about 10 miles from our campsite.  Plans turned to reality when our three days were spent watching some movies, waiting for the rain to break, then running outside for a few hours of activity, then back in the RV caked in mud, soaked, changing clothes, eating junk food, and then repeat.  By Sunday there were no clean clothes and I was afraid I would not be able to get out of camp due to the mud.  I had a brief "fireside" inside the RV, Jade gave the opening prayer, and by the time I had finished one WWII story, the thunder was cracking.  I closed with my testimony and said, "Hurry, let's get out of here while we can." I never leave the Rv dirty.  Leaving filthy floors, dirty dishes, we literally were throwing packs, quilts, muddy boots, and guns into the back of the car.  I was so worried about damage to Cori's car if I had to go through mud and deep ruts.  Our roads are not maintained and are definitely for trucks, and when wet, can be very bad.  We had gone about a mile and just before we got to the gate to get on the highway,  rain started coming down so fast the windshield wipers could not keep it off.  We had got out just in time.  It made for some excitement for my young current and future priesthood holders.  I don't know if my plans were a complete failure.  On the way home, they were talking about when they could come to the mountain again.  One of the boys said, "Well, I want Grandma to be there when I go again."  That was all I needed to know.  It was all worth it, even with the mud and the rain.

Emma Veda Arrives

 

There are times in life that are just sweet.  A time when every human sense is alive, well, and the heart swells and still cannot seem to contain all the joy.  The birth of a grandchild is such an experience.  Walt's Aunt, who had 11 children, told me years ago when my own children were small, that you think you can never love anything as much as your own children, but then you find out that it extends into eternity through grandchildren.  She was right. 

Little Emma  arrived at 3:32 a.m. July 28 to Jessica and Cody Heimberger.  They gave her the middle name of Veda after Walt's Mother.  Veda is the only grandparent Jessi ever knew, and she loved her dearly.  Emma weighed 7 lb 4 oz and decided she could no longer wait for the doctor.  The nurse delivered her and Emma's little head is a witness to having to wait tooooooo long in the birth canal.  What a little cone head.  Poor little baby measured 21 inches long, but a week after her birth measured only 19 in.  She was born with a mop of black hair and given the title of cutest baby born that week by all the nurses.  Two proud and loving parents, grandparents, and aunts all agreed.  Of course, Jess and Cody think she is the cutest baby of all time.



Due to Jessi and Cody leaving for Provo in time for college, Emma was blessed in our home.  This afforded me a rare opportunity to get a picture of the blessing circle right after they said amen. 



A Very proud daddy with a proud grandpa looking on.

Angel Wings vs Broom Transportation

My Sheena is a wonderful hair dresser.  She graciously keeps many in our family looking as good as we can.  I am one of the lucky recipients.  She was cutting Cori's hair, so I went over there for mine.  Usually she is in a sweet mood, gentle by nature, but she had not had a good nights sleep, had some in-law challenges, and was understandably in a what I call a "murmur mood".  We have all been there.    After listening to her discussing her exasperations, I said that it just makes you want to kill them, but the best is to kill them with kindness.  She had a comment or two, so I said to remember there is no problem so bad that kindness can't help but improve it.  She took a deep breath, and I thinking that perhaps my mother-inspired-words helped her mind set, instead she put her hand on her hip and said, "Mother, why don't you just take your little angel wings and fly away home!"  I felt like saying, "I will after you're through flying on your broom" , but I didn't.    The truth is I remember times when a broom would have been a good vehicle of transportation for me.  The truth is I completely understood her frustration because I have been there.  I sent Sheena a text later that said,  "After I flew home with my little angel wings, I did my hair.  It looks great!"  She text back "good, get Dad to take you on a date".  Sometimes I forget that we are not  human beings having a spiritual experience but  spiritual beings having to have a human experience. Sometimes life is just plain fun and so worth it

Arlene Park Arnold/ Aprons and Dishes

Mother was an apron wearer.  She would have never considered buying one.  They were always homemade.  Her mother, Grandma Park always wore an apron.  Mother wore one when she cooked, Grandma wore one most of the time.  She wore the 1930-40 types, tiny print, calico, big straps, big pockets, and lots of cover up.  Mother wore half aprons gathered at the waist and tied in the back with a great big bow.  She loved gingham, so most of them were checked, and some were trimmed in rick rack.  After she passed away Robin and I  took a couple of aprons.  Most were stained, worn, and very used.  I love those aprons and carefully put them away for safekeeping.  Mother taught me well.  I am an wearer of aprons and so is my sister.  When I cook, the first thing I look for is my apron.  I have never figured out why a women would not want to wear an apron in the kitchen.  I am a messy cook. I spill, I splatter, and I wipe.  My clothes very rarely get stained and I can pop off my apron and I am ready to go out of the house.  I have non-apron friends who always change clothes to "something clean" before they leave their home.  Why don't they just wear an apron?  Mother was one of the tidiest cooks I have ever been around.  She could make a fantastic meal with several courses and not have a messy kitchen.  When I was at home, she taught me to "clean as you go".  She would put hot sudsy water in the sink and when she finished a preparation, she would put it in the water.  She could never understand women who left their bowls or pans to harden, when it is just as easy to put them in water and avoid all the scrubbing later. That way she said, "Water does most of the work".  She was a staunch believer in doing dishes right after a meal.  I have no memory of Mother's kitchen ever having meal preparation or dishes from a meal left in the sink or on the counter top or stove.  She taught her daughters that the "made beds and doing dishes" were the secrets to keeping a good house.  I remember her saying that a woman can do other things to keep an organized house, but if they don't start with beds and dishes they are just fooling themselves. 

Arlene Arnold/ Robin's Memory/ Mom's Kitchen the Heart of the Home

The following is taken from a 1995 letter Robin, her youngest daughter, enclosed with a cookbook she had compiled of Mother's often used recipes.  I saved the letter, and now since Robin's stroke and her difficulty in writing, I am so grateful I did.  It gives a glimpse of life on the farm, and a couple of memories of Mother.  Here is Robin's forward rom her 1995 cookbook.
"When I think of Mom, in my mind's eye, I picture her standing at the kitchen sink wearing a gingham apron.  Much of mother's life was spent in the kitchen.  Our kitchen was the heart of our home.  It was there that mother became barber for the boys; seamstress for the girls; washed milkers for the farm and cooked three meals, day in and day out for a family hungry farm workers and a family of six."  (end of cookbook forward)

The following is from Robin's letter that was enclosed with the cookbook.
"Christmas 1995
Dear Penny, Steve, and Tim,
I am sure this day, being the one year anniversary of Mother's death, has been a day of reflection for all of us.  I have thought a lot about Mom and Dad during the last year.   Experiences of my childhood on the farm have come flooding back to me more than once.  I realized that most of my memories were centered in one room, the kitchen.  Remember how afraid Mom was of mice?  More than once Mom scrambled for the safe haven on top of the kitchen table and wouldn't come down until on of her boys declared the kitchen a "safe zone".  I have no idea how many times between the ages of about 2 and 9 that I had to stand on that kitchen table while Mom measured a dress to be hemmed.  Mom's table in the corner of the kitchen served us well...I think I can remember every plastic center piece that ever sat perfectly centered on its' smooth surface....I think my most vivid memory if of that darn old rooster that used to chase me every time Mom sent me to gather eggs.  The minute I would step out the back door he would sense that something was up and lie in wait just daring me to try to get an egg.  Finally Mom was convinced to do something about him.    I 'll never forget coming in the back door and smelling the most delicious dinner cooking.  What's for dinner Mom?  "Fried rooster," she replied.  (end Robin's letter)

Whirlwind Summer with the Cluff Clan

Here is a brief catch up of whirlwind activities since school got out.

• Son-in-law Cody Heimberger graduated with his associate degree from Dixie College.  We had an ice cream party after with all the family and some of his.  We are proud of him and they are anxious to get their baby here and on to the next college to complete his Aeronautical degree.
• Memorial Day and three days on the mountain officially started summer for us.  Brandon and children were up there with us.  He is building a huge deck.  We loved the cool air, did a lot of four wheeling, and had a camp fire at night for roasting marshmallows. 
• Girls camp was the next week.  Walt is the councelor over Young Women, so he is involved every year, but this year I got to go for one evening.  I was asked to do the Stake fireside for the leaders and fifth year girls.  Due to so much snow at the regular girls camp, they used a camp site just about 10 miles from our place on Cedar Mountain.  Knowing it would be just over the hills, I asked granddaughters Taiha and Lesley to go with me earlier in the day.  I left them at my camp for a few hours while I did the fireside and returned to some spooked girls.  It had started to get dark and they thought every little noise was a "thing".  We spent the night there and next morning put rocks around a fire pit.  They worked hard and it looked good after we were done.
• Cluff Reunion was that weekend on a different mountain, the Kiabab in Arizona.  Not all of our children could attend, but Natalie, her boys Morgan, Brad, and our daughter Jessi took my car.  Walt and I took Brandon's, Jade, Josie, Sheena's Taiha and Jaxon.  Brain, Cori's husband braved it with all their children, even though Cori could not attend.  The reunion was fun and it was great to see every one, but the weather was horrible.  Our big RV was set up on Cedar Mountain and Walt did not want to move it.  So we put a camper shell on the back of his truck.  It leaked like a sieve!  Eleven year Morgan summed up the whole experience while we were huddled in a borrowed trailer trying to get warm.  He said, "This is the best reunion ever.....except for the rain,  oh, and the snow,  oh, and the hail!"
• Two more weekends of mountain.  We even got to go to Alton church.  Walt arranged to miss his Sunday meetings in our ward.  Grandsons Jade and Justin were up there with us most of the time.
• 4th of July weekend on Cedar Mountain at our place.  Cori's entire family came up.  It was so fun and the air was cool and pleasant.  The four wheelers were going almost constantly.  Cori and Brain have two, Walt has one, but mine was down needing repairs.  They prepared the best bbq ribs and chicken ever.  What a treat.
• Two day Victim's Advocate Training with Cori at Midway near Heber City, Utah.  What an awesome place.  I have never stayed in a five star hotel!  Wow.  The convention center was impressive.  The entire town and resort is all Swiss themed.  All the employees were dressed like swiss people; little nickers, knee highs, vests.  We could have stayed for a week, but Cori's had to get right back.
• Baby shower for Jessica was Saturday.  There was a huge turn out.  She was given everything she will ever need for her baby girl. My girls are absolutely awesome.  They sent out the invites, planned the food,  prepared the games, and did not leave until my house was completely clean.  They came a couple of hours early to prepare everything.  All they asked me to bring was the dinnerware, a strawberry salad, and the place to have it.  It was so fun and everyone seemed to have a good time.  A couple of cousins and Aunt stayed for a quite a while after it was over.  It was just sweet to sit and catch up.   I have managed to raise hard working, generous, and supportive daughters (and an awesome son).  While I was getting ready in the bedroom, I could hear them talking with one another.  They made suggestions to one another on the decorations, would correct one another, and then laugh a lot while they completed the preparations.  I think that there is no better feeling for a mother than to know that her children can get along very well without her.  At least, I can't speak for every mother, but I find that thought to be gratifying.

Every week has been crammed full of activity since school got out, and it seems to have no end in site with a new baby coming at the end of this month.  I have managed to keep the garden weed free, not an easy task with the business of summer life, but I set a personal goal last spring.   The garden has been fun this year.  I bbq  a lot of squash yesterday.  What a treat.  Steak, fresh bbq squash and fresh tomatoes.

Packing My Gun and Projects

Summer came like a strike of lightening.  We were unusually cool and then it hit...bam...110 degree.  Last night I looked at our temp at 10:30 p.m.  It was 91!  Why is a cool Idaho girl like me living in an easy bake oven? I have made a decision.  I AM OUT OF HERE.  I am no longer working, my calling doesn't start until end of August, Walt is working all day, the kids don't have any games this summer, so why am I here?  I am going to the mountain and I am not coming down until Jess has her baby the end of the month.    I am going by myself and who wants to visit is welcome.  I am loading up my music, autoharp, painting projects, books, and my gun.  Our 40 acres is a couple of miles from a main road and there are two gates someone has to go through to get in, but I still want my gun.  However, I doubt I will see any one that doesn't have four legs.  Walt will be at Youth Conference in Cedar City, so perhaps he can come for a visit at the end of the week.  Brandon built a wonderful deck for our 5th wheel, so I can put my chair back and feel the cool air.  My goal is to catch up blog on the activities of summer,  finish some projects, and watch the deer, squirrels, and chipmunks.

Arlene Park Arnold/ Sambo

Copied from email from Tim Arnold (youngest son)  memory of Mother’s Dog Sambo:
"As I was thinking of mom, many memories came to my mind. One memory that I think of every once in awhile is one that was the only time I had ever seen mom this way. Dad had got mom a little dog, it was the ugliest dog you could ever imagine. It was kind of red with some white on it. It was a male dog, had a little tiny rear end, a great big chest, floppy ears, and weepy eyes. His legs that were about 2 inches long, and bowed out. He was a very unattractive dog and not one that you would think anyone could love. Mom did not think much of the dog at first. It would get in her way in the kitchen, but he wanted to always be with Mom. When mom would lay down, the dog wanted to be with her. She named the dog Sambo, and really fell in love with him. She started to try to teach him tricks. She taught him one trick, or maybe the dog taught himself the trick, because he could get food if he would do it for mom. She used to say, “ Tim, look at Sambo”. She would call the dog over and he would sit in front of her. Mom would then point her finger in the air, and make a noise, and the dog would sit up on his rear just like he was setting on a chair. Sambo would hold that position until Mom would give him some food. She thought that was cutest thing. One day I came home from school, when I was attending Ricks College. I came through the back door and up the steps into the kitchen. Mom was there, and she had been crying. When I asked what was wrong, she couldn't even speak, all she could do was sob, not cry but sob. She kept trying to tell me something, the whole time I'm thinking the worst, I thought possibly that something had happened to Dad, maybe a heart attack or something. Finally, she was able to get out that little Sambo had been run over by Dad earlier in the day while up in the field irrigating. It was a hot day and Sambo had fallen asleep under the pickup in the shade. Dad didn't see him. I had never seen my mother cry like that. She had grown closer to little Sambo than we realized, it took some time for Mom to get over the death of her dog. I remember Dad saying maybe we should get her another dog, but Mom said no that something bad always happens to all the animals we get close to. I do remember that we did get other dogs later. " (end of copy from Tim's email)

Penny's perspective on Tim's memory:
I find this memory so interesting, because it happened after I left home.  My memory of Mother was she absolutely DID NOT allow pets in the house!  This little dog must have really found a place in her heart.  When I was a kid before we moved to the farm, I was always dragging some stray dog or cat home.  She would get so disgusted with me.  I had frequent ring worm due to the unsanitary pets.  She would scold me, while she was doctoring the rings that usually grew on the inside of my forearms.  The comment Tim made about Mother saying "something" bad happens to the animals we get close to" was true.  Grandma Arnold had a horse on their farm I grew up with.  Dad put me on Patsy with him, when I was about two or three.  I rode her by myself at about 4 yrs, if I could con someone to bridle and saddle her.  Finally, I got tired of that by the time I was about five, so I learned to coax her to the pole fence, where I would somehow get a bridle on her, and ride bare back.  Mother always worried about me being so young and riding, but she never stopped me.  Patsy and I were inseparable.  One day when I was about 13, I came home from school and Mom said she had some very bad news.  She told me Patsy had wandered out of the barn yard, been hit by a truck, and killed on the Lyman highway.  I was devastated, and cried most of the night, never coming out of my room until morning.   She left me alone treating me very kindly, even though I was angry for a few days.

Arlene Park Arnold/ Fun & Raisen Cookies

Steven Jack Arnold, oldest son's memory: (copied from email)
"She was fun.... I remember her dancing in the kitchen many times.
When I was little boy I remember when we were riding in the car and she was driving she would say, Watch, I can drive without my hands on the steering wheel and she would take both hands off the steering wheel.
I remember her quilting with her sisters right there at the Fowler house where we lived just down the hill from Ricks college. I clearly remember it because she would have the quilt elevated and spread out across the living room. Tim and I would play under it when I came home from school. Mom would make those great big raisen filled cookies that had the juice oozing out and give them to us to eat. I never really liked raisen filled cookies.
Sharon  (Steven's wife) has pointed out that mom could prepare a full meal without anybody hardly noticing that she was doing it, and then she would sometimes clear your plate off and put it away before you were hardly done eating.

Arlene Park Arnold/The Gift of Not Judging

Gift of Not Judging
If I was to randomly list all of mother's gifts, talents, or qualities, at the top would be her ability to not be judgemental.  Of course, the off spring of judgmental is gossiping.  She simply did not have it in her, it was a gift.  This quality seems to get lost these days in the finger pointing, blame others, and bash- another society we live in.  Mother rose above the pettiness of demeaning another to make herself appear better.  I remember one time I was talking about my Grandfather Arnold, her father-in-law.  I was about 13 when he died and I knew him in his mean years.  Mother listened and then said, "You did not know the real Dewey.  He always treated me well, even when I had problems.  I always liked him."  She didn't condemn me for speaking badly of him.  She just stated the truth according to her perspective.  One time Dad was talking about a neighbor that he thought was "stuck up and unfriendly".  Mother said that she had always thought this neighbor was just shy.  A statement of mother-truth stopped the conversation of any further judgment.  She did this often with simple one-liners that were never a lecture.  What a wonderful gift and legacy.

Advise from My Undertaker

I have a good friend who is an undertaker.  He told me that one day it dawned on him, as he was handling death records, that a birth certificate proves you were born and a death certificate proves that you died, but your own worded journal proves you had a life worth living.  How sad neither my father nor mother left  any personal written data.  I see what is happening today with Face book, regardless of how exciting the new technology, it is not a personal life story, just comments filled with other comments from other people.  A blog is different.  It can be used as a tool to record a life story.  I realized the other day that I was holding back posting to my blog because I wanted to get some pictures on it.  The reason I started a blog had nothing to do with pictures, but with posting small sprinkles of my life, loves, and joy.   I love the few comments I get.  It makes me feel connected, but my children all live close and either don't read it nor comment, except for Katy.  My neice Kristi indicated that she and her sisters see each other more often than most, but she learns new things about them on their blogs.   I know this is true due to my reading Katy's blog.  Even though my family see each other often, I learn what is happening through their Facebook.  I saw a neice- in -law a few weeks ago at Walmart.  Her family had been battling some huge issues with her husband in Medical school.  At Walmart she gave me a quick hug, a "good to see you and I keep up with your girls on Facebook", and off she went.  Just a few years ago, running into a person you love and had not seen for a long time, would have spawned a conversation.  Times have definitely changed.   I was surprised when I had a friend from Idaho visit in January and I was telling her about Walt's Christmas gift (his office).  She said she had seen it all on my blog.  Why didn't she comment or let me know she was connected to me.  It would have meant so much.  Oh well, people of my generation hold back from trying anything new. 

I have decided to start mother's life story.  I am the oldest of her brood, so I thought I would get the ball rolling, but I will need help.  Just for the record, I have decided that anyone who leaves their life story to someone else to compile is really running a risk of not having the real story told.   I'll do the best I can, with help from my brothers and sister.  I have decided to put it on my blog from time to time.  Hopefully, I will get comments or email I can use.

An Unexpected Gift

Sometimes God just hands you an unexpected gift. One you didn't ask for, but when it's given is what you were hungering for but didn't even know it.  My gift came quietly as I glimpsed a bit pink in the evening shadows shining through the trees near our place on Cedar Mountain last weekend.  Walt, Brandon and Jade had gone scouting for deer, and I was alone.   I put my book down, and thinking I needed to stretch my legs anyway, took a short hike to the hill not far from our RV.  I was not prepared for what I saw.  It took my breath away.  As far as I could see to the west from north to south exploded a protrusion of color.  Deep orange, coral, pink, and purple clouds streamed gold rays with the setting sun.  I looked up and the color was above me.  I looked east and the same shades were muted there.  How could a sunset be 360 degrees?  Soon my visual experience transcended into my spirit as I took in the wonder of it.  It was as if I was a little child  being wrapped in a soft velvet comforter.  I lingered until the night shadows quietly filled the sky with stars.

Arlene Park Arnold/Sister Get-Together -Tradition

I talked with a man last week who just returned from visiting his daughter in England.  He said they have seen her FOUR TIMES IN THIRTEEN YEARS!  I was stunned.  Sometimes I forget how blessed I am.  In a world where families are scattered, and some try to avoid each other, it is a blessing that our family gets together often.  My daughters try to get together at least once a week.  It is a tradition my mother and her sisters faithfully kept.  They got together every week for over 45 years.  They gathered at their mother's home, did her hair, and had a quilt on or brought different projects to work on.  Grandma had never learned to drive a car, so her Hibbard Idaho home was where they always met.   After Grandma Park passed away, their brother said his sisters changed from Grandma's house to going to a "feed lot".  This was a funny farm term he used for the "formerly heifers, now old cows" eating at a buffet in Rexburg.  Their brother Elmer, the youngest of the brood  who had attached this phrase to them,  was invited if he wanted.   After Belva, the oldest sister had a stroke, they continued to get together, but in her room at the care facility.   When she passed away, it was changed to garage sales on Saturday mornings, followed by eating out.  I remember one time, I was visiting mother for a few days.  Mother invited me to go along on the sister's garage sale Saturday.  Aunt Wanda, Ruth, and Mother went to a ton of garage sales that morning.  As Mother and I were on our way home, I told her how amazed I was that they had been able to go to that many sales in one morning.  I can still her slow Park drawl in her direct-forth-right manner say, "Well, we usually go to a lot more.  Having you along really slowed us down."  I pray my daughters and then their daughters continue this precious remarkable tradition.

Goodbye Boring Purse!

This one is my favorite.

Hello Simplicity Pattern #2676.  A few months ago, I cleaned my closet and sent some old purses to Deseret Industry. As I looked at them in the box, I was struck by the fact they all looked the same.  BORING! Same old color, same basic shape, perhaps a little snap or opening difference.  I have looked at the fun, bright, fashionable purses the girls are using these days, but thought I would not want to switch all the "stuff" from purse to purse, so thus the boring Penny purses.  I am also very particular about the inside of my purses.  They have to have separate compartments  for just keys, cell phone, wallet, chap stick,  and on and on and on.  I have even taken a purse back to the store a week later, because it did not meet my interior standards!  Lucky it was Walmart, so there were no questions.

It took me hours and hours of sewing  to do just the basic purse.  I wanted everything absolutely in the perfect space.  As the inside stays the same, and the outside is what is changed according to the color of the day.  I have had tons of compliments on my new purse-look.  The only comment on my other purses were "is this yours?" when someone moved it.  Cori had a birthday and wanted a purse.  I made hers with handles on the ends.  She puts hers over her head on the opposite shoulder.  It worked out well.  I put magnetic snaps on hers, but on mine I put a velcro closures.

I tried a ruffle.  The pattern did not have one, so I made it up.  I have had more compliments on this look than any.   Blue check is the lining.  I thought it would look good as a contrast to the paisley.  I was surprised when it worked as a purse shell with the paisley on the inside.  Just can't go wrong with these combos.

I diverted from the pattern that called for
pellon.  I wanted my purse to have
a lot of body, so I used plastic canvas
on insides of bottom and sides of purse.

I hang them behind my door for a quick
switch.  So fun!