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.