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.