"There's no place like home"

Jan, 2011

“When we retire we should move to Arizona.”

“I don’t think so, lots of sand but where’s the beach? Besides, I can only remember living in California.”

This conversation began a few months after my husband left our California home for a work assignment in Arizona. He flew home every other week and each time he came home he told me about the great people in his Ward and then extol the beauty and affordability of Az. (I was not swayed nor did I budge my opinion.)

After eight months he came home to Santa Clarita California. We had already decided we did not like living apart and never do it again. I guess our 47 years of marriage had molded us to accept and even love one another’s shortcomings.

“Honey, I’m so glad your back home.”

“Well”, he said, “you missed the chance to move to a great place while I was there.”

“That place is hot, hot, and the haboo that weekend I was visiting was crazy. I don’t think Arizona is the place for me.”

October 2012

 We were back in our regular routine and were called to be ordinance workers at the Los Angeles Temple. Then without warning Patrick came home in October to announce he had been requested to return to Intel and work on another project. Much to my chagrin, he left two days later and our back and forth California-Arizona life began again. And my heart was sad when a week later his beautiful white suit arrived in the mail from Mr. Mac. I continued on by myself to fulfill the assignment as a temple ordinance worker and grew to love my service and the friends I made.                                                                                                                 

Our plan had been to retire in 2012, but somehow the year came and went. By then all five of our children had left our state for jobs and affordability.

“If you think we need to move; I want to be near the kids.” I went on a search. Our 2 boys live near Seattle. I went to visit them and found areas I liked but they were too expensive and the weather very gloomy. I visited our daughter in Maryland. Homes were affordable, but the weather was humid and very cold in the winter. I crossed it off my list. Where the oldest and youngest daughters live in Utah it also is very cold in the winter. I began to feel like Goldilocks, too hot, too cold, too expensive. “Am I being too picky?”

April 2013

Christmas 2012 came and went. New Years and the Rose Parade passed. We were both tired of being apart and alone. Talking to him on the phone while he shopped for groceries was not a fulfilling date.  For the two weeks of spring break from my teaching assignment I decided to keep Patrick company at his Chandler condo. On days I wanted the car, I drove him to work. One morning after I dropped him off I looked up the address of the new temple being built and took off toward Gilbert to explore.

I turned onto Greenfield from Queen Creek and saw the temple in the distance. I was immediately overcome with emotion. The closer I got, the more I was touched by what I saw. I pulled into the tiny parking area near the visitor trailer and sat for a long time letting my tears flow and the sweet spirit wash over me. I pulled out my phone and called my husband.

“Okay, we’re moving to Arizona.”

“Who are you and where is my wife…What happened?”

“I’m supposed to work in the Gilbert Temple, we need to move.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely!”

After hearing a quote that was shared during an ordinance worker prayer meeting I was more motivated than ever to move 450 miles, away from friends and find a home near the Gilbert Temple. I was determined to act on the prompting I felt.

Pres. McConkie of the Temple Presidency presented this to all Supervisors in the Salt Lake Temple in the fall of 1989;

"When we come to the temple, we are doing what we were foreordained to do. I am sure you were foreordained and set apart to work in this temple. You are a part of the "Handful" of sisters to receive the authority under the hand of the Priesthood to wash, anoint, and clothe your sisters. You were foreordained to this part and received this authority in the pre-existence...only a "Handful" of sisters chosen from all of Father's daughters to be given this privilege and responsibility...your sins are forgiven you each day you come to serve...your happiness comes as you serve...so it is immediate"

Our Arizona Home

I wanted to feel that happiness you feel when you serve and since Patrick already wanted to move we began our plan to retire in 2014 and started to look for a house. After searching many areas around Phoenix we found the perfect house in Gilbert. Surprise!) It had everything on my list that I wanted. The only thing that was not on the list was what I envisioned on that day while sitting in the parking lot; a view of the temple.

Jan, 2014

I didn’t realize how close our house was to the temple until after we began to move in. One afternoon I walked passed our next-door neighbor’s home to the end of our Cul-de-sac. I looked through the wrought-iron fence that ran along a walkway. I could see the temple just across an alfalfa field. It was just as I had pictured it that spring day in the little parking lot by the Gilbert Temple. It rose like a beacon and Moroni glinted in the bright sun. I thought Okay, “We’re here are ready to do as the Lord desires.”

Gilbert Temple

 Jan, 2019 I am looking at what what I wrote five years ago and am amazed at what has happened since then.. We are now in the middle of our second construction mission, what an adventure we have had since we moved. Our kids have lived in our house more than we have but that's okay...it's what the Lord wanted us to do and I'm happy we had the faith and strength to do his will. 

Right before we left on Mission #2 Patrick went on a fishing trip and I went to the Hollywood Beach with Megan, my surfer daughter, and her daughter Beth.

It is short bit of sand in Ventura.  Not many people

go there as it does not have much parking. And that's just fine with me!

Who names their baby Squirrel?

"Hi," we said to the lady at the window. We were buying tickets for our first theater experience in Arizona, I wanted the seats to be good. Especially since about ten years ago I had directed the same production for the "Santa Clarita Light Opera Company."

"So your Pat and Pat, that must be fun."

"Well yeah, it has been for many years. And how fun has your name been?" My husband responded.
No reply, only the stink eye down her nose! I kicked my husband under the counter hopefully out of her vision.

She spoke with a recognizable accent. Her name badge listed her first and last name.

I tried to smile sweetly and she smiled back. (thank goodness)
"I've not been to this theater can you show me where the seats are located."

I expected her to pull out a seating diagram but she grabbed a key from the wall and said, "come on in and see for your self"

We walked from the 100 degrees wafting heat into the cool darkness of an empty theater. I must admit I love an empty theater because in the quiet I can imagine all sorts of productions and ideas begin to flow into my head.

But I stopped myself and looked at the seats in the 4th row on the aisle and nodded that they would be fine.

On the way out she pointed at a lone seat with a wide space beside it, obviously for a wheelchair and companion. "That's where I sit if I can, twenty minutes into the show after I close the box office."

"Where are you from." I asked

"South Jersey."

"Me too."

"What got you to move out to sunny Arizona?"

"We came out for several visits, and my asthma got better, so we moved about ten years ago."

Back in the office we continued girl bonding and discussing Jersey. During a lull in the conversation I  finally asked, "Now about your name."

She quickly responded, "It really is Squirrel. My parents were nutty, ha ha..and have made excuses all my life for this crazy name...but I admit,, It is quite the conversation piece."

She placed our tickets in an envelope, and smiled while handing me the envelope..
"See you on the 27th."

"You sure will Squirrel," my husband chortled.


Walking to the car he began with a string of one liners. that ended with
"Her brothers are chipmunk, raccoon and the lazy one is possum. The grumpy sister is snapping turtle."

Yep, that's my sweet husband!

And I've been thinking if they really meant to name Squirrel, Shirley but misspelt it.  Yea! that's it, at least that's some sort of excuse...I can't imagine little baby Squirrel. And this is from a person who has four  Pat's in the family.

Sky lies

It looks down on my face and laughs
Dismay will not warm or keep cold away
The bright and shinning sun tells lies
Wind bites cheeks and nips eyes

               

Blue above doesn't tell the truth
Cloudless skies beckon, "come outside"
But don't trust what you see I advise
If you don't, it shall be your demise 

Back home the atmosphere wraps around me

like a warm blanket on my shoulders

it is no surprise the Arizona sun is paradise

No Canada for me is very wise

Pat's Rants

No Room for Heavenly Light 

I keep my mouth shut so as not to offend.

Even as people accept and embrace gender bend.

Law says we must invite them in, no matter the cost.

“The contrast between puppy dog-tails and sugar & spice is lost?”

With my children five, the question arose.

On a Hollywood set, with this person right under their nose

Five a clock shadow linked with fake golden curls

Hairy legs in tights couldn’t hide this man surreal.

“But mommy he has on a skirt and a bra."

"He can’t fool me! He’s on the run from the law?"

“Lets’ go home my dears, get out of this place.

He must be confused in his high heels and lace.”

“Oh, he’s playing dress-up,” was an innocent reply.

Then my oldest one said, “He is living a lie…"

"My teacher told us of kids who will be using our loo,

Girls in the boys will be there to tinkle and poo.”

Topsy-turvy our world has flipped and become,

 Like the Emperor’s new clothes, so many succumb.

 Taught to agree without reservation.

This makes no sense to the goal of creation.

Where is your road going?

Why is it fine to crush and trample what I believe?

This makes me so sad and truly bereaved.

When right is wrong and wrong is right

There is no room for heavenly light.

         Heaven or Hell

Days drift by in numbered succession

We work to buy another possession.

Routines of life burns the candle low

There is another world beyond this I know

Break through the fog and into the light

Open wide the cracks, escape from the blight

How to emerge from the darkness and gloom

And not remain trapped in an earthly tomb

Do what's right, set aside your fears

Keep your chin up and smile through your tears

Patience will bless us, with affliction we'll grow

Set aside temptation, for we reap what we sow

Yet for sure Heaven or Hell waits for us all

And there is one who gleefully wants us to fall

Or you can turn to Him who loves without condition

Looking over all, pulling us back from perdition

So turn back from temptation and go to the light

In your heart you feel and know what is right

Prevent the loss of your soul to utter destruction

There’s no joy in ruin or eternal damnation

For He knew long ago the mistakes we would make

And gave us the grand plan for us all to partake

He waits at the gate, arms wide to embrace

His countenance is in you, it shines in your face

Is this all there is... Helen's Funny Funeral

Helen’s Funny Funeral

Is this all there is?

Helen's things on the freeway

Helen's health began to fail. My brother had died the previous year. And he was unable to keep the promise to look after our mother's needs while we served a Mission.) I had very mixed feelings because, as time passed, she became increasingly difficult. Had I done enough? Did I do my daughterly duty? Is what I am doing what she would have wanted? Am I honoring her wishes? She was born in 1916 and almost made it to 100 yrs. old. Did I do enough to make her last days happy and comfortable? 

Yes, to some of those questions...not so sure for some others. I think that is how any child feels when she cares for a parent who has become a child. No matter how she treated me through the years I still felt the wrenching obligation to have things nice for her during her last days; to honor her because she was my mother...not as easy to do as to say, but I felt I managed most of the time.

So, after they took her away, I was left with my eldest daughter Colleen and her very kind boyfriend (who later became her sweet husband) Max. We were deciding what to do about Helens' little room packed with lots of trinkets.  Every piece of jewelry she brought had disappeared months ago. We figured many of the staff had "light fingers." 

She had lived in her suite for a year and a half, and I felt like the things she brought with her had multiplied. I'm not sure how that happened but I swear it did. I remembered when I cleaned out her condo; it took over three weeks. Neighbors had asked if she was a hoarder. I started to agree with them because it felt like her house was a clown car. As soon as you thought a closet was emptied something else popped up and you found hidden boxes under a couch or a bed or the back of a cupboard. The 10 bottles of ketchup in her pantry had turned black. Every expiration date on the things in the refrigerator was more than a year passed. 

We sorted through some of her things and after a while I wanted out of there. I didn't care. The facility put a big lock on the door and gave me a key. I had until the end of October to clean her place. On Impulse, I took the cow I had sent her for her birthday that was two days ago. Max went back to work; Colleen and I went to the mortuary.

Glen Haven Mortuary opened in the 50's and Patrick's parents bought 6 plots there. There are two left. We're considering getting planted there one day as both sets of parents are there. I called the mortuary months ago to assure Helen's plot was still there next to my dad.   Mother had attended both of Patrick's parents' funerals and liked the mountain setting where they rested. Mom buried Dad there and had purchased the space next to his. I had not been up there for almost 24 years. I have never been one to visit graves. I prefer to remember loved ones by looking at pictures when they are happy and well. 

As we drove up to the cemetery, we noticed several garbage trucks on the narrow road. I vaguely remembered some fuss over the trash dump along the canyon that led to the cemetery. At the time I didn't think about it being near Glen Haven. We topped the hill and looked for the green tranquil place we remembered. Colleen and I both gasped at the sight. The once pretty little valley was brown and most of the flowers were dead and gone. I remembered a white shinning building with columns and a wide stair up to the carved wooden entrance. The mortuary walls were cracked and stained with grey and rust streaks down the sides.  Every wall was chipped and in disrepair. I looked up the hill to where I remembered my dad was buried and realized most of the graves were decorated with plastic flowers and garish shinning pinwheels. We were hesitant to go up the stairs and see what was beyond the peeling front door.  

We were greeted by somber music and outdated worn furnishings. We pushed a button and heard a doorbell chime. We waited for several minutes before a woman limped out from the depths of a darkened hall. She had a cast on one leg from foot to hip. We introduced ourselves and said we were there to plan things for Helen Herles.

The woman named Maria said, "Oh yes, she's already purchased a place next to her husband." She spoke with a Hispanic accent and invited us into an adjacent room where she had a book on the table and some printed pages listing various services and costs. I asked, "Don't you have a room with, umm, you know, sample coffins to pick from?" 

"Oh No," Maria responded, "that kind of a set-up just raises the cost for everyone."

I told her my mom wanted a simple grave-side service, no embalming. "That's what we did for my dad, and my mom wanted the same. My husband will dedicate the grave and I don't think many will attend. All her friends and most of the family have passed on." Maria, the cemetery lady quietly turned the book on the table over to the back page and said, "Back here is more what you're looking for if you want economy." Colleen and I leaned forward and peered at the last page in the book where three coffins were featured. One was a shocking pink the other was turquoise and there was also a black one. All were priced at a little over two thousand dollars. I was now holding back tears, "I'm not sure any of these would be right. What do you think Colleen?"

I looked over to see that Colleen was on the verge of giggles. so continued on, "Are There any that are wood or something like that.?" I turned the page and randomly pointed at one that looked like cherry wood. "Is this one a lot more expensive than the ones on the back page. I think this one is nice."

She pulled the book back to her and began to fill out an order form. After a while she looked at us, sighed and said, "We can make that one the same price as the others...if you like it. and if you're having a hard time with costs, we can help you with a bake sale or a carwash or a rummage sale."

I looked over at Colleen who had gone for a run and come directly to the rest home, and I was a wreck from being up all-night driving from Tucson. I thought, “I wonder if she thinks we’re homeless or indigent. 

At that point, I didn’t care! I wrote a check and asked about flowers. “Can we order them from you?”

 “Oh, we don’t do that. You would get a better deal at a florist. I have the phone numbers of a few if you need them.” I shook my head and asked, "Can we have the service on Friday so my children will have time to get into town.  No one lives in California anymore," I said under my breath.

A few minutes later she came back with a calendar and told us, "Friday at noon is open." I asked about clothing, and she said I could bring by something in a few days. 

Colleen and I were off to the same florist that I remembered most of the flowers for proms had come from. I remembered the gold boxes with the cellophane window on top that they always arrived in. I forked over three hundred dollars for the large sized casket arrangement of mother’s favorite flower. 
I went back to the hotel and collapsed.

The next day Colleen Max and I managed to clean out and give away the few things left in mother’s room. I started to receive random phone calls and soon I realized the funeral attendees were multiplying like rabbits. By Fridays' count, my family and Tim’s kids were outnumbered by people I didn’t know, including my deceased brother’s lawyer.

The next day family began to arrive, and Thursday Patrick flew in from Gilbert.  It was nice to have family and especially the five grandkids who arrived with Megan and Michael. Friday we all had the Buffett breakfast in the hotel’s coffee shop before we left for the cemetery. 

It was a bright perfect day, and the sun warmed my face as we walked up to the open grave. Within fifteen minutes the area was teeming with clumps of people I didn't know and wondered how my brother's two ex-wives would behave. The second wife said, "Oh crap." when she saw the first wife arrive. I was hoping the rude comments flying back and forth would not end in a yelling or shoving match. I watched the exchange and accidently pushed the cow I had intended to place in the coffin. (She loved black and white cows and when I had the estate sale most of her 103 figurines were sold) The cow immediately played a tinkly version of "Old McDonald." Most everyone laughed and somehow that little tune broke the tension that had been growing.

While more people arrived, I walked to the mortuary and asked where mother was so I could place the cow in her arms. I couldn't find anyone who knew where she was or tell me if the flowers had arrived. I went back to the grave and the next thing I knew her casket was being placed on the bier. The flowers were nowhere in sight, so I placed the cow on top of the casket along with a large picture of mother that I had in the trunk of my car along with the few things I had taken from her room. People were gathering around the burial site so I crossed off the idea that I could put the cow in the casket and left it on top of the casket. Then the youngest of the grandkids ran up and pressed the cow song tummy. We were all treated to the first of many, "Old McDonald" verses. And still no flowers. Patrick called the florist and discovered they had the wrong time on the order sheet. We decided to continue without the flowers, and I felt horrible.

But I forgot about the flowers when I saw the sky filled with low flying helicopters. Once overhead they banked and dropped gallons of water on the garbage dump to the left of the cemetery. Max, Colleen's boyfriend leaned over to me and whispered, "those are the fire department's water-drop 'copters. They practiced for accuracy by dumping water on the garbage at the dump." One of the kids re-pushed the cow song right before Patrick started the service. We waited for the music to stop, and Pat jumped into his comments while I blocked another grandchild from lunging at the cow. 

Rapid fire gun shots began to fire to the right of the cemetery. Patrick raised his voice and continued with the service, and I don't think many heard when he dedicated the grave. Next to me Max muttered under his breath. "Ah, um so I heard the police academy has a firing range around here someplace." His voice trailed off.  

Then a movement on the other side of the cemetery caught my eye. I turned to see a young man running in our direction with his arms full of sunflowers. Mother finally had her flowers before she went into the ground.  Everyone was leaving as we placed them on the grave, and I called over a few and took several photos. 

That afternoon our family went to the beach. The next day Patrick and I drove back to Tucson to complete our Mission. On the way back it felt surreal. We were both now the oldest in our family We looked at each other and said, 
"Tag your it."