I was born Cathy Rae Clark in Los Angeles at the Queen of the Angeles Hospital. Thus explains the halo over my head. I am the youngest of four children a true baby boomer being born in a 1946. Yes, I am 62.
I grew up 11 miles directly east of Los Angeles in Rosemead, California. Our lot was large 50 X 300, our house was two stories, white with green shutters. Those were happy days. Under the direction of my father we had many kinds of fruit trees that will not grow here, a large vegetable garden and berries, laying hens, rabbits, pigeons and a fish pond. My father, raised on a farm in Tooele, Utah, wanted to be a farmer, but as the history is told he hopped a freight train, went to California and landed a job at BF Goodrich where he harvested tires for 42 years. To nail his future in California he married my mother who was born in Oklahoma in a log cabin. They were married over 60 years until his death at 93.
My mother loved flowers. I remember standing outside next to her, coming only to her waist when she said, "I think delphiniums are my favorite flower, God did not make enough blue flowers". Our Heavenly Father loves us a whole bunch to have given us such a variety of color to feast our eyes. We have all shades of green, brown and blue. When they say all colors of the rainbow? Well, look around at what he did. Then he took his brush and flicked patches of bright color everywhere. Well, most everywhere. Oh, and he loved texture. He used texture in the bark and grass and dirt and rocks. He loved texture and color. But he did not overdo anything. He was a true artist. He did a perfect job. He did a perfect job on us also, but He gave us
choices. Plants thrive under the environmental guidelines for them. If they step far outside that, they die. Us people, often make the wrong choice and step outside the guidelines. Sometimes, way to often, people make the wrong choices. Heavenly Father gave us environmental circumstances also, and if we want to thrive we should follow them. But unlike the dead plants he keeps giving us more and more chances to get it right. Isn't that amazing.
I grew up among adults, as my closes sibling to my age was 6 years older than me, a brother, and to him I was a spoiled brat and always in the way.
In the large avocado tree, I had a special place where I could go climb, which was my thinking place, my dreaming place. The canopy was about 20 feet across and if no one was looking, because it wasn't allowed, I could climb upon the neighbors garage roof from the tree. I cried the day my dad cut down that tree. It was my special, special tree. But it did not bear fruit so dad cut it down and planted an avocado tree that would bear fruit. I remember one Christmas peeking into my parents closet and found an art easel. I thought surly it was for me because I loved to draw. My brother got the easel. It made me very sad.
Everywhere I have lived I have planted flowers. I have had a nice yard and it has never mattered to me whether or not I was renting or owning the land. I love flowers and growing things. I love to create things. I have been bless by our Heavenly Father with gifts in the arts. Don't ask me about math. I am so grateful for my blessings because I can use them to help others. I can share them.
You may have seen me working on River Heights City property where their garden had given away to weeds. Well, one fall I raked down that hillside and sowed wildflower seeds that I had gathered. I took a close look the next spring and the seeds were sprouting in the June grass. I spent 40 hours, that spring pulling all of the June grass from the hillside and oh, it looked nice, but the water didn't get turned on and all the seedlings died. I think River Heights have other plans for that hillside because they don't want me there any longer.
I have raised 5 children, 3 boys and 2 girls. I have 10 grandchildren. I have a Model T replica that I restored that will pull a small flatbed trailer. The kids can pile on there and be towed around. This little car was offered in a drawing when Albertson's first opened in Logan. Merle and Lynn Olsen won that drawing. So this was a car Merlyn Olsen played in as a child.
Out of necessity I have learned to do many things. I make a lot of my own repairs on my home. This has taught me to be patient and work slower. Slower is good because I am clumsey. I love whimsey, fairy tales and the magic children brings to our lives. I think I am still a child in many ways. In my yard I have a fairy cave with a fresh water spring. The spring flows into a mini river which goes through a grand canyon across the grass, passes by "frog holler" the wildflower compound and on to the pine trees where it floods into a lake. I have a hut, sandbox, trampoline and a large swing set which I have blended into the landscape. I had a panoramic view of the mountains and my yard was private until my neighbors built a second story on their house with a very high pitched roof. Everyone in this area thought that two story homes were not allowed here. I guess that covenant was not filed properly. So they were able to build that. It has to do with what is legal and what is right. So now I live next to a monster house. It feels like it is in my back yard because it towers above the other homes.
I was awarded a plaque from River Heights which acknowledges me as 2005's Outstanding Citizen of our Community. Before that year was up a neighbor had his attorney write the city a letter stopping the work I received an award for. That didn't seem fair. I received the "Spirit of Caring Award" when I volunteered at Logan Regional Hospital. I love music. I love to sing. I love to paint, write and make something out of nothing. I love to swing and climb trees. I have stood in the mist of Iguazu Falls in South America, watch the sun rise on the Atlantic Ocean and set on the Pacific. But all of this pales in the smiles of children.
In my early 40's I had a "Major Mental Motherboard Meltdown". My mind, as I knew it was gone. The space occupied by a functional, logical, creative brain was replaced with----- I guess it wasn't
replaced, the MMMM just left a big hole where a brain once lived. ... I lost the ability to do most everything that made up me. I could no longer function. All creativity, organizational skills. Everything was gone. I was suicidal for almost 3 years. Every minute of each day for those years I was so depressed that I wanted in the worst way to die. I was in the darkest hole. It was so dark you could not see your hand before your eyes. Like in a deep cave when the guide tells you he is going to turn off the lights and when he does it is so black you cannot see your hand which is in front of your nose... but the light does not come back on in that cave. Everyone else has found their way out but you are left alone in this black place. Each time you move you do not know if you are going to go down a inch or fall to the center of the earth. You become so exhausted trying that all hope leaves you. I was a mess. I don't think I was very likable durning that time. I slowed way down. Everything was in slow motion. I talked slower, I wrote slower and moved slower. I gained 60 pounds. That would slow anyone down.
With medication and therapy I slowly got better. I remember the first time I had lift in my step. I had to learn many life skills again. I could not multitask. I now can cook a egg and toast at the same time. That is multi-tasking. I can boil a large pot of water dry over and over again because I forget I put the kettle on. I did not know what to do with my time. I did not remember what I had done with my time before. I forgot I had a hat collection. More than 100 hats. I forgot that I had a powder music box collection. It was like coming out of a coma. Everything was discovery. My sofa was old. I had forgot how many years ago I had bought it ... I just saw it one day and the sofa was worn out. Well, it had been 10 years..... I made a lot of changes in my lifestyle. I think. I don't know. I don't remember what I was doing before. But I do know I lived with a lot of criticism and felt useless and could not do anything right and felt blamed for everything that went wrong. Finally I accepted that in some peoples eyes I will always be wrong and be blamed, even if I am out of the country at the time. Something I did or did not do caused the problem, therefore I was to blame. So I raise my hand and accept that job. Yep, I am to blame. It is my fault. This way I can go on with my life instead of trying to show that I am not at fault.
I did not go to college. I do not have a view of the Temple.
I have five children and only 2 graduated from college and only one went on a mission. I am divorced. I have a new imac computer. I love animals, climbing trees, the color of my hair. I don't like my skin any longer. It does not fit like it should. I have a good relationship with all of my children and grandchildren. Unless they are just not being honest with me. Then I don't... I think I do. I love people but they scare me. I would like to be a hermit but I know that is not healthy. So, if I appear a little distant and out of touch? I most likely am. Did I say I love animals.
I have a cemetery plot in the Providence City Cemetery so that is where I will be when I my story has a end. For now? If you have a question, ask. I will answer most anything if I remember the answer.
.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Beautiful Cache Valley on a Sunday Afternoon.....
Some time ago I was assigned to a conference in northern Utah in June. As I drove through Cache Valley on Saturday, I was struck by the beauty of that peaceful green valley. I marveled at the temple in Logan—such a serene, peaceful beacon in so many ways. As I continued north on that clear summer day, I was impressed with the green fields so rich with a variety of crops. I particularly noticed the great number of alfalfa fields and the constant activity in nearly all of them. What a pleasing sensation it was to smell that freshly mown hay and to see the straight rows and the orderly cutting of those meticulously groomed fields.
I pulled the car over to the side of the road at the top of one of the hills and got out. I found myself absorbed right into that beautiful valley. As far as I could see was a whole panorama of the same activity in every direction—hay being mowed and stacked and hauled.
I finally drove on to the stake where we had a wonderful conference.
My parents live in southeast Idaho, and since I was already more than halfway there, I decided to drive up Sunday afternoon to visit them before returning home.
So, after conference I started north through the rest of Cache Valley. Within a few miles I was in Idaho, but the scenery and feeling were just the same. I again became absorbed in the beauty of the green fields and the smell of fresh hay all around. Again, I stopped at the top of one of the hills and got out and looked as far as I could in all directions. It was just as beautiful—if not more so—than the day before. “Yes, even more beautiful,” I thought, “but why?” The sun and sky and the clouds and the fields were all the same. Why this deep feeling that this sight this Sunday afternoon was even more beautiful than the day before?
What was the difference? I noticed in the distance a small LDS chapel and a few cars starting to pull up to it. Then it struck me, rather peacefully but very effectively: “There is the difference. No one is mowing or hauling hay today.” I looked as far as I could and saw hay fields everywhere, tractors stopped, mowing machines idle, and trucks resting in the fields, but no one working—for it was the Sabbath and this was Cache Valley and these were largely good Latter- day Saint people.
As I continued north, I saw everywhere hay to be cut and stacked and hauled and equipment and weather to do it, but no man or woman in the fields. The people of this valley were observing a higher law, and the Sabbath was being kept holy in Cache Valley.
I went by dozens, even hundreds, of farms with machines waiting in the fields—left Saturday evening by God-fearing men waiting for Monday to come and the whine of activity to resume. I wondered to myself, “Will someone break this spell, will someone be out in his fields working?”
Each time I rounded a corner or came to the top of a hill, I would look and look and then breathe a sigh of relief—no one working.
I went farther and farther north, realizing I was near the end of this beautiful valley. “Would anyone break the spell? Could it be a whole valley so dedicated to God that no one would work on the Sabbath?” The suspense became almost unbearable. Each curve I rounded or each hill I came over found me looking in almost fearful anticipation, then smiling as the same peaceful scene continued.
Finally I came to the last curve and the confluence with the main road that marked the end of Cache Valley. I looked and looked, but all was peaceful and quiet. I was so excited, I pulled the car over, got out, and in almost a Toyota-like jump I raised my hands and shouted, “You did it, Cache Valley. You did it! I have traversed your length. You didn’t know I was looking, but you did it—not one field being mowed, not one tractor at work, not one truck hauling. You did it!” (I recognize that I had been through only the northern end of the valley that Sunday, but it was still Cache Valley.)
I instinctively looked heavenward and said, “Did you see that? Did you see Cache Valley this Sunday afternoon?”
Even though I didn’t hear anything, it was as though I sensed a response saying, “Yes, we know. We see everything.”
I had such a joyful feeling—almost ecstasy—as I drove north to a wonderful meeting with my parents before returning home.
For some time after that, I couldn’t get that Sunday afternoon off my mind. I kept feeling, “You have observed and witnessed something very special, something truly significant: an entire valley keeping His Sabbath holy.”
It caused me deep reflection then and many times since, but like so many things it was moved further and further to the back of my mind with the press of many current problems. Winter came, and for all intents and purposes it slipped from my conscious memory.
I continued to travel each weekend to various parts of the world. Many months later, I was assigned to a conference in a city noted for its particularly flagrant violations of God’s laws. The Saints there were wonderful, but oh, the decadence and debauchery that seemed to be all around them.
As I returned from the especially hectic weekend, I began reading in the scriptures. I thought about Sodom and Gomorrah. Could they have been much more wicked than this? And yet the Lord promised to spare them for fifty righteous souls—or even down to ten—but they were not found.
I let my imagination go and seemed to see a band of destroying angels loosed from heaven—thundering across the land. And even before I had time to think about the situation, I seemed to see myself standing in front of these determined destroyers, declaring, “Hold, hold, hold”; and they held. “Go back,” I said: and their horses reared, their eyes flashing in impatience. The destroyers’ anxiousness showed, but they held.
The leader looked me squarely in the eye and challenged, “By what right do you ask us to hold? Have you not seen the evil of the land?”
I replied, “Yes, I know of the sordidness of the world. I see the constant mocking of God’s laws, the merchandising on his holy day, the constant breaking of his commandments. I see the evil that exists almost universally. Yes, yes, all these things are true, still …” Then I became concerned. What right had I to ask them to hold?
My eyes began to fall from his penetrating gaze, but something inside kept searching, searching, until finally a laserlike beam locked on to a misty memory made many months ago and faithfully filed away for such a time as this. A vista of a beautiful green valley passed before me and moved to the front of my consciousness.
I raised my eyes and met his as he again said, “What right do you have to ask us to hold?”
Then with the confidence of sure knowledge and spiritual direction, I replied, “You must hold, for you see, I have been through Cache Valley on a Sunday afternoon.”
There was no hesitation, no anger, no look of surprise, no disappointment, only obedience; and he turned and rejoined his group, and they left.
Some time ago I was assigned to a conference in northern Utah in June. As I drove through Cache Valley on Saturday, I was struck by the beauty of that peaceful green valley. I marveled at the temple in Logan—such a serene, peaceful beacon in so many ways. As I continued north on that clear summer day, I was impressed with the green fields so rich with a variety of crops. I particularly noticed the great number of alfalfa fields and the constant activity in nearly all of them. What a pleasing sensation it was to smell that freshly mown hay and to see the straight rows and the orderly cutting of those meticulously groomed fields.
I pulled the car over to the side of the road at the top of one of the hills and got out. I found myself absorbed right into that beautiful valley. As far as I could see was a whole panorama of the same activity in every direction—hay being mowed and stacked and hauled.
I finally drove on to the stake where we had a wonderful conference.
My parents live in southeast Idaho, and since I was already more than halfway there, I decided to drive up Sunday afternoon to visit them before returning home.
So, after conference I started north through the rest of Cache Valley. Within a few miles I was in Idaho, but the scenery and feeling were just the same. I again became absorbed in the beauty of the green fields and the smell of fresh hay all around. Again, I stopped at the top of one of the hills and got out and looked as far as I could in all directions. It was just as beautiful—if not more so—than the day before. “Yes, even more beautiful,” I thought, “but why?” The sun and sky and the clouds and the fields were all the same. Why this deep feeling that this sight this Sunday afternoon was even more beautiful than the day before?
What was the difference? I noticed in the distance a small LDS chapel and a few cars starting to pull up to it. Then it struck me, rather peacefully but very effectively: “There is the difference. No one is mowing or hauling hay today.” I looked as far as I could and saw hay fields everywhere, tractors stopped, mowing machines idle, and trucks resting in the fields, but no one working—for it was the Sabbath and this was Cache Valley and these were largely good Latter- day Saint people.
As I continued north, I saw everywhere hay to be cut and stacked and hauled and equipment and weather to do it, but no man or woman in the fields. The people of this valley were observing a higher law, and the Sabbath was being kept holy in Cache Valley.
I went by dozens, even hundreds, of farms with machines waiting in the fields—left Saturday evening by God-fearing men waiting for Monday to come and the whine of activity to resume. I wondered to myself, “Will someone break this spell, will someone be out in his fields working?”
Each time I rounded a corner or came to the top of a hill, I would look and look and then breathe a sigh of relief—no one working.
I went farther and farther north, realizing I was near the end of this beautiful valley. “Would anyone break the spell? Could it be a whole valley so dedicated to God that no one would work on the Sabbath?” The suspense became almost unbearable. Each curve I rounded or each hill I came over found me looking in almost fearful anticipation, then smiling as the same peaceful scene continued.
Finally I came to the last curve and the confluence with the main road that marked the end of Cache Valley. I looked and looked, but all was peaceful and quiet. I was so excited, I pulled the car over, got out, and in almost a Toyota-like jump I raised my hands and shouted, “You did it, Cache Valley. You did it! I have traversed your length. You didn’t know I was looking, but you did it—not one field being mowed, not one tractor at work, not one truck hauling. You did it!” (I recognize that I had been through only the northern end of the valley that Sunday, but it was still Cache Valley.)
I instinctively looked heavenward and said, “Did you see that? Did you see Cache Valley this Sunday afternoon?”
Even though I didn’t hear anything, it was as though I sensed a response saying, “Yes, we know. We see everything.”
I had such a joyful feeling—almost ecstasy—as I drove north to a wonderful meeting with my parents before returning home.
For some time after that, I couldn’t get that Sunday afternoon off my mind. I kept feeling, “You have observed and witnessed something very special, something truly significant: an entire valley keeping His Sabbath holy.”
It caused me deep reflection then and many times since, but like so many things it was moved further and further to the back of my mind with the press of many current problems. Winter came, and for all intents and purposes it slipped from my conscious memory.
I continued to travel each weekend to various parts of the world. Many months later, I was assigned to a conference in a city noted for its particularly flagrant violations of God’s laws. The Saints there were wonderful, but oh, the decadence and debauchery that seemed to be all around them.
As I returned from the especially hectic weekend, I began reading in the scriptures. I thought about Sodom and Gomorrah. Could they have been much more wicked than this? And yet the Lord promised to spare them for fifty righteous souls—or even down to ten—but they were not found.
I let my imagination go and seemed to see a band of destroying angels loosed from heaven—thundering across the land. And even before I had time to think about the situation, I seemed to see myself standing in front of these determined destroyers, declaring, “Hold, hold, hold”; and they held. “Go back,” I said: and their horses reared, their eyes flashing in impatience. The destroyers’ anxiousness showed, but they held.
The leader looked me squarely in the eye and challenged, “By what right do you ask us to hold? Have you not seen the evil of the land?”
I replied, “Yes, I know of the sordidness of the world. I see the constant mocking of God’s laws, the merchandising on his holy day, the constant breaking of his commandments. I see the evil that exists almost universally. Yes, yes, all these things are true, still …” Then I became concerned. What right had I to ask them to hold?
My eyes began to fall from his penetrating gaze, but something inside kept searching, searching, until finally a laserlike beam locked on to a misty memory made many months ago and faithfully filed away for such a time as this. A vista of a beautiful green valley passed before me and moved to the front of my consciousness.
I raised my eyes and met his as he again said, “What right do you have to ask us to hold?”
Then with the confidence of sure knowledge and spiritual direction, I replied, “You must hold, for you see, I have been through Cache Valley on a Sunday afternoon.”
There was no hesitation, no anger, no look of surprise, no disappointment, only obedience; and he turned and rejoined his group, and they left.
June 14, 2008
Saturday was one of those days where everything goes as planed. Pretty mundane.
I started the day by taking my gas weed eater down to the neglected hillside park of River Heights and began to clear the weeds. After hitting my foot several times I ran out of gas. My dog Freckles stayed close. I walked home for more gas and shortly ran out of filament, at which time Kent Parker drove slowly by. Ken is our Public Works Director and has threatened to take legal action if I don't sign the River Heights Hold Harmless Agreement before I volunteer for the city. He said this again at the Council Meeting held last Tuesday. I asked him about Dean Hicken. He said Dean said he was to old to be arrested. I said, "Well Kent, I don't care, if I am arrested". I said, I could see the headlines in the local paper. "Grandmother of 10, former "Citizen of the Year", arrested for volunteering on a city park. Go ahead Kent, arrest me. I don't care. I wonder if that is why he did not stop. Because I couldn't use my weed eater any longer I went home. No police came. So I wasn't arrested for cleaning up some of the weeds on the hillside.
I have been changing the rooms around in my house so I am using more that the upstairs. So far I have not used the basement because it had become a "put that in the basement", place. I had a guest room, which I called the dorm. It had a twin, full and roll away bed in it. Thus, "The Dorm". I took the roll away out and put it in a storage room and moved the full sized bed into the room I had set up for family history. I could not make myself go to that room to do the family history. It was across the house to the other end and seemed very far away. So now the family history room is just off the family room at the foot of the stairs. I fixed up the family room so there is a sitting area for TV, a game table, and the "cottage" with the grandchildren's dress-up clothes and toys. They also have a table and chairs. It looks good,. But I had taken a lot of the family history stuff up stairs where my computer is. So all of that stuff has to go downstairs. Basically......I have trashed my whole house.
After I tired of working on the basement I went outside. A section of fence needed to be repaired. While I was trying to do that it fell over on me. Now you would think a neighbor would have heard me scream and the fence tumbling down. It hit me on the back of the head and pined me under it. The section was 6 ft tall and about 20 in length. But, no one came. So I laid there a little while until my head stopped pounding and got myself out. That hurt. I put up some wire fence in it's place and took the fence apart. I also had put a gazabo on my back patio that I wanted to move. My neighbor gave me it. I had arranged to move it in one piece but he got mad at me and tore it apart. So now I have a Gazabo Kit, without iinstructions and broken parts. So. That would be a AS IS Gazabo kit. Wouldn't it? Realizing that it might be a while before I can get help to put it together I moved the pieces where I would not have to look or walk around them for a while. But in reality it is in the breeze way between the house and the garage so I can hardly get to my car. Yet....... when I look out into my back yard I no longer see them. The roof for this is on my driveway. I would like to drag it across the street to my ding bat neighbor and set it a blaze. With my luck the fire would go to his house. I am sure I will be arrested for that. After everything was moved I mowed the back lawn, went with grass stained clothes to the gas station, got gas and a diet coke, went home and enjoyed my back yard for a while. I was too tired to do anything else.
I started the day by taking my gas weed eater down to the neglected hillside park of River Heights and began to clear the weeds. After hitting my foot several times I ran out of gas. My dog Freckles stayed close. I walked home for more gas and shortly ran out of filament, at which time Kent Parker drove slowly by. Ken is our Public Works Director and has threatened to take legal action if I don't sign the River Heights Hold Harmless Agreement before I volunteer for the city. He said this again at the Council Meeting held last Tuesday. I asked him about Dean Hicken. He said Dean said he was to old to be arrested. I said, "Well Kent, I don't care, if I am arrested". I said, I could see the headlines in the local paper. "Grandmother of 10, former "Citizen of the Year", arrested for volunteering on a city park. Go ahead Kent, arrest me. I don't care. I wonder if that is why he did not stop. Because I couldn't use my weed eater any longer I went home. No police came. So I wasn't arrested for cleaning up some of the weeds on the hillside.
I have been changing the rooms around in my house so I am using more that the upstairs. So far I have not used the basement because it had become a "put that in the basement", place. I had a guest room, which I called the dorm. It had a twin, full and roll away bed in it. Thus, "The Dorm". I took the roll away out and put it in a storage room and moved the full sized bed into the room I had set up for family history. I could not make myself go to that room to do the family history. It was across the house to the other end and seemed very far away. So now the family history room is just off the family room at the foot of the stairs. I fixed up the family room so there is a sitting area for TV, a game table, and the "cottage" with the grandchildren's dress-up clothes and toys. They also have a table and chairs. It looks good,. But I had taken a lot of the family history stuff up stairs where my computer is. So all of that stuff has to go downstairs. Basically......I have trashed my whole house.
After I tired of working on the basement I went outside. A section of fence needed to be repaired. While I was trying to do that it fell over on me. Now you would think a neighbor would have heard me scream and the fence tumbling down. It hit me on the back of the head and pined me under it. The section was 6 ft tall and about 20 in length. But, no one came. So I laid there a little while until my head stopped pounding and got myself out. That hurt. I put up some wire fence in it's place and took the fence apart. I also had put a gazabo on my back patio that I wanted to move. My neighbor gave me it. I had arranged to move it in one piece but he got mad at me and tore it apart. So now I have a Gazabo Kit, without iinstructions and broken parts. So. That would be a AS IS Gazabo kit. Wouldn't it? Realizing that it might be a while before I can get help to put it together I moved the pieces where I would not have to look or walk around them for a while. But in reality it is in the breeze way between the house and the garage so I can hardly get to my car. Yet....... when I look out into my back yard I no longer see them. The roof for this is on my driveway. I would like to drag it across the street to my ding bat neighbor and set it a blaze. With my luck the fire would go to his house. I am sure I will be arrested for that. After everything was moved I mowed the back lawn, went with grass stained clothes to the gas station, got gas and a diet coke, went home and enjoyed my back yard for a while. I was too tired to do anything else.
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