Memories....

I went for a walk back in time, and although everything had added a few years to itself, my mind wandered the streets of my childhood and saw things as they use to be. Memories of former years rushed through my head.





As I drove up to my Healdsburg home that housed me most of my childhood years, I could almost see my brothers and sisters running through the front yard pulling the seeds from the birch tree and throwing them at each other. I felt the warm California sun on my arms and immediately images of young children laying in Sunday slips hidden in the courtyard flooded into view. I could almost smell the sap of the tall pine tree by the driveway where we hid under its branches in play and I had visions of us roller skating down the sidewalks in our pretend roller rink. I thought I heard mother calling us home as she stood in her long "moo-moo" at the sliding glass doors.



The past came back, the small town streets I could hardly remember became so familiar and I drove them as if I had never left. I took Kiyomi, Elizabeth and Hannah on a tour of my long ago neighborhood. We drove to my elementary school, the junior high and the high school; those places that I learned some of life's toughest lessons about friendships, standards and morals. It is a shame that I could not tell every experience that so freely filled my mind.



Prehaps most treasured to me was the hour we spent in my church. My church because we built it, section by section. My church because I cleaned it weekly with my father who was the custodian. My church because so much of my time was spent in those walls attending seminary, mutaul and being present while mother served as primary president, and catering queen. Sunday morning when the girls and I arrived at this building so dear to me, the image of the Pearl children, my sisters and I running through the open field of California poppies and mountain lupines replaced the parking lot I drove on. I reverently walked to the building and opened the glass doors to the foyer, I hoped that maybe after 25 years someone I recognized would be at church that morning.

My heart leaped as I saw Sister Pearl and Bishop Pearl. Their frail bodys were not like I remembered this dynamit couple. While Sister Pearl served in many callings I remember her most as the ward chorister, my young women leader and camp director. What love filled my heart for all the things she taught me. The Mortenson family, sat in the chapel benches too. What great memories of them and there children I have, working on catering projects. sleep overs and ward events. And there was Sister Tarter, the seminary teacher and Paul LeBrett. I had a lot to be grateful for.