The Climb of My Life

This picture was taken about nine years ago after Yvonne and I had finished climbing up to the Timpanogas Caves and were ready for the climb back down.

Let me go back a bit.  We had been to BYU Women's Conference, something we really enjoy doing.  We'd seen the road sign for the Timpanogas Caves, and decided to take a look before continuing on to Boise.  Now you need to know that the caves are in American Fork, Utah, south of Salt Lake City.  We still had a long drive before stopping for the night.  But we stopped anyway.

When we signed up for a time for the tour of the caves, we were told we would have an hour and a half to walk the mile and a half up to them.  A mile and a half?  No big deal!  We didn't think it was all that far.  But then, we didn't know what happened in that mile and a half.  Like climbing in altitude about 6000 (yes, six thousand) feet.  The path angled up at a pretty steep rate.  And there were sections where we weren't to stop because the risk of falling rocks was too great.  I should have known I was in trouble when I saw the warning sign near the bottom about people not doing it if they have heart or lung conditions.  I didn't have either, and Yvonne didn't either, but neither of us was in particularly good shape.  And we weren't wearing hiking boots. We were warned that we needed to take water with us because there wasn't any available along the path or at the top.  Fortunately, the ranger at the top did have some because we had both just about finished off the bottles we'd brought long before we got to the entrance to the caves.  Usually after drinking that much, I would need a restroom, but not in this case.  It was all coming out of my sweat glands!

Along the way, there were signs telling us when we were a quarter of the way there, half way, etc. and I suppose that was some consolation.  Just the same, at one point the urge was so great to give it up and go back down that we stopped at a bench alongside the path and prayed for help from Heavenly Father.  I came across a quote recently that fit this situation very well:  "We'd gone too far, and had to pray our way back."   He gave us the help we needed.  I have to say, though, that it was annoying to be passed by children who were jogging up the path.  Rotten little heathens!  But we did make it to the top, had a brief rest, put on our jackets, and went through the caves.  And it was well worth it!  The formations, like the Heart of Timpanogas, were amazing.  The path through the caves is about a half mile long.  The picture above was taken just after we came out and were about to start the descent, another mile and a half, but at least this was downhill.

We were both exhausted when we got back to the car.  I made the mistake of removing my shoes.  I don't think I usually have a problem with foot odor, but I certainly did that day!  We opened the windows for a while (I wasn't about to put my shoes back on!) and drove on.  I don't know how many hours it took us to drive to Boise, and I don't remember what we did for dinner, but I know that after we had each showered, we fell into bed and had no trouble at all getting to sleep.

Just goes to show that it is a good idea to pay attention to warning signs and know what you're getting into before you head off unawares.

Patterns

I have to admit that I collect sewing patterns.  This weekend Joann's had Simplicity patterns for 5 for $5.  Between Yvonne and me, we bought about 30, and the sale is still on today!  Who knows, we may make it over there again to pick up a few more.
I think this addiction started when I was a small child.  My mom always sewed.  With three daughters and not much money, I think she pretty much had to.  She taught me to make clothes for a little doll I had.  She was only about six inches tall and her arms and legs didn't move, so making clothes for her had its own challenges.  Still, I made some.  One Christmas, I was given a little sewing machine with a hand crank and I was able to use that to make them instead of the Pffaf that mom had.  I don't think I used it until I was probably in middle school.

Anyway, I started this saying I collect patterns then went off on a tangent about sewing without them.  Let's get back on course.  When I was 11, I received my last doll as a gift.  Sweetie is (I still have her) a baby doll about the size of a newborn baby.   Here's a picture of Sweetie with Yvonne that was taken shortly after we brought Yvonne home from the hospital.  Mom made some clothes for Sweetie, but I made some, too (including the dress she had on in the picture).  As I recall, there was a raffle at Grange that mom made baby doll clothes for, and that was why she had bought the pattern I used.  That pattern has been reissued and is available again now, probably half a centry later.  I love the retro patterns!
My pattern collection includes lots of patterns for doll clothes, from Barbie's (which I detest: it's nearly impossible to make clothes that fit those improbable dimensions.), baby dolls like Sweetie, 14 inch dolls like Yvonne's Mandy and Mike, to 18 inch dolls like the American Girl collection.  These last are my favorites to sew.  The seams are short so it doesn't take long to make any of them.  They don't take much fabric, and can be made to match a child's outfit from just scraps.  I must have nearly twenty patterns for this size doll!  A bit excessive, but you never know when you will need a specifc pattern and it's nice to have it on hand.  Of course, at this point in time I don't have them organized so I can find which one I want, but that will happen.
Besides doll patterns (both for clothes and for dolls themselves, like Raggedy Ann and Andy - I made those for Yvonne when she was two), I have plenty of others.  Lots of patterns for children's clothes from baby to adulthood, many for myself, with many that I have purchased but never taken out of the envelope.  Don't take me wrong, I've made myself lots of clothes over the years from the simple A-line jumper to my wedding dress, but I wouldn't be able to house all my clothes if I had used all the patterns I've bought.  Then there are the home dec, accessory and craft patterns.  I'm sure I could fill up one of those drawered cabinets like they have in fabric stores.  As it is, I have boxes of patterns all over the house.  Yvonne especially enjoys finding ones from the seventies which she looks at as retro.  Oh, well, what goes around...
Anyway, I collect patterns.  That is one of my collections.  Another time I'll write about one of my other collections.

Melted Crayons

While at my bookclub a few days ago, I had one of those flashbacks in time that a comment from another person can bring about.  My friend mentioned that someone she knew was going to Africa and was taking donations of clothing and such, but couldn't take crayons because they melt in the heat.  This took me back to a trip I took with my parents when I was eight.
I need to give some of the back story first.  My dad worked in the Puget Sound Naval Shipyard in Bremerton, WA, from before I was born until after I'd left home to get married, actually until after my son was born.  He got a month's vacation a year.  He did, after all, work for the government.  The summer of 1956, mom and dad, one each of my brothers (I had two) and sisters ( I had two of those also) loaded into our Hudson Hornet and drove east.  I know we also visited my mom's relatives in northeastern Colorado on that trip, but that isn't what this post is all about.

My dad's younger brother lived in Milwaukie, Wisconsin, with his wife and children.  I don't remember much of anything about any of them.  I don't think I visited more than just this one time.  I know my uncle visited us when I was 13, but to my remembrance, I only was around him those two times.
It was summertime when we took this trip.  Perhaps my sister Louise would be able to be more specific about what month, but I only know it was in July or August.  Wisconsin is warm at that time of year, probably warmer than my native western Washington.  Being just a child, I had my coloring book and crayons in the wide back window of that Hornet.  I seem to recall being able to stretch out up there, so there was plenty of room for me to kneel on the back seat and color while we were driving the long distances it took to cross two-thirds of the country.  Well, as luck would have it, when we finally got to our destination, I had other things on my mind than those crayons.  They got left in that back window. And you have probably guessed what happened to them.  They melted!
So much for my coloring on the rest of that trip.  But I did learn a lesson:  don't leave crayons in the back window of a car in the summer because they are likely to melt and blend together!