Visiting A Valentines’ Past
Though Valentine’s Day has come and gone, there is a particular memory that will never fade for me or Kelly Memmott. I am sure this memory finds its way to my thought pattern a few times a year, but the memory is most prevalent around the day of sharing love, cards, candy and of course, hearts.
Sister Clark (now Kelly Memmott) and I were serving as missionaries in the Westdale 2nd Ward, Los Angeles, California during February of 2002. Valentine’s Day approached as usual and we thought of some people on whom we should bestow our “sister missionary love.”
After the labors of the day, we made one last stop to the home of Sister Nancy (I remember her last name, but don’t know how to spell it and I might as well not embarrass all parties involved.) So, being kind sister missionaries, we thought she would love to open her door the next morning and find cute paper hearts all over it. (Some people call it a heart attack.)
I can’t remember the arrival time to Sister Nancy’s. It is safe to say that if the night hadn’t completely settled in, dusk was waning. After getting out of the missionary car (we sisters in the mission were spoiled to have our own car all the time and I loved being the driver!!!) we proceeded up to the front of the house.
We pulled out our cute cut-out hearts, and if my memory serves me well they were of various colors: pink, purple, red. After about two minutes of taping these hearts onto her glass storm door, we heard some sounds. We feared we might have taken too long in our good deed, and aroused Sister Nancy.
Sister Nancy had been aroused.
She opened her house door, the storm door still closed, separating us. For a split second, and I literally mean split second—okay, maybe .0000010th of a second, we realized our sweet, loving deed had been exposed and we would engage in a quick, “Happy Valentine’s Day Sister Nancy!” “How are you?” “We thought we would stop by.” “We hope all is going well.” “Can we do anything for you?” “Let us know if we can help you out with anything.” “Have a wonderful evening!”
Our illusion shattered quickly. Sister Nancy started screaming and yelling and pounding on the door. Can I interject that I was scared for the first time on my mission? So, I was scared for the first time on my mission. After a few seconds she realized who we were and that didn’t change a thing. Questions and comments followed filled with annoyance and to us, some anger: “Why are you here?” “This is a bad area of town!”
Sister Clark and I awkwardly apologized and tried to quickly take down the hearts that had ignited such an attack. We were mortified as we slipped back into the missionary car and headed back to the LA temple apartments via the 401 freeway. (Is it the 401?)
Still in shock, I can’t remember the discussion, if any, we had on the way home. I think we did converse about our complete and utter shock. It seems as we were on the freeway, or at the intersection to turn right onto Santa Monica Boulevard, we burst out laughing. We had a good hearty laugh, tears included. Ahhh, how silly the whole thing was.
But of course, since we had that “sister missionary love”, we did feel really bad about the good-intentioned heart attack. We wrote her a note and apologized for our….um…..misguided surprise? I don’t remember what we wrote, but it was a tricky apology note to pen.
As for the moral of the story? I’ll let Sister Clark handle that.
Though Valentine’s Day has come and gone, there is a particular memory that will never fade for me or Kelly Memmott. I am sure this memory finds its way to my thought pattern a few times a year, but the memory is most prevalent around the day of sharing love, cards, candy and of course, hearts.
Sister Clark (now Kelly Memmott) and I were serving as missionaries in the Westdale 2nd Ward, Los Angeles, California during February of 2002. Valentine’s Day approached as usual and we thought of some people on whom we should bestow our “sister missionary love.”
After the labors of the day, we made one last stop to the home of Sister Nancy (I remember her last name, but don’t know how to spell it and I might as well not embarrass all parties involved.) So, being kind sister missionaries, we thought she would love to open her door the next morning and find cute paper hearts all over it. (Some people call it a heart attack.)
I can’t remember the arrival time to Sister Nancy’s. It is safe to say that if the night hadn’t completely settled in, dusk was waning. After getting out of the missionary car (we sisters in the mission were spoiled to have our own car all the time and I loved being the driver!!!) we proceeded up to the front of the house.
We pulled out our cute cut-out hearts, and if my memory serves me well they were of various colors: pink, purple, red. After about two minutes of taping these hearts onto her glass storm door, we heard some sounds. We feared we might have taken too long in our good deed, and aroused Sister Nancy.
Sister Nancy had been aroused.
She opened her house door, the storm door still closed, separating us. For a split second, and I literally mean split second—okay, maybe .0000010th of a second, we realized our sweet, loving deed had been exposed and we would engage in a quick, “Happy Valentine’s Day Sister Nancy!” “How are you?” “We thought we would stop by.” “We hope all is going well.” “Can we do anything for you?” “Let us know if we can help you out with anything.” “Have a wonderful evening!”
Our illusion shattered quickly. Sister Nancy started screaming and yelling and pounding on the door. Can I interject that I was scared for the first time on my mission? So, I was scared for the first time on my mission. After a few seconds she realized who we were and that didn’t change a thing. Questions and comments followed filled with annoyance and to us, some anger: “Why are you here?” “This is a bad area of town!”
Sister Clark and I awkwardly apologized and tried to quickly take down the hearts that had ignited such an attack. We were mortified as we slipped back into the missionary car and headed back to the LA temple apartments via the 401 freeway. (Is it the 401?)
Still in shock, I can’t remember the discussion, if any, we had on the way home. I think we did converse about our complete and utter shock. It seems as we were on the freeway, or at the intersection to turn right onto Santa Monica Boulevard, we burst out laughing. We had a good hearty laugh, tears included. Ahhh, how silly the whole thing was.
But of course, since we had that “sister missionary love”, we did feel really bad about the good-intentioned heart attack. We wrote her a note and apologized for our….um…..misguided surprise? I don’t remember what we wrote, but it was a tricky apology note to pen.
As for the moral of the story? I’ll let Sister Clark handle that.
1 comment:
I think of that experience anytime I want to heart attack someone. I ask myself if who I am about to heart attack is someone who would call the police on me (I'm pretty sure that was mentioned in the conversation with Sister Nancy). If I remember correctly she also asked us to take the hearts with us b/c she didn't believe in Valentine's Day. Good times! Thanks for the memory and the laugh!
As for a moral to the story....I'll get back to on that one
Post a Comment