Ironing Hankies & Other Important Tasks

It must have been a summer Tuesday morning when I was about nine years old, because the ironing board was in use. Mom washed clothes every Monday, and on Tuesday, pretty much every Tuesday, she ironed. The basket that had been full of wrinkly clean clothes lay almost empty by the open window from which a gentle breeze and nice daylight entered the room.  Shirts, pants, skirts and dresses, now on hangers, were freshly pressed and ready to be taken upstairs to bedroom closets. The only items left to iron were Dad's white square handkerchiefs. With a quick movement, Mom turned and looked at me with intensity, almost as if she were seeing me for the first time. My two older sisters must have been busy elsewhere, because Mom evaluated me quickly and determined today was the day I'd learn to iron hankies. 

Our ironing board was built into and folded out of the kitchen wall when in use, and had a cabinet style door that closed when the iron was put away. Its location in the kitchen and height couldn't be changed, so Mom quickly pulled the kitchen stool right up next to the ironing board. Then she assessed the length of the heavy iron's electrical cord as she knew my left handedness would make a long cord important. Then she said, "Karen, hop up here, I'm going to teach you to iron Dad's hankies!" I beamed because this was an important task. It was not dusting, folding clothes, wiping dishes, vacuuming, or sweeping, but ironing! Only the big girls and Mom ironed. Today was my day.

To begin, Mom demonstrated how to lay the hankie out, press it to the corners, squirt a bit of water as needed, fold it just like Dad liked, and set it aside. Then she reminded me to be extra careful with the very hot iron and always stand the iron up when not in use. After watching me work for a few minutes she went on to other duties. I was on my own.

After I'd ironed a couple of hankies and set them in a neat pile, my older brother came blasting into the kitchen for a drink of water. He had the cool responsibility of working outside or in the farm shop with Dad. His jobs were without fail more exciting than any job in the house in my opinion, but roles in our home were clearly defined and I was a girl. His work was outside, with Dad, and very important. Being the youngest of three sisters, I felt all my jobs was dull, menial, and inferior except for ironing. 

When Rob noticed that I was ironing, he decided to walk his thirteen year old self over and supervise my work, while he noisily glugged down a couple glasses of cold water. He probably saw my satisfied smile and determined I was rather proud to have this new and important task. As the older sibling, he cockily stood there observing and then remarked. "Looks like you're putting in more wrinkles than you're taking out." Naturally, I was offended and hurt. I believed I was doing a great job and declared that certainly he couldn't do it better. After all, he was a boy. He then announced that there isn't a job anywhere that a girl can do better than a boy. This caused me great concern, and a desire to defend all womenkind, so I proudly stated that girls can SEW better than boys, to which he replied, "No they can't, in fact, a man invented the sewing machine!" I had no response. He strutted back outside. 

With a very small burn on my arm, and newly deflated feelings (thanks to my brother) the hankies were ironed. When Mom came back to check on me she said I'd done good work, thanked me for ironing, and gave me an appreciative smile and loving hug. She said, "Dad will be proud of you too." 

Recently I was cleaning our master bedroom closet and found Tom's mostly ignored (since retirement) white plain and monogramed hankies in a pile high up on the top shelf. I washed them up, and while ironing each one, I remembered that sunny summer day, those conversations and the intense emotions in great detail. My lessons leaned include remembering that it is important to accept new challenges and ignore those who doubt you. Kind words and belief in someone can build them up. Although men and women are different, there are few things a woman can't do. Of the enormous number of things women can do, many are done better by women than by anyone, male or female. 

Happy New Year!

 

The skies are a perfect blue and feature random splotches of fluffy white clouds on this first day of January 2025. The wind is blowing just enough to sway the bare tree branches and add to the chill on this 49 degree day. Tom and I are recovering after a week long bout of some winter flu bug I picked up on my football game travels to Fargo. (We won! Beat South Dakota State University in the semifinals  28-21!) The fireplace feels delightful as do the incrementally longer days and confidence in our improving health as we welcome 2025. 

 

My first recollection of a new year celebration involves new year’s eve with my siblings at home on the farm; it might have been 1967. Our parents were out celebrating that evening with their friends, but before they left, we learned that our kid party at home would include sloppy joes, potato chips, onion dip, and to drink…. 7-Up! Our oldest sibling, Laurie, was officially in charge, but Robert, only a year and a half younger, had his own ideas of who was the leader of our little pack of four. As supper time approached and we got hungry, he deferred and Laurie responsibly took the lead.

 

We gobbled up our party food to our hearts delight and since cleaning the kitchen was routine and expected, I’m sure we did. We played Wahoo, listened to 45’s on the hi-fi and danced around the living room which was our idea of a party. At some point, we must have become unsure if our party plans were sufficient for this auspicious night and Robert got an idea. 

 

Although I credit Robert for dreaming up the plan, it might have been Laurie or Pam. Apparently we needed confetti to toss wildly into the air to welcome 1967 at the stroke of midnight! Our parents probably provided noisy horns to blow or streamers to throw, but we didn’t have confetti. We did have a number of huge well-worn Christmas catalogs though and we soon discovered that the glossy pages, when torn into miniscule pieces, made magical confetti! I’m not sure why we were so motivated, but with four of us working we cut and tore confetti with energy. When midnight arrived on the east coast and the ball in Time’s Square dropped, we watched and waited. Perfect, we had another hour to work. 

 

With short snack breaks for more 7-up and chips and fewer and fewer catalogs to shred, the midnight hour approached in the Central Time Zone. Bowls full of confetti were staged strategically around our feet in the living room as the moment approached so each of us could grab and throw them high into the air at the appointed time. The bigger bowls were nearer to the older kids, but as the youngest, I was proudly responsible for a bowl or two too. 

 

I believe Robert used his brand new water resistant, self-winding, luminous hands wrist watch for our midnight count down. On his cue and with added screams of “Happy New Year!” we threw all the confetti as high as we could. The room was filled with colorful confetti! Our hair, our shirts, our eyelashes, the furniture, the rugs, the coffee table and all the lamps were covered with a fabulous blizzard of billions of little paper bits. It was so beautiful in our eyes, but soon it settled and we recognized a minor dilemma. We needed to clean this mess up before Mom and Dad got home.

We swept, dusted and vacuumed up as much of the confetti as quickly as we could that night. We were pretty confident that we had done a good enough job but Mom saw the evidence right away the next day. She questioned us about our confetti escapades in disbelief. Many weeks later I clearly recall Mom up on a step stool cleaning lots of confetti out of the flush mounted ceiling lamp fixtures in the living room. I watched as she shook her head in amazement that her kids would spend time creating that much confetti to throw high in the air on New Year's Eve. I think she also smiled a little. 

Blessings still outweigh the Challenges

I woke with a start; I was being kicked in my bed! Coming to instant awareness, I realized it was Tom kicking me hard under the covers. In disbelief I yelled, "Tom, stop it!" His kicks landed directly on my left leg and although I was only kicked for a moment, it hurt! Tom woke up when I yelled at him to stop and became aware that he had been kicking me. He asked if I was ok and then explained details of a nightmare where I was kicking him, so in this dream, he was fighting back. He explained the dream was like a black cloud or ghost over his head and that I was kicking him! He claimed he was defending himself (in his dream) and apologized a number of times. He went back to sleep right away, I didn't. By the morning, after a mostly sleepless night, I was worried and scared. 

Why would this happen? He was sleeping. Is he capable of doing it again? Punching me? What about the weapons we have in our house? Would he reach for a gun or bat and use it in his sleep? I pondered these unthinkable thoughts on Sunday morning while my left leg ached from the thrashing it took in the night. I was hurt, mad, and scared. I showered and got ready for church. He walked the dog super early and got ready for his mid-morning nap. He asked me how I was feeling and apologized again. I told him my left leg hurt and I was very concerned. I expressed my thoughts about this kicking happening again, or maybe something worse. I told him I was scared, we argued, and I walked out the door for church at 8:20 am. 

We're getting older and there are issues we face, but we will face them together and do whatever we must. Tom is serious about his health and fending off the aging process. He rides his bike on his stationary trainer every day, with very few exceptions. He eats very healthy and documents all his food intake. He enjoys his bourbon, scotch, whiskey and wine, but rarely in excess. He's lean, strong and weighs nearly the same as when we got married. I can't claim that. But, I'm back on a "live it" style diet, walking everyday and much more motivated than I've been in ages. It's Sober October too, so there aren't any wine calories to report in my food diary. We know what to do, I just need to do it.

Later. on Sunday afternoon, I researched why someone would strike out in their sleep and found an illness called REM sleep behavior disorder. Although I sent Tom three links describing this disorder he didn't check them out. This restless (or should I say combative) sleeping is probably the least of our worries and I can happily say, of the issues we face, the blessings still outweigh the challenges. 

 

Our Bill Andrews Rose

When our landscaping project called for removing trees in our front yard, we planted a rose garden with one yellow rose bush among the red, white and pink roses. The yellow rose didn't thrive like the others. It shamelessly took its sweet time and stubbornly didn't produce roses. We watched and waited for it to bloom for many years, but it didn't.

A few years later we were struggling with the battle Tom's friend Bill Andrews was losing to cancer. While his health declined, we visited, we baked and delivered food, we shared books, cards, and conversations, but he was dying, and our sadness was overwhelming. On Sunday morning June 7th, 2015, Bill's wife called us with the grim news that if we wanted to see Bill one more time, we'd need to be there that day. We set our sights on getting out of the house quickly and driving the hour to Bill's home, where hospice was keeping him comfortable. We wanted to bring something to Bill and Stacy, something meaningful and lovely, something precious and comforting, but we didn't know what. While Tom finished getting ready, I walked to the rose garden and was greeted by one spectacular yellow rose. At that moment, I knew it was meant for Bill and Stacy. I clipped the rose, put it in a small vase and brought it to them as a gift of life in the midst of the sorrow. Now the yellow rose continues to bloom almost always near the time of Bill's death on June 8th. 

Willaim F Andrews was a true American hero and a man of great faith. His Air Force experiences are well documented, and he has been rightly honored in many ways. He was a great friend to Tom and incredible human being. I hope he's always remembered.  We'll always remember Bill and enjoy our Bill Andrews Rose. 

Hi Beautiful!

After a rough weekend and an old argument that resurfaced in our marriage, my husband and I were moving around our house like repelling magnets. When Sunday morning came, I wanted God to fix our troubles and fix me, starting with my heart. I wanted to be reminded how to love, forgive, and reconcile. I knew if I could just get to church, I’d be on the right track. So, I woke early, slipped on the clothes I’d left in a pile the night before along with the previous day's socks and tennis shoes. I ran a comb through my slightly greasy hair, brushed my teeth and cleaned last night’s mascara from around my eyes. I drove to church before 8 am and suddenly, there they were, the whole passel of overzealous, smiling greeters shaking all the church goers' hands too enthusiastically right outside the main entrance. I snickered sarcastically inside and imperceptibly shook my head. I wasn't finding a lot to be happy about and didn't feel like being greeted. Even in my grumpiness, the loud Christian music and the cheerful atmosphere started to soften my heart. I was beginning to feel the positive effects of the environment, but I purposely slipped behind the front door greeters near the main entrance and continued to walk the gauntlet towards the sanctuary reluctantly accepting well-meaning greetings and smiles.  I even shook a few outstretched hands. Inside of me there was deep sadness but inside the church there was palpable joy.  Although I was looking for healing, I was entrenched in my anger and actively resisting joy. But somehow among the many cheerful greeters, there was this one guy. He was maybe my age or a little younger, medium height, not necessarily in peak physical condition, but wearing a huge smile. He saw me coming and in a very ordinary, uncomplicated way, said, “Hi Beautiful!” I laughed out loud! He couldn’t be talking to me.

As I got closer, he reached his hand out to me. I tried to squelch my smirky grin, still amused at his "beautiful" comment. I was un-showered, unfriendly and uninterested in being greeted, but he had a sense of humor. I accepted his handshake and said, “You’re very funny, and thanks, I needed that this morning.” You see I was not and didn't feel beautiful in any capacity, but he was the hand of God reaching out to me. I don’t know who he is and couldn’t pick him out of a lineup, but he offered me exactly what I needed. Old age, marriage challenges, greasy hair, last night’s makeup and clothes, and my bitter attitude didn’t stop the love of God from reaching me this morning through a greeter who dared to say, “Hi Beautiful” to an older woman who felt unlovable and anything but beautiful. He was seeing each person who entered church as a child of God, fearfully and wonderfully made. Psalms 139:14 He was bringing God’s love to the church attendees and reaching people far from God. I’m so grateful.

 

The Ring

While it seemed we were always in a hurry, this particular morning, we were on schedule. Zach was safely in his car seat and our arrival in the drop off line of his 4-year-old pre-school would be right on time. I strapped myself in, started the Honda, put my hands on the steering wheel and prepared to back down the driveway. But something was off. Pausing to think, I looked at my hands and realized my wedding rings and birthstone ring were still on the kitchen windowsill where I left them after scrubbing the sink while our two sons ate breakfast. Andy was a second grader and had already joined his walking group to make his way to second grade at Orange Hunt Elementary School three blocks up the hill. Tom had left early that morning for the Johns’ Hopkins School of Advanced International Studies where he was working on his PhD. I needed to go get my rings.

I turned off the car and explained to Zach I was going to run back in the house and get my wedding ring. He said, “Okey Dokey” which was his normal affirmative response at the time. I was back in less than a minute with my rings on my hands and began again to back down the driveway. From the back seat I heard Zach’s sweet little voice say, “Good thing you got your rings, Mommy.” Curious about his thinking on the whole marriage concept I asked, “Why is that honey?” He said, “Without them, people wouldn’t know I was yours!”

At that moment I understood that his concept of marriage and family included permanence, ownership, belonging, safety, security, stability, and love. He wanted to be associated with me and I with him. My heart swelled. His little voice and big heart offered insight into his love for us as his family. That wedding ring connected us all for now and forever.

Just a Half Mile West of the Farm

When our sons were young, we would drive to the farm in North Dakota and spend a couple of weeks living the fabulous farm life each summer. My parents would put us up and we'd enjoy outdoor fun, tractor rides, combine rides, golf cart driving, go cart driving, picnics, family, cousins, reunions, and church. We puddle stomped on rainy days, we rode rafts on the coulee, we made forts in the trees, we walked fields, we packed lunches to take on hikes through the "time tunnel" and tall grass to magical places while our imaginations ran wild. I was inexorably compelled to make the trip each year and we made terrific memories.

My memories started early as a little girl growing up on that farm. My respect for my Dad, Uncle, Grandpas, Brother and other farmers steered me into agriculture as a career. My fascination with the beauty, productivity, and miracle of seeds developing into harvestable crops remains. The chemistry of the soils, the joy of the seasons, the dependence on the weather, the demands of technology, the teamwork, and the intuitive "art of farming" still hold me captive. 

For 25 years, while our family grew, I reserved two weeks in the fall to help with sugar beet harvest on the farm. I'd drive my truck from midnight to noon loading and unloading as many times as I could as a part of the harvest crew. It was invigorating! It was scary, fun, difficult, challenging and magical. Being on the harvest team filled me and thrilled me, and my Mom, who loved the farm even more than me, noticed.

When I'd get off my 12 hour shift at noon, Mom and I would review the progress of the crew and scout the next field that would be harvested paying special attention to the crossings where the large trucks would enter and exit. This was important as I'd be coming back to work in the dark, and loaded trucks on narrow crossings had to be managed with care. Seeing the approaches to the fields in the daylight would help me navigate my loaded semi on those crossings at night. Then Mom and I would drive on and share our stories of our truck driving and farm experiences and we'd grow even closer. One day as we came back to the farm she pointed at the beautiful cottonwood trees just a half mile west of the farm and remarked how appropriate it was that I loved the farm so much. Then her face softened even more, she smiled, almost shyly, and gently shared the following story.

When my parents were 25 years old, they had three little children (Laurie - 4 1/2, Rob - 3, and Pam 2 months) and lived on the Green Farm. They earned the right to live there as the oldest children of George and Johanna Green. They managed the farm along with Dad's sister Carol and her husband Ralph Tucker. They were young, fun and extremely busy. On a pretty evening in late May of 1957, they arranged for a baby sitter and went on their first "date" since bringing their newest baby home. The date plan was actually just a "crop tour" into St. Thomas, ND (6.5 miles away) by way of the fields they were farming, a visit with friends at the American Legion Club, a few adult beverages, and a quiet drive home. They knew that once they got home they'd need to take the baby sitter home, deal with any little ones who might still be up, clean, organize and plan for the next day. They were a little reluctant to hurry right home. The evening was delightful, warm and starry, and one of them had a twinkle in his eye. 

Mom says they stopped the car and threw a blanket onto the soft green grass under the cottonwood trees that rustled in the light evening breeze. They were just a half mile west of the farm. She said they felt like irresponsible kids, smugly delighted with their growing family, the beautiful crops, and the love they shared. She knew she couldn't get pregnant because she was still nursing her 2 month old baby Pamela. But she was wrong.

Nine months later my parents welcomed their fourth child. My sister Pam and I are Irish Twins (no offense intended to the Irish!) and proud of it. All of us kids know we were conceived in love and I appreciate (and am quite amazed) that Mom shared this story with me. 

Someday, I hope someone will toss some of my ashes out... just a half mile west of the farm. 

 

Belief

When I was in elementary school, I was a big fan of anything gymnastics. I learned to do cartwheels, back walkovers, and handstands at home with the help of my sister and Hollywood Palace, a tv talent show that featured a wide variety of performers. We would watch the show and try to imitate the gymnastics skills of the performers. We'd also sing our hearts out to be like the singers, but the gymnasts motivated me.

On one of the shows I saw a woman do a cartwheel without using her hands. I called it a "no-hand cartwheel" and would later learn that gymnasts called it an aerial. After seeing this gymnastics move performed on tv, I was determined to learn to do it. I began practicing in earnest. 

My technique was to do a cartwheel and use my hands less and less each time. I'd speed up my efforts and touch and release my hands. I'd do cartwheels over and over using my hands less and less. I'd push off harder from my supporting leg and fling my legs over my head to touch down again with out the use of my hands, if possible. I was marginally successful but believed I was making progress. I worked and worked without any coaching or a clue as to how to make it happen. 

I did all my gymnastics training in the living room and adjoining dining room of the old farm house in the evenings where I grew up. My Mom was usually in the kitchen and my Dad was often in the living room either reading the paper or watching the tv at the end of the day. He tolerated me flying by with these cartwheels landing right in front of his chair for days on end because winter in North Dakota on a farm doesn't offer a lot of options. 

On one night in the winter in my 10th year, with Dad sitting in his chair, I did it! I did the "no-hand cartwheel" without my hands! My dad looked up just in time to see it happen and gave me a big smile as I beamed with my success. I had done it! I would do it again. 

I was sweaty and tired, I had used the short carpeted runway in the living room over and over again and I had done an aerial and my Dad had witnessed it. Then Dad sent me to bed. Not sure if he was tired of watching the Tasmanian devil spin past him all night or not, but he said, "Well done, now its time for bed." 

Naturally, I fussed and whined, but I went to bed fully tired and fully pleased. 

The next day and many following days I worked at my "no-hand cartwheel." I had marginal success, but it seemed when Dad was in the room I had more success. His presence, even when he wasn't paying attention, made me try harder. I believed more in myself when he was watching and I had greater success when he was in the room. So, I began to believe that I could do the aerial if he was watching. He continued to give me positive feedback when I'd accomplish the objective. It happened more often, in fact almost always, when he was in the room. 

When my Aunt Lorraine (Mom's sister) was visiting, my Mom mentioned that I was wearing out the carpet with my attempts at a "no-hand cartwheel" and had finally learned to do it. My Aunt said, "Let's see her do it!" They called me in from playing with my cousins and asked me to show this skill. I was hopeful but lacked confidence that I'd actually be able to demonstrate this new feat. I made a couple of attempts without success. Then I got a break. 

Dad was working at the farm shop that day and at that moment he came in the back door. I was struggling to perform the aerial and said, "If Dad watches, I can do it." He smiled at me and instantly gave me confidence. The others in attendance (my cousins had come inside to see this aerial cartwheel too) were not as convinced as I had failed in a number of attempts. But as soon as I saw my Dad I knew with him watching, it would be easy for me. 

I lined up at the far end of the dining room and looked at my Dad. He gave me the look that I knew meant I was his little girl and nothing was impossible. I took the four quick steps, pushed off with my supporting right leg and made it happen! My Aunt Lorraine and cousins cheered. It was a success. Dad smiled at me, grabbed a cookie, some coffee and went back to work at the shop. 

It happened a few other times where I wanted to perform this aerial. If I had trouble, even when I was just practicing, I'd ask Dad to come watch, and I'd do it to perfection. His presence was all I needed. His presence was the manifestation of my confidence. He believed in me more than I believed in myself. He never took credit for my success, he just believed in me. I borrowed his belief and knew that his confidence in me made anything possible. 

Did I make her proud?

I could tell when she wasn't happy, I could tell when she didn't like my decisions.  I could tell when she was disappointed, but over all, did I make her proud?

When Tom and I announced our engagement, I think we shocked her a bit.  She suddenly saw what I didn't even know enough to see.  She knew that a military husband would take me away, away from everything I knew and her.  I was too in love to see that.  She saw that clearly, and in hindsight, I saw the realization in her eyes.

But she loved me and wanted me to be happy, follow my dreams and follow my love. After all, she did.  She followed her military man to Fort Knox, Kentucky during the Korean war and I know she was the sweetest little military wife in the world.  She washed and ironed his shirts to perfection, learned the ways of the Army and gave birth to my brother in a military hospital without any "help" for the pain of childbirth.  She joined her neighbors for social fun, cared for her baby girl Laurie and supported Dad.

As a military wife I didn't iron shirts.  We had a baby in a military hospital and I did it without medication, just like Mom.  We did the whole socializing bit and she loved to hear about our adventures.  I love to tell her about my military volunteer efforts and I think that made her proud. We shared the military wife gig.  She was a military wife. She was my Mom. She was. She was. I am so proud and I love because she loved me and taught me to love.
She loved with the joy of the Lord.

She loved without apology. 
She loved with the knowledge of salvation.
We shared a faith born of Love. 

 The Valentine

The dust motes floated in the sunlight that streamed in the east windows of the old farmhouse on that sunny, bitterly cold February morning. I stood on the large furnace floor grate and absorbed the warmth of the heat rising up all around me. Staring through the heat waves made everything beyond appear wavy and distorted. The grate appeared to be moving under my feet and completely captured my attention. It was a fascinating optical illusion and the warmth felt so good.  

I had just gotten dressed and eaten hot buttered toast before assuming my place on the furnace grate. It was the prime location where we kids all stood, warmed up, and waited for each other in the cold winter months.  The rising heat would fill my pant legs and force its way up my sleeves completely removing the winter chill. My feet would get so warm I'd have to step off the furnace to keep them from burning in my winter boots.  I was thoroughly warm, in fact toasty. Mom had gotten me ready for Sunday School first as I was the youngest at 6 years old. Next she would go upstairs and encourage the older kids to get out of their pajamas, get dressed, grab a bite to eat, don their coats, mittens and hats, hop in the car and off we'd go to Sunday School with Dad behind the wheel. 

But before she started up the stairs, Mom paused from her busy morning and handed me a precious little red plastic heart with conversation valentine candy inside. She was clearly occupied with tasks running through her brain but she hugged me quick and said, "This is for you. Happy Valentine's Day!" 

At first I didn't know what my Mom had given me, but through the clear plastic lid I could see colorful candies with words on them. As excited as I was at the thought of eating those sweet candies, I was more excited with the moment, the gift, and knowing it was mine. Although I knew about paper Valentines cards, I was unused to Valentine's Day gifts and was filled with gratitude and probably greed as I recognized that those candies were just for me. I'm confident Mom had a little heart with candy for each of her four kids, but in that moment, nothing existed except me, Mom and the little plastic heart loaded with sweetness. 

I can't recall if I ate a candy before Sunday School or not. In fact, I don't remember anything else about that day except how special I felt in that one moment. Mom gave me a sweet little heart that day, and since the first time my heart recognized the beat of hers, she has loved me. I'll always have that joy. 

Thanks Mom. Happy Valentine's Day.

Service and Sacrifice

In honor of my Mom and Dad on the 4th of July, I'm posting her recollections that include a recap of Dad's time serving in the US Army and more. Thanks for your service to our country, Dad and thanks for standing by him, Mom.

From my Mother's Journal.

November 4, 2011

59 years ago today (11/4/52) my husband had to leave for the army. We had been married for 6 months and were working on the farm with his mother and father. When we got the letter that he was selected we did nothing to stop the process as his uncle Floyd Green was on the committee for the war department at Cavalier and it would not look too good if we used him for an excuse. I started crying as soon as the letter came and kept right on crying ‘til he left. Grandpa George cried with me. That first night I put his work boots by my bed and grabbed one of his shirts and wore it to bed and started a letter than night. I’d write a page a night telling him all the days events. He went to Kentucky and did well as a soldier. We thought he would be coming home for Christmas, but it didn’t happen. So we wrote to each other every day and I’d be standing at the mailbox waiting for the mailman. (His name was Lowell Livingood.) Whenever there was a letter he would blink his car lights a few times and I’d jump up and down and wait. He wrote of all the stuff he was learning and doing, a lot of walking. He had a chance to go to OCS (Officers Candidate School) but some how it didn’t happen and he felt lucky after hearing about all the guys who did make it and went to the front lines in Korea. He was responsible for a lot of guys going through basic training. And then they found out he was good at typing he got the job of Ammunitions Records Clerk in an office with a nice group of men. By the time spring came around we had a little girl and she and I joined him in Kentucky. Laurie became her Daddy’s greatest follower. She would get so excited when he got home at night, and she would say, “There he is!” But it didn’t not sound like that. She would even salute him.

Every day we thought it would be our last day together as men were leaving for Korea daily. Then it was quite obvious that I was pregnant again so soon and we had a May 13^th baby boy. It was that doggone furlough in August of 1953 to combine wheat that I got pregnant again. Oh well, we love kids.

We met a lot of nice people and we seemed very happy. November 4^th, 1954, we came home to the farm. Grandpa and Gran’ma Green went to California for the winter and we took over the farm house along with El Prigge, the hired man that had been here for many years, a very nice fellow. Both he and Manvel worked at the potato plant in St. Thomas washing out spuds or tying sacks. The deep freeze was stocked full of beef and pork and we had lots of potatoes. El would help with the dishes after supper and Manvel played with Laurie and our new baby boy, Robert. We had a fun winter. We had a few people over for meals, played cards, and cribbage.

When spring came Grandpa and Grandma came home and then rented a house in Grafton before buying a home on 7^th street west (451 West 7^th Street) where they lived many years. We were not through having children. We had Pam in March of ’57 and Karen in Feb ’58. We were always lucky to have good help with the washing, ironing, vacuuming and I cuddled my babies, washed, fed and sang to them. I just loved my job of being a mother. Manvel was very helpful with dressing them for bed after baths and reading stories and a good Daddy!

The growing up years went fast. We seemed to be going to someone’s game and school programs (we enjoyed these little people very much) and loved all the activities. We were very pleased with their interests in Christian activities. Rob had perfect attendance in Sunday School. Now when I was growing up at the Lutheran Church, when you had perfect attendance for a year you got a gold tiny cross pin. But, Robert got his whole record of gold stars. He never was ill, but the girls sometimes missed because of illness. I was so proud of Rob being head of Sunday School and working so hard with young Christians. The girls did a lot of singing for church and school. Laurie and her friends had a little group that played guitars and sang called The Farmer’s Daughters. Rob enjoyed playing basketball and the last year of high school he played football. He was always needed at home after school to help on the farm. The gals all took piano lessons and now I wish that we would have had Robert take piano because he liked it so much when he got older. But, none of his buddies were interested.  At that time not very many boys were taking lessons at all. Today I’m sad over this fact. Our 4 children brought us so much joy and fun. We really had some wonderful meal talks. Manvel laid down the law that if the phone rang, the person was told they would be called back after dinner was over. It worked.

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This Christmas was difficult without Mom so I was extremely grateful for the distraction of the NDSU Bison Football.  The team had a great season and they headed into the FCS playoffs as the undefeated, favorite, returning back to back champions, and I was able to watch most of their games on TV, even here in VA.

I shouldn't admit I was trying to skip Christmas, but truth is, I was.  Without Mom, it felt empty as hers was the gift each year that caused me the most anxiety and excitement.  But, she would have wanted us to celebrate the birth of Christ and exchange gifts, so we did.  The scale was smaller, but the love was big.

As the shopping and cleaning pressed on, so did the Bison.  The team literally sprinted through the post season defeating each team in a very commanding fashion.  No one got close and the road to the National Championship game in Frisco, TX was being paved with delirious Bison fans and an amazing team as January 4th, Championship Saturday approached.  I was about to join Bison Nation.

My cousin Allen from North Dakota wondered if I was planning to attend the game, and texted me to find out.  At that time, I didn't have plans to go, but he and Lisa did and they would be taking their Ginormous Motor Home.  They offered me a spot in it for sleeping and tailgating and I decided to explore the possibilities.  The tickets to the game were expensive, the tickets to the Pep Fest were selling out and airline tickets were mostly unreasonable, except if I were to fly out of BWI (Baltimore Washington International) in Towson U's back yard.  Towson was the competition for the national championship game, and that idea offered its own unique appeal.

When Tom came looking for me that Sunday afternoon I was holed up in our bedroom re-watching the Towson and Eastern Washington game on DVR TV like a crack addict.  I asked him if I should abandon my fantasy to attend the National Championship Game in Frisco, TX.  He said, "NO, don't abandon the fantasy, GO!  This is a once in a life time opportunity!"  At that point I was giddy with excitement and started looking for tickets for real.

A couple hours later I had tickets for the game, the pep rally and flights out of BWI and an Amtrak ticket to get me to BWI and back from Fredericksburg, VA.  The stage was set!

Suddenly the Bison Migration included me and the motto, "We Roam Like it's Home" was my motto too!  The Bison were favored by 13 points so the 3-peat was very possible, in fact, barring some unexpected event, it was quite likely.  Things were going as planned.

The morning I was to depart the ground in VA was covered with fresh icy snow.  The roads had been cleared but they were icy.  Zach and I made it to the train station at 6:45 AM without any problems and my train to BWI Station was on time.  While I waited for my flight to board I talked with the Schuster family from Maryland who's son was a senior on the Towson team.  There was a spirit of cooperation and happiness on both sides as we were all sure our teams would win.  My flight arrived in Dallas Fort Worth (DFW) on time and my cousin Allen, his wife Lisa and Allen's college roommate Don picked me up and we headed for the Pep Fest.  There were 10,000+ Bison Fans in attendance on Friday night just to scream, yell, sing the school song and more.  The Gold Star Marching Band, the Governor, one Senator, the Mayor of Frisco, hundreds of returning NDSU football players, special videos, a Fargo country rock band called 32 Below, and a complete fireworks display made the night fabulous.  But the most excellent part was the crowd of best friends from NDSU.  I saw home town friends, college friends, people who knew my family, and people I didn't know at all, but we were really united in our hopes for a Bison Victory.  Everyone there was a brother, sister, friend or neighbor of someone I knew.

After the pep rally we went out to restaurants and bars that were completely taken over by NDSU.  The restaurant and pub owners completely catered to us as we came in such a Thundering Herd and apparently have a reputation of spending money on food and drink from our two previous years in Frisco at this championship game.  The barmaids, bar tenders, and waitresses were wearing Bison T-shirts!  The restaurants were decorated with Bison logos!  The specials were all about us and we really showed up.  What a night!

Then came Saturday morning and the tailgating party.  Bison faithful fans packed huge parking lots with buses, vans, pickups, motor homes, and more.  The number of Charter Buses was astounding, the number of NDSU BISON buses all painted in green and yellow was beyond my wildest dreams.  The NDSU Fan Base was all there in crazy Bison clothes, shirts, jackets, wind breakers, overalls, t-shirts, sweatshirts and goofy hats.  The place was electric.  The Gold Star Marching Band marched through the tailgating area, the Governor and Senator were posing for pictures with fans, the Alumni Association was there in full force and the whole event was fabulous.

Then came the game.  As we worked our way to the stadium from the parking lot it was obvious that NDSU fans outnumbered Towson fans by a large margin.  In fact, of the 19,802 fans in attendance, 17,000+ were from NDSU.  It was rumored that Towson's pep rally was attended by 350 fans, so it safe to say that they might have had 1000 fans at the game.  The other 1000 fans were FCS and conference devotees who were there to see the underdog win or to witness history.  It was history they got to witness.

NDSU started out slow and eventually scored the first touchdown in the first quarter.  Towson answered with 7 points of their own and we were tied for a while.  Towson looked to be holding their own for as we headed into the second quarter, but that's when the Bison opened it all the way up.  By half time we were up 21 to 7 and it finished with a Bison 3-peat National Championship victory of 35 to 7.  Powerful!  Commanding!  Awesome!  Our Bison did it again and had an undefeated season with a National Championship.  Being in that stadium during that victory was the best.  It was as if we were at home in the Fargo Dome.  We owned it from the first whistle and even won all the little silly games at halftime.  We are BisoNation and we have earned our spot in history.  I love my school.

Go Bison!  I'll never forget this experience as long as I live.


One year later....

The likelihood of winning a fourth National Championship (back to back to back to back) is small. Even the best teams try and can't repeat that many times, but it can be done. The Bison lost only one game in the 2014 football season and weren't rated #1 most of the year, but winning is a tradition at NDSU and they wanted to give themselves the shot.
With tremendous competition in the playoffs including a last minute victory over SDSU in the dome, the Bison earned their way to the FCS National Championship game again. The rival this time was Illinois State University and they had a quarterback and running back who had each made significant statements coming into the big game. Their only loss came to the same Northern Iowa team who defeated the Bison in season, so their records were the same. The Bison had to really bring it if they were going to repeat...again.
Game dame came, and I was there with my generous cousins Lisa and Allen. We had FUN with the thousands of NDSU fans at the pep rally, restaurants, clubs, tailgating and more. The stadium filled up with about 17,000 NDSU fans and about 3,000 determined fans from Illinois State U. We witnessed a game for the ages as NDSU battled to remain the champions of the FCS and win the Missouri Valley Conference. The game came down to the final minutes and through major heroics from the Bison Offense, we won! We stormed the field, collected our trophy, took pictures and cautiously peaked ahead to what would be slight (enormous!) pressure to field another championship team in the fall of 2015.
Back to Back to Back to Back! We did it! We are the BISON from North Dakota State University!

The Tie That Binds - Blessed Be!

The Tie That Binds

The dust motes floated in the sunlight that shone through the south dining room window as the winter afternoon wore on.  I couldn't wait for the older kids to come home from school that day and frankly Mom couldn't either.  I was irritating her with questions, looking for things to do, and just biding time until my three older siblings would arrive home, courtesy of our Uncle Duane Green.  I was 5 years old and at that time, kindergarten was a short summer program taught by the first grade teacher prior to first grade.  So I spent my 5 year old kindergarten year at home with my Mom as my teacher.  She was a really good one.  We enjoyed that pre-school year together but I'm not sure who enjoyed it more.

Back to School
When fall arrived the older siblings went off to school while Dad, Grandpa Green, Uncle Ralph and the farm helpers finished the harvest and field work.  Mom and I hung out together on the farm.  Naturally, I was disappointed that I couldn't go to school too, but Mom promised me we'd have fun.  I remember our laundry days, our grocery shopping outings, and the house cleaning that kept us busy.  But there were a few days that stood out and we really did have fun that year.

Our Harvest Adventure
Mom was a really amazing truck driver who loved to help with harvest and I got to ride along in her potato and sugar beet trucks for many many loads.  She followed directions, could match the speed of the harvester perfectly, could keep the moving truck in the exact right spot to get a perfect load, and back the truck into the long dark potato bin each and every time.  She was charming, fun, looked cute in her jeans and wore pretty lipstick.  She was really determined to contribute to a safe, efficient and effective harvest.  She was driven, smart, and had a sense of purpose.  She was a bit competitive and would try to gain on the other truck drivers by being accurate and consistent, while staying safe.  I loved riding in her truck.

Stan's Cafe
I remember a day when we had to go shopping in Grafton, ND about 15 miles away.  I don't recall what we were shopping for, but I remember when we finished it was near lunchtime and we were still in Grafton.  Mom suggested we should go to lunch.  I was amazed and delighted with the prospect because eating out at a restaurant, alone with my Mom, with none of the big kids in attendance was unheard of.  She said it would be our secret and I couldn't believe my luck.  I was practically holding my breath with excitement as we walked into Stan's Cafe.  The smells were amazing and it was full of people, many who knew Mom and made comments about her little lunch date.  Mom was very pretty and even then I could see the way people looked at her.  She charmed them without trying because she was very attractive and I imagined us to be quite a team of cuties. To those who asked, she smiled and explained we were just girlfriends having lunch together.  I was beaming.  We sat down in our booth and I didn't have a clue what to order.  Previously when Mom and Dad would take us all out to restaurants, I'd ask my Dad what I could order.  Dad would always say, "Anything you want, honey."  I wondered if those rules applied to "a lunch date with girlfriends."  I asked my Mom what I should order and she suggested the hot roast beef sandwich.  She knew I loved mashed potatoes with gravy, and roast beef was familiar and delicious.  I had never had a "hot roast beef sandwich" but I took her advice.  It was delicious!  It was fabulous!  My first ever girlfriend lunch with my mom (or anyone!) was incredible.  I felt like a princess.

Riding Flicka
Another shopping trip brought us back to Grafton's main street and I really wanted to ride the little horse carousel at Earl's Shoe Store.  The mini carousel was a kid ride of four horses that went in a tight circle and it was quite a thrill.  We didn't need to buy shoes that day, but I wanted to ride the horses anyway.  I asked and Mom clearly stated that the horse ride was for paying customers.  I didn't understand because I saw other kids enjoying the ride.  Mom explained that Earl, of Earl's Shoe Store, had the horses there for his customers and when we were customers we could ride.  At that point I could hardly wait until we would need Easter shoes, but Mom taught me we needed to wait. My favorite horse in the little carousel was named Flicka, and Flicka would just have to wait.

Singing at the Top of our Lungs
When Christmas time rolled around, I was Mom's shopping girlfriend and sidekick.  She had a lot of Christmas shopping to do so we made many trips to Grafton.  I believe I was properly distracted by wise sales clerks when certain items would get checked out and bagged. Other times I was sworn to secrecy. I remember one cold winter day riding home around the Auburn curve singing "City sidewalks, busy sidewalks, dressed in holiday style...in the air there's a feeling of Christmas.  Children laughing, people passing....."at the top of our lungs.  Mom knew all the words and we sounded SO good in the car.  We laughed and sang along with the radio to the next songs too.  We were girlfriends on a shopping trip and my Mom was the best "girlfriend" ever!

Robin's Four Eggs
One spring morning she explained to me that a robin was a bird with a red tummy also known as a red breast.  She explained that robins were one of the first birds we'd see in the spring on the farm as they migrated back to build their nests and raise their families.  Mom said that I should look for one.  She even said if I saw the first robin of the spring, I'd get a Snickers mini candy bar!  That got me thoroughly engaged in the lesson.  She went on to say robin's eggs were a beautiful blue and the lucky momma birds often laid four eggs in the nest, although some moms only got three.  Being the fourth child in our family of four kids, this was very exciting news for me and I considered my mother one of the lucky ones who got four babies as I smugly enjoyed that part of the lesson.  She observed my satisfied grin and added a hug at that point in this excellent science lesson.  Eventually I got so focused on finding this spring robin that I parked myself at the back porch window on a stool and waited and stared.  It was still cool outside and Mom was finishing housework.  I waited, I watched, and finally I spotted a bright red breasted robin!  I screamed with joy and Mom came running, just in time to see it by the tree, hopping along in search of food in the back yard.  She gave me a big warm hug and a smile of enormous approval.  She congratulated me on my persistence and went to retrieve the Snickers candy bar.  Victory is so sweet.

Renae's Bike
My Mom loved her family and especially her sister Lorraine in Drayton.  If the work was done or when we were finished at the laundromat, we would get to go have "coffee" with Lorraine.  Lorraine would make coffee, whip up a delicious cake, sweet bread, or cookies to go along with the coffee and visit with Mom and me.  Lorraine's youngest daughter Becky would play with me a little, but I was 5 and she was 2, so sometimes she'd need a nap while we visited.  If that was the case, I'd get to try to ride my older cousin Renae's little blue bicycle on the driveway while Mom and Lorraine visited some more.  I remember wondering if it was ok for me to be out there on the driveway by myself, but they were listening and watching me as they visited.  I think they knew when I fell into Aunt Lorraine's pretty bee filled gladiolas, and honestly it happened more than once.  I persisted and it was on Renae's little bike, while she was at school, with the bees in the hollyhocks, that I learned to ride a bike.  I'm sure Mom, Aunt Lorraine and little Becky were impressed.

Blessed Be the Tie that Binds
And then came the day that I was particularly impatient waiting for Laurie, Rob, and Pam to come home from school.  The sun shone in on the dust motes and I waited impatiently for the big kids. Mom had done all that she could to keep me entertained.  Finally, in what I remember as slight frustration on her part, she took me to the piano for a lesson.  She told me about one of Grandma Sophie Mattson's favorite hymns and proceeded to teach me to play "Blessed Be the Tie that Binds."  I learned to play it with one finger and played it for the rest of the afternoon. She taught me the words too, because they were important to Grandma Sophie.  We sang it at the top of our lungs and it was our song and is to this day.

Lessons Learned
Maybe she got more done when I was eagerly waiting to spot the robin.  Maybe she had more time with her sister while I was learning to ride my cousin's bike.  Maybe she found a moment of peace while I was practicing our song on the piano.  But I know I learned patience, respect, and love of my Lord by and through her example.

Blessings
Last night at Bible Study Fellowship we sang Blessed Be the Tie That Binds.  Naturally I thought of Mom, Grandma Sophie, Aunt Lorraine, Cousins Becky and Renae, Laurie, Robert, Pam, Dad, Uncle Ralph, Grandpa and Grandma Green, all the other cousins, aunts, uncles, and friends who share my faith. I shed a tear while singing along and then a smile of pure joy.  Thanks Mom, you were a great teacher, wonderful girlfriend, and super Mom.

Professional Tax Help Pays Big!

Our client had an unusually low payment made to his county for real estate taxes on his 1098, so I asked him about it.  He had not looked at, noticed, or even had a thought about the real estate taxes he'd paid through escrow as he had only owned his first home for just over one year, but since I look at documents like that frequently at work, I asked.  I explained that his real estate taxes were unusually low so he made a few calls to his mortgage lender and checked with his county of record.  
After an extended amount of time on hold with his mortgage lender, he learned that they had attempted to mail him a refund due to his real estate tax exempt status with the county and overpayment to escrow.  The check had been returned as "undeliverable" even though it had been sent to the proper home address.  The lender had not attempted to re-deliver the $1300.00.  They had considered their one attempt sufficient, but since my client called, they re-opened the issue and would attempt to re-deliver to the same (correct) address.  He also learned that his mortgage payment would be reduced by about $100.00 per month to reflect his correct escrow payment.
This client came into our tax office, received excellent service, a correct tax return and a $1300.00 "bonus!"
No on-line, self-filed tax return service would have found that.  Thank you Liberty Tax Service!!

...and then we left Dad at his senior apartment.

He wasn't unhappy, but he has almost always lived at the farm.  He was born in 1932 at a hospital about 9 miles from the farm.  He grew up on the farm and has been farming since he was old enough to help his Dad, my Grandpa George.  He lives to farm and farming keeps him alive.  I worry that without the farm, he won't live.

He spent a few years in the army at Fort Knox.  Mom was with him most of the time although she gave birth to baby Laurie alone in Grafton, ND right after he enlisted, and Rob was born in KY.  Dad was proud to serve in the Army and we're proud of him and his service.  His Army experience was critical to his life philosophy and the lessons learned were profound.  The army lives inside the fiber of his being in a really positive way.

He spent the better part of two winters in Fargo at a senior residence with Mom.  They were there because she needed to be near her doctors in Fargo.  He liked it there, because he wanted her to be happy and he can make the best of anything.  It was a really fancy place with people of means, who "dressed" for dinner.  He did too, because it pleased Mom and he's a social guy.  Everyone liked him there, the staff, the residents, and anyone he came in contact with.  He was happy.

In March Mom died.  We helped move Dad home to the farm and he lived there this summer, alone.  He knew it was probably his last summer at the farm.  He says he's afraid he'll fall and no one will find him for days.  He's kind of joking, but he's kind of serious.  He's not afraid, but he's actually a little afraid.  Dad's never been afraid of anything that I could see.  He's afraid of living without Mom more than he's afraid of living alone.  But, he's tough and strong and smart.  He's my dad.

Then in October, his Mom died.  Grandma Joy was 107+ and we knew it was coming.  He and I visited her a couple of times in the days just before she died.  She had suffered some mild strokes that caused her to be unresponsive.  But, she lived an amazing life and Dad loved his mommy, like we all do.  He cried and mourned the loss of his mom, like we all do.  I know, I just lost mine.

Grandma was in the nursing home attached to the senior residence apartments where Dad now lives.  He doesn't have anything to do there.  He has a TV and a number of twittering (not tweeting) old ladies who seem enamored with this new "Mr. Green."  They keep asking if he plays cards and I keep hoping he'll play. They have Tuesday and Thursday socials at lunch time, but they don't "dress" for dinner each night.  I wish they did.

So after we finished the sugarbeet harvest, we packed up his essential items.  We moved his bed, the last furniture item he needed, to his apartment.  We made enough noise so that people came by. We let the staff know he was there to stay.  We made more introductions, put the coffee pot in his kitchen, filled his sock and underwear drawers.  We hung shirts, pants, and a few jackets.  We checked his TV.  We hugged.  There were a few tears, but he's strong....and then we left Dad at his senior apartment.

When I call him, he says he's looking forward to me coming back to visit.  I wish I could.
There's no way to be in two places at once, but if I could be with Dad and Tom, I would.  I love those guys. They are my life.  My past, my present and my future. But my past is really dependent on Dad right now.  Mom and Grandma Joy are gone.

I call Dad every other day and we have conversations, he doesn't have much to say so we make small talk.  My heart breaks because he's my hero, a perfectly wonderful man with faults, flaws and yet, he's perfect for me.  He's my Dad.
I love you Dad.
You really are perfect for me.

Like a wave it hit me in... Costco.  My husband and I were walking through the store. (We're not members so buying wasn't an option.)  We had permission to look, so we looked.
We looked at TV's, blenders, wines, furniture, shirts, toothpastes, vegetables, books and more.  When we walked up to the women's vests, memories of shopping at Sam's Club in Grand Forks with Mom, Jane, Sue, and Stacey suddenly swept over me.
We would shop, laugh and try on silly Sam's Club 'road kill' vests and take pictures and laugh more (or literally snort) till we were silly.  I tried on a vest, had Tom take a picture of me and sent it to my sisters-in-law and that trigger set me off.  For the rest of the day I felt like crying for the absence of my Mom.  I cried at lunch at the Mexican restaurant in the mall with Tom, I cried in the afternoon at home and I cried on the deck as we ate our dinner.  Tom talked me through it, but crying happened and crying is sometimes ugly.
I can tell you that losing someone, a mom, is harder than you can know.  Cry.  Just cry, and then cry a little more.
Here's the deal...My Mom was amazing.  My Mom was awesome, fabulous, loving, cool, fun, pretty, kind, classy, and so much more.  She was my Mom.  Her absence is devastating.  Today was profoundly devastating.  But tomorrow I'll move on with the confidence that she gave me and convinced me I had, to do whatever I must do.  I'm my mother's daughter and she would expect me to be victorious over emotions and issues that might stop me from doing what I know she would have me do.  Succeed.  No excuses.  Go!

Back to School

The blue Honda Civic pulls down the gravel driveway.  Our youngest son enthusiastically moves away to college for his last year.  A bit of gravel dust floats in the air above the road as I stand waving till long after he's out of sight and tears push at the insides of my eyes.  Now what?

This might have been his last summer at home.  Of course we want him to graduate, get a job, find love, success, happiness, joy, community, and financial freedom.  We are, after-all, supposed to raise our children to leave us.  Right?  That's the plan, the design, the goal.

I sit on the couch with the sleeping dog at my feet inside the quiet house.  For a few minutes I feel sort of sick inside.  Its too quiet.  There really is only the sound of the mantel clock ticking and the air conditioning fan.  

And then, bam, the front door opens and he's back!  In all the packing, he has forgotten his wallet.  So he's in the house, running up the stairs to his room to find the wallet and zipping back down stairs with a smile.  He accepts my extra hug and shoots out the front door into his car.  He's gone, but he'll be back for many more hugs on many more summer days.  He just won't necessarily "live" here.  Or maybe he will.

There are job market issues for many college grads.  There are boomerang kids.   We may or may not have those issues.  But today we've said goodbye and experienced the last "back to school" event for our family.  So we hugged and waved and had another moment when the tears wouldn't stay away as the dust again floated in the air above the driveway.

He's gone again, back to school.

Perfect and Priceless

Mom's gone.  She passed away, passed on, expired, moved on, left us, ceased to exist, gone to meet her Maker, bought the farm, assumed room temperature, kicked the bucket, in a better place, pushing up daisies, singing with the angels - died.  There's no good way to say it.  And yet I forget.  In an exciting moment I'll think: "I've got to tell Mom!"  But it's actually, "I've got to tell M....."  Then Sadness.  Deep Sadness.  Shocking, paralyzing, deep, painful sadness.  She was my Mom and was perfect and priceless to me, and she's gone.

Reality requires that we must deal with death.
We must continue to live, while a big part has died.  A big part.
So we deal.
We live.

Living means dealing with the stuff left behind.  Mom is gone, but her stuff isn't.
Dad needs help so we're going up there next month to help him deal with her stuff.
It's painful to think of going through her things without her.
She has a lot of very nice things, none of which she designated to be given to a certain person.

Mom was an artist and had a lot of nice paintings.  She collected china, glassware, baskets, antiques, books and more.  She also had a lot of fine jewelry.  That's where this process gets emotional for me, but not like you might think.

Mom has already given me everything that I could ever have wanted or needed.  She loved me, taught me, believed in me, cherished me, loved who I loved even when I was weak or immature.  She coached me, honored me, waited for me, cheered me on, questioned me, held me, disciplined me, cautioned me, helped me, directed me, demanded of me what she knew I could give, grieved with me, surprised me, advised me, showed me, saw me, heard me, had patience with me, and gave me everything I could ever have needed.

But if I could have one thing of moms, it would be the pearl bracelet that our precious daughter-in-law Brittany wore when she married our son Andy last Spring.  It was Brittany's "something borrowed."  Mom let me borrow it when I married Tom too.  Dad gave it to Mom on their wedding day 61 years ago.  I would want that pearl bracelet, but not for me, for Brittany.  Its perfect and priceless in a way that's hard to describe -- just like Mom, and she's already given me everything I could possibly need.

Life and death

On a Saturday morning while I worked in our yard in VA, my brother called from ND with the news that Mom was unresponsive this morning.
Just before the airplane doors closed, my brother's text said, "they've called it."
How does a person go on living without their mom?  I'm not sure I can do that.
Mom was the pole that held the family flag, the spine from which all nerves emanated, the main stem, the theme, the force, the fire, the source. And now she's gone.
Dad has weakened dramatically since she departed on 3/30/13.  He has faded, failed, diminished, and slid.
And every day I have thoughts, questions and I just want to ask Mom.  The void is ridiculously large.  It's an ocean of space, loss, sadness.
  But she's gone.
It hurts so much worse than I imagined it would.  It hurts so bad.
Not sure what to do.

Harvest Happenings

The big trucks roll at high speeds down the 2 lane highways loaded with sugarbeets.  The drivers range from experienced CDL drivers to rookies still learning to manage the transmissions in the trucks they were introduced to only days ago.  There are more wheels under them than they've ever had before and more tons behind them than most of them can fathom.  For two weeks (or so) the 24 hour a day frenzy of people moving produce to market in North Dakota and Minnesota takes center stage to almost any other activity.   It truly takes a village to complete this harvest.  The mailman helps when he's done driving his mail route.  The barber helps after cutting hair all day.  The minister takes a shift and earns the respect of the locals and gains fodder for future sermans even though he's a less than average driver.  Family members fly "home" to support their family's farm at a time when every able bodied person supports this all out effort to complete the harvest.  The goal is to keep the sugarbeet harvestor lifting beets into the trucks.  The trucks need drivers... and that's where I come in.
I'm a farm girl and grew up driving tractors and trucks and loved every minute of it.  When I was young, I couldn't wait to get out of school to ride with my mom to watch the whole operation, whether it was grain, potato or sugarbeet harvest.  She was a pro and could drive in the fields, under the harvestor, back up the truck, raise the hoist and dump the truck wearing pretty lipstick on her smile the whole while.