Thankful to be a Child of the 70s: Round 2

The 1970s don't get enough credit, so I'm here again this Thanksgiving to point out some of my childhood favorites. To read last year's piece, click here.

My Room Decor

graphic from http://mama-ilse.typepad.com

When Grandma Katie was put in the nursing home, Mom redecorated the downstairs bedroom for me. Dad purchased a single bed from an auction at neighbor Pauly Walter's. Read about him here and read about Grandma Katie here.

Mom bought a Holly Hobbie bedspread and matching window shades. This was the first bedroom that I remember calling mine. Prior to that, I slept in the living room. A crib was in there, and when I got older, I slept on the pull-out love seat because I was too chicken to sleep alone upstairs.

It was in this decorated room that I developed my fear of lightning storms and Big Foot. Long story.

My First Record Album

picture from http://www.denverpost.com

I bought a 45 of the Carpenter's "Top of the World" hit at the Ben Franklin store in Huron one Saturday morning. Mom had given me two bucks spending money while she got her hair done.

A few years ago, I bought a Carpenter's greatest hits album and loaded it on my iPod. When I played the song in preparation for this post, I remembered almost every word.

If someone had told me to write down the lyrics, I'm not sure I could have. But the memories flooded back upon hearing the music. Funny how the brain works. Click here to hear the lyrics. 

For those that don't know, the brother-sister duo of Richard and Karen Carpenter were known for the harmonic tunes. Karen Carpenter died in 1983 with complications due to anorexia. Read more about that here and here. It was during the 80s, my high school years, when eating disorders became a topic of public concern. The Denver Post ran a book review piece about the Karen Carpenter story. Click here to read it.

A Candy My Family Liked

picture from https://s-media

The combination of chocolate and caramel was found in a Rothchild's nugget. The tasty tidbit is similar to a Rolo.

The company's marketing campaign including a silly saying performed in a British accent. Click here and here for a couple of those commercials. I know, corny, but catchy.

My dad and brother Elliott would often repeat the famous line, "Not now, I'm right in the middle of a Rothchild's" to anyone they talked to. They even answered the phone that way sometimes. Read more about my brother's antics here.

The Rothchild's saying lightened anyone's mood. I wish this candy was still around. Don't know what happened to it. Or the Marathon Bar. Or Freshen-Up gum. Or Melody Pops, the sucker with a whistle.

A Favorite Saturday Morning Show

picture from http://www.sheknows.com

The time travel show, "The Land of the Lost," started in the 70s, not the early 90s when Hollywood attempted a re-make. I never watched it; maybe I should have. Watch a trailer of the 1970s version here.

The graphics? My goodness. So fake. But back then I didn't care. I liked the story line, or should I say, the older brother.

The music? Too upbeat for what happened to this family.

My husband Chris says the Sleestak creatures still give him the creeps. You can see the critters here in the entire first episode.



What memories do you have of these 70s icons? For my younger readers, feel free to critique my child-of-the-70s favorites.

His CB Handle was the Auditor

Veteran's Day is special in my family, but not for the usual reason. It's my brother Elliott's birthday. 

He was college-aged by the time I was born. And my sisters were young teenagers.

When he moved home to farm with Dad in April 1971, he lived less than two miles away from the home place. I was 5-years-old then.

Elliott is the one sibling who saw me almost every day of my growing up years—unlike my sisters who came and went throughout their adult years.

May Elliott's wife, five children, and thirteen grandchildren enjoy these memories from his three little sisters.

Tidbits from Childhood 

Priscilla's said 

Elliott kept the Sunday bulletins. He stored them in cigar boxes in his bedroom. He collected the eraser end of pencils. He drowned out gophers by pouring buckets of water down the hole.

Brenda said

When Mom & Dad would leave us kids home alone for a few hours, Elliott and I tended to pick on Priscilla, the middle child. Guess we got away with it because she never fought back.

 Melodie said

My earliest memory of Elliott is when he and his fiance came home and gave me a doll. I have no memories of Elliott without Doris, his wife. I turned four a few days before their wedding. I wrote about that in this post.

Doris and I were in a roll-over car accident before they had any children. As Dad made phone calls to authorities about it, Doris cooked lunch, and I sat in Elliott's lap with my arms wrapped around his neck. I can still see our reflection in the glass of the china closet in the dining room.

That's the tender moment I remember with my brother, 20 years my senior. Soon after he had his own children to provide affection to. 

Elliott, a Tabor College graduate, congratulated by sisters Brenda & Priscilla

Farm Work

Brenda said

I would drive the small tractor, and as I slowly drove past each bale in the field, he would use two hooks to hoist those heavy alfalfa bales onto a flat wooden pallet of sorts called the stone boat. Strange name, but Dad confirmed that's what they called it. After a full load, the bales were placed on a conveyor and sent put into the barn loft. Elliott worked up a sweat stacking those heavy bales.

Priscilla said

I would drive the tractor when we made bales. When, not if, I would plug the baler, the bale hook Elliott had in his hand would go into the air. I don't remember what he would yell.

Melodie said

I too have have memories of Elliott's yelling at the hogs or cattle. He never cussed. Never. Instead, he made up his own crazy words when he was mad—especially at the hogs. Things like, "You stupid, flyswatter, snot-driven, pan of no-good slime." That wasn't exactly what he said, but it would be crazy nonsense like that.

At top: Elliott's birthday in 1971 with me on his lap. Bottom: Elliott in July 2015.

A Numbers Guy 

Brenda said

Elliott was and is such a math wiz. He'd try to help me, but I think he had a hard time coming down to my level of understanding.

Melodie said

I earned good grades in high school algebra and geometry because Elliott and Dad would take turns yelling at me. I say that light-hardheartedly because they both just talked loud. I'd hear, "It's just like the other problem. Do the same thing!”

Or if a new concept emerged, Elliott would say, "Do it like the teacher did in class? He showed you, didn't he?" And yes, Mr. Frank Podraza showed us.

the family, long before me (not sure who the fella is in the back)

Games 

Melodie said

Playing Scrabble with Elliott is a maddening endeavor. He uses words that no one knows and is able to put them going vertically and horizontally—and they all match up as words!

Elliott has always been academic minded. He's well-read, loves a pun and a play-of-words. Mom was always proud of her son who could tell a joke and never ruin the punchline.

Do your siblings have any quirky childhood collections like my brother? Any games you avoid with them because they are too good?

9 years with my match.com man

To recognize nine years of marriage this past October 21, I reflect on what's made my first-married-at-forty marriage work.

One 

Do simple things together. Take a walk. Share a hobby. Go shopping. Eat meals together. We pick a series on Netflix or on television and watch it faithfully. It's a free date if you're at home and your hubby likes your cooking, but don't talk too much during the show. I tend to do that. Chris figures stuff out and gives it away. He's got bruises on his arm from his daughter Brittany for doing that.

Two 

Make desserts for no reason. My mom only made cakes for special events, so I don't know how I figured out this one. My husband and I both have a sweet tooth.

Three 

Let him have his money and you have yours. I know, very non-Dave Ramsey. But when two people get married at 40, this is one thing you don't want to argue about.

Early in our marriage, I got Chris to agree that if we spent more than $200 on anything other than food or clothing, that the other person should be consulted first. This came about after he walked out of Best Buy and told me that my birthday present to him would be to pay for half of a camera that he just bought. I did it, but that didn't go over too well with me, thus came the rule.

Four 
Each spouse needs and deserves a hobby that doesn't involve the other person. You can support each other and agree to help finance it, but let the person enjoy it. Making one feel guilty about it will only lead to resentment.

I learned this the hard way when I accused Chris of loving landscaping more than spending time with me. I'm so over that. And now I have a nice backyard to enjoy. A hobby makes life better and makes work time more enjoyable because you've gotten to do something fun during the off-hours.

I enjoy going with Chris on his photo shoots once in awhile, but I don't like to go every time. In return, he's hauled me to a writing event in Kansas City and will do so again soon. View the hobby as that person's outlet—not as a way to be away from you.

Five 
Have a sense of humor. This is why I fell in love with Chris to begin with. He made me laugh. He can usually get me out of a funk when I'm a grump.

Six 

Keep short accounts. Say I'm sorry but more importantly, ask for forgiveness. And say it again. Even if you think the other person never says it. I know, it's hard not to keep track.

Seven 

Ask first when doing something out of the ordinary regarding your hobby. Sometimes your spouse can point out a concern you don't see. It's not to hurt you. It's to protect you.

Eight 

Attend each others' family events. Know that the time together won't be like the time at your family's. At my brother Elliott's place, we always play table games and get competitive. At my mother-in-law's, we visit, eat, read, watch television, and play on our devices. That's just the way it is, and it doesn't bother a soul. The point is that we are with Mom. It took me a couple Thanksgivings to understand this is how the Harris clan operates.

Nine 

Greet with a kiss and leave with a kiss. A little peck will do just fine. When departing, always say I love you. Let your children see and hear this. I saw my parents kiss only a couple of times in my life. Different generation, I guess. It warms my heart when I hear and see my step-daughter Brittany do this with her husband Nathaniel.

Closing Thoughts
I know my friends thought I was nuts to get engaged to a guy I only knew for two weeks—let alone a guy I met on the Internet, and I wouldn't advise it for younger people. Ironically, my family never questioned me once—at least not to my face. But I think everyone that knows Chris would agree that I done good. 

Took me long enough, but I done good.

What makes your relationships or friendships last? How do you manage the give and take? Anything you've learned the hard way?

The Scariest Place in an Old Farmhouse

Our farm house cellar was a place of dread for me. Damp, dark, pungent. Cracks in the foundation floor. I didn’t dread it for those reasons though. I feared the salamanders under the wooden stairs.

Mom would tell me to get a jar of pickles, canned pears or peaches, or sometimes a few more eggs. I’d whine that I was scared of the salamanders. They might run up my leg, bite my toes, or hiss at me, I thought.

Mom would hear none of that. “Those buggers are more scared of you than you are of them. Just go real fast and they’ll run away.”

And they would. Every time.

But I still didn’t like doing it. 

Funny how the daddy longlegs that lived among the pots and pans and the store-bought canned goods in the stairway on the way down never bothered me.

That cellar, stench and all, still exists. The hot water heater is down there, and my dad put a water distiller in there years ago. One time he had jugs of extra water all over the place.

The room carries a wet-earth odor. A small screened window to the east lets in light along with a single light bulb. Maybe Mom had a board she’d put up there in a big rain storm to keep it from flooding, but I don't remember. In the South Dakota winters, Dad would pile straw bails in front of it.

The cellar houses a couple old wooden chairs and some makeshift wooden shelves for all the home canned goods. In the middle of the room are a couple poles with a table top. It is taller than counter height. Mom kept her canning supplies on it with the cleaned out jars.

I remember only one time taking cover in that basement, ah, I mean cellar, during a storm.

I was already teaching in Kansas, but was home for the summer. My sister Priscilla and her daughter Angela were up for a visit when Dad came in yelling, “You guys take cover. Get in the basement.” Then he headed back outside.

After Mom questioned where he was going, he hollered, “I’m going driving. Gotta see what’s coming around the trees.”

Typical.

We grabbed our purses, a couple of blankets, and Grandma Katie’s old transistor radio and headed to the cellar. I wasn’t concerned about any salamanders then.

We hadn’t been down there very long when a loud bang startled us.

“That’s the front door,” Mom said. “Wind must have blown it open. It’s banging back and forth now.”

Angela mentioned our family dog, Jupiter, our black and white cocker spaniel who showed up one July day in 1994 after a comet hit the planet, thus the name.

“She’s in with the boars,” Mom assured Angela.

The door kept banging, so I said I’d go up and shut it and come right back. Neither Mom nor Priscilla protested, and I don’t remember being scared to do it. After all, my dad was out in this. It was just a terrible wind, right?

I think this was the storm that my brother Elliott, his wife Doris, and daughter Suzanne stood by one of their kitchen windows and watched an old hog barn (which as little kids, we’d dubbed the Laura Ingalls Wilder playhouse), roll back and forth towards the house. If it wasn’t this storm, then it must have been another one. That building never did hit their house or vehicle, but it rolled itself out of existence and ended up as a pile of boards.

Back at our place, I was able to close the outside door and return to the cellar unharmed. When it was all over, I don’t recall any major damage to our farm.

A few years ago, the family was talking about Dad's cellar, and Angela, now a full-grown adult with a family of her own, remembered the evening we took cover. She said she was so scared. Not of the storm. Not of any salamanders. Not of the creepiness of the place, but of losing me.

She said that she thought she’d never see me again when I went up those stairs to close that door. She described her feelings so vividly. She'd never told me that.
 
Salamanders or storms, I’ve never spent much time in that cellar.

But my Grandma Elizabeth did when my two older sisters were little—just enough time for Priscilla to cut Brenda’s hair while Grandma was down there sorting eggs.
 
Oh, if those cellar walls could talk.


Do you remember a room from your childhood home that gave you the heebie-jeebies? What about now? Is there a place that gives you the willies?

Piece of Furniture Finds its Forever Home

A piece of furniture that used to hold oil cans in my dad's garage now sets inside my house.

It's filled with books, items from my childhood, and other things I packed away in tubs when I needed to make room for a husband and step-daughter.

My crafty friend Valerie Shellhammer helped me refurbish this jewel.

at home in the house

When my brother-in-law Jeff saw it earlier this summer, he said, "It was a pie safe." He pointed to the screens on the top doors. "Flies wouldn't get in the pies that way," he added.

So that's what I'm calling it. The pie-safe bookcase.

Here's its story.

Dad said, "Are you sure you want that thing? It's really oily." 

I did. I had magazine pictures from years ago of what I wanted to turn it into. 

Dad didn't know that as a little girl, I had an entire plan of how to turn that yucky garage into a studio apartment. That bookcase was a key component of the design.

Yes, I have quite the imagination. Maybe when I'm 90 like he is, and if the garage is still standing, I'll renovate that garage into cottage I dreamed it could be.

Anyway, he let me have this cabinet, and that's when I learned there were doors for it. The top had that chicken wire, but the bottom doors were solid. Dad cleared out his stuff and packed it up for the trip from South Dakota to Kansas.

My brother-in-law Rick used my brother Elliott's pick-up to haul it down here. He brought a couple more items from the farm too.

The bookcase, a two-piece outfit, sat in my shed except for the times I took it out to scrape it.

I remember my friend and colleague Tim Hiebert bringing me, a relatively new home owner, a weed eater he'd picked up from a garage sale. That was somewhere in the mid to late '90s on Labor Day weekend.

Why do I remember that? Because he startled me when he walked into the backyard while I was scraping it. Tim said it looked like I had my work cut out for me.

And I remember the weekend because I thought I could get the thing completely scraped and done in a few days.

Work it was. Lots of elbow grease. 

What I found underneath was shocking. 

Red. Red paint.

Grandma Elizabeth, who no doubt had this in her house, must have painted it red. (Read "Namesake" by clicking here to know more about her.) Oil also seemed to seep from one corner. 

I decided I'd better measure the thing. It was too tall for my house­—if I was going to use both parts. I have low seven-foot ceilings, and this thing was nearly 10 feet tall.

My dream project went back in the shed to be infested with wasp hives and bird poop. Not much different than its life on the farm in the garage.

That was around 15 years ago.

After I got married in 2006, we moved the bookcase from the shed to our newly built garage, so the bookcase got cleaned up a bit for that. It stored lots of stuff on its open shelves with the doors setting on top collecting spiders. I still had dreams of it being inside the house some day though.

One summer my husband Chris bought me a hand sander, so I could use electric power to continue to clean up the thing. It worked. I went through a lot of sandpaper, but it worked.

A couple more years passed.

Brittany moved on to college and then out on her own. Her teenage room got redesigned back into a guest room. Here was my chance to get that thing in the house.

Valerie and I checked out vintage stores in Wichita for ideas. She snapped pictures. I bought paint. We had good intentions. But life happened.

And so it remained.

In the garage storing golf balls, flower vases, sander equipment, old yearbooks—not what I had envisioned for the thing years ago.

One day, Valerie said, "Let's get your bookcase done.

So on November 6, 2014, our first cold day of the fall season, we painted it with white chalk paint in the garage.

My husband had to cut off about two-and-half inches from the bottom, so it would fit in the house when finished.

Val finished up the doors at home.

Months pass.

Then finally in May, the entire thing was done. We put some sort of glaze on it. Smooth surface now.

Val found new hinges, but we saved the original clasps.

Oh, if those clasps could tell me the hands that have touched it throughout the years.

Finally, my dream piece had its new home inside the house.

I had fun arranging the items in it on my first full day of summer vacation. It took me all afternoon, but I wanted to make it look inviting to the point that if you came to my house, you'd love snooping around in the thing.

You'd figure out a lot about me through the book titles, the cups filled with bookmarks, the newspaper clippings and pictures arranged in boxes by year or topic. If my memory ever starts to fade, this will be my go-to place.

Sentimental me sure enjoys going in there, pulling out a box, reading through old notes.

After 26 years of teaching, I have a lot of notes from students—and I believe I have kept every one.

My Cousin Cynthia gave me Aunt Mary Ruth's notes from the state quilt she made me when she finished the embroidery squares that Mom had started. Precious to see her handwriting and planning.

Letters from my sister-in-law Doris when I first attended college. I've always loved her fancy cursive writing. And letters from Mom too. Kept in the envelopes with the dates stamped on them.

Notes from college pals. Homemade cards from my eight nieces and nephews who are now all adults. The vocabulary list of a made-up language my niece Jessica and I tried to invent one summer.

Notes from Steve Elliott and his mom about how thankful they were for the connections we made while I student taught at Halstead the fall of 1988. I would not have stayed with teaching if it wasn't for Steve, but that's a story for another post.

Material things. Yes. But things from events, students, and people that matter. This bookcase keeps them safe. Just like it did Grandma's pies.


Have you ever taken on a project that spanned two decades to complete? Have any items from an earlier time that you wished could be at your fingertips? Any family heirlooms in your home?

9 Tidbits About Stella, born June 28, 1925

Mom would be 90-years-old this June 28. She died over ten years ago. As a tribute, I decided to share nine things about her. My siblings grew up in a different decade, so I enlisted their help along with Dad’s.

One: her family

Mom's dad died when she was 14-years-old. My mom was the youngest of three daughters. Grandma Katie moved Mom and her sister Bina from the farm into Doland after an auction. Her sister Grace was already married to Johnny. Dad told me a lot more about the death of Jacob B, my grandpa on my mom’s side, and the financial hardship it caused my mom’s family in 1940, but that’s for another post.

While still in high school, Mom served as a waitress at the café. After high school she earned a desk job at Northwestern Public Service also in Doland. Ironically, my oldest sister Priscilla held a similar job in Huron years later.

Two: her school years

Mom won the spelling bee when she was in elementary school. One time when we were out in public, Mom had me look over at a woman across the room and then said, "That's the one who slapped my hand with a ruler." Seems Mom got in trouble or the teacher was super strict.

Three: her marriage

Mom was 19 when she married Dad. For more details about their wedding click here to read "What I Never knew about my Parents' Wedding." Mom was instrumental in Dad’s decision to follow the Lord once and for all, but again, that’s a story for another post.

Four: her first-born

My brother Elliott was around four-years-old when he went out to do chores with Mom one time. A barrel with pig slop in it caught his eye while Mom gathered chicken eggs.

Little Elliott, knowing how they’d dip a bucket in there to feed the hogs, decided to take a look, but he bent over the barrel too far and fell in—only not all the way. His head was buried in pig slot. Mom came around the corner and saw only his feet sticking out. Who knows how long he was like that.

Elliott said the next thing he remembers is walking to the house beside her. Mom saved my brother's life that day.

Five: a seamstress

Brenda, my sister, wrote this passage: 

Mom didn't do a lot of sewing, but she made matching dresses for Priscilla and me when we were in first grade. We wore them for school pictures. I wore those pop beads that looked like a string of pearls. That was always my favorite school picture.

I wish Mom would have sewn more dresses, but she had Dad's jeans to patch. That was a never-ending job with a pile always awaiting repair. My hubby teases me about how much money we would save if I could patch his jeans, for I do not sew. I only fix buttons.

I did learn to iron though, by pressing pillowcases and Dad's hankies. To prepare for the task, Mom had a sprinkler bottle filled with water that we would shake over each washed and dried article. We'd then roll the items up and snuggle them in one large laundry basket. The basket was wooden—not the plastic kind of today.

Six: her Saturday routine

Priscilla said Saturdays were for cleaning. “The kitchen floor got washed and waxed. We did it on our knees with a rag—not standing up with a mop handle in our hands. Then in the evening she made sure we did our Sunday school lesson.”

The girls enjoyed tea and homemade buns with Mom when they were done with chores. They'd use Mom's blue tea pot, an item that set around just for looks when I was a kid.

Seven: tutor to her children

Mom helped my sisters study for tests when they were in grade school. Brenda said Mom sat in the black leather chair in the dining room and asked questions. (This was that black chair I wrote about in “Mom’s Pestering Pays Off” and "Easter Tidbits” click here and then here). Priscilla said Mom would write out questions, like making up a paper/pencil test, then they would need to fill in the answers.

Eight: the field work

Mom preferred fieldwork to housework, so Brenda performed the chicken chores, and she said she must have prepared the meals. Priscilla said Mom had special field work attire: shorts that came to the knee, a sleeveless blouse, and a cap. “She’d grab an apple for lunch and would stay in the field until it was done,” Pris said.

Nine: trips to Huron

Priscilla remembered shopping at Farmer's Market for groceries. And Brenda recalled fond memories after piano lessons in Huron. “Afterwards, Mom would take Priscilla and me to the Double H to get a cone. Mom always ordered banana ice cream,” Brenda said.

Final Thoughts

It seems like Mom has missed more than ten birthdays on this earth. Each year it gets a little easier thinking about her on that day, for I know if she could, she wouldn't want to leave her heavenly home. But that doesn't make me miss her any less.



What childhood routines do you remember with a loved one? Do you have any relatives that did men's work and women's? How have your Saturday routines changed since childhood?

Easter Tidbits

It's Easter. Here's a lighthearted look into what popped into my mind for each letter of the holiday. Then, find my spiritual perspective of the letters.

E - Energizer Bunny

Makes me think of Ashley Graf, a former student and basketball player of mine. She never got tired. Coach Randy Weber nicknamed her Pink. I ran into Ashley on Good Friday. All grown-up, married with hubby and three kids, and living nearby me. Here’s their uprooted tree from the storm a couple days ago. 

Ashley's tree

A - April

It hosts Easter, at least for this year. Always a fun month. Lots of family birthdays. A new one soon: my step-daughter's baby Jack Von Schmidt. He hasn't arrived yet at the writing of this post.

S - Spring

Storms and showers and little flowers. Here's a picture of what the recent storm almost slammed into the front of our house. Ironically, that tall Chinese elm was scheduled to come down this weekend along with two others. Its last deed: to protect us.

Monte's cedar tree ended up in our tree

T - Trees Bud

The red buds. The crab apple. All signs of new life. Maybe I like spring after all. Click here to read why I didn't. Then click here to read how my heart and mind have changed.

E - Eggs

The ones that get a colored bath. My older sisters tell me that Mom loved coloring Easter eggs. I don't think she did it much with me. I only remember spreading out the funny paper on the kitchen table. You feel sad for me, don't you? No worries. I'll make sure Jack Von gets to color eggs, so maybe I'll learn how.

R - Relatives

My brother Elliott and his wife Doris gave me a pretty stuffed rabbit one year. Cream and mint green. Wish I had a picture of it. Speaking of Elliott, Mom always bought him a large solid chocolate rabbit. Even as a married man with five children, Mom gave him a rabbit. Sweet gift for her first born.

Now for My Christian Perspective on Easter

E - Eternal Life

In heaven with Christ. What we gain by accepting Him as our Savior. This is a choice. It's a gift, a free one.

A - Arose

What Christ did. I hear the harmonic voices from my childhood church singing the old hymn, "Up From the Grave He Arose." Click here to hear the hymn. I find it hard to sing it now without tearing up—just like my sister Brenda will when she reads this and then listens. If hymns do nothing for you, how about the modern version? Click here.

S – Salvation

I received it when I accepted Christ as a little girl. I sat in the black chair in the dining room by the east window and asked Jesus into my heart. My sister Brenda said she was there with me, but I don’t remember that part. In jr. high and then again in college, I rededicated my life to Him. I cannot imagine not having that peace.

where I sat when I accepted Christ: the black chair in the dining room

T - Tom Macy

My former pastor from my early adulthood who now preaches in Indianapolis. Such a scholar. It was rare if he did not preach with references to the Greek and Hebrew and connect the Old with New Testament. He knew how to apply Biblical truths to modern day life. To read Pastor Macy's blog, click here. To hear him preach, click here.

E - Ebenezer Church

My childhood church in rural Doland, South Dakota, whose faithful attendees help teach me about Christ and the Bible. They were the same people on Sunday as they were throughout the week. To read about one such person, also a relative of mine, click here. To read about my VBS days there, click here.

my childhood church, Ebenezer

R - Resurrection

The miracle of Jesus' resurrection is the common bond between Christian religions. I know we debate, argue, and even cause church splits about so many interpretations of passages and religious practices. But I think the bottom line is this: Jesus was born of a virgin, fully man and fully God, was tempted in all ways yet lived a sinless life, was crucified, died, and rose again. All this for our sins. On those, I think Catholics and Protestants agree.

Final Thoughts

For those who prefer an intellectual read on the topic, try Seeking Allah, Finding Jesus by Nabeel Qureshi. You may find the answers you need from a historical perspective and from a man who was a practicing Muslim. He risked his life to become a Christian.

Happy Easter. What are some of your Easter memories, secular or religious? What emerges in your heart and mind during this holiday?

Writer's Note: next week welcome again my friend Amy Wallace who shares another Circle of Life story. Click here to read her first one.

 

Old Age Creeps in at 70-80-90 Years of Age

I know he won't say it aloud, but now that Dad has turned 90—he did so on Christmas Eve— he'll aim for 100 just to say he made it. That’s how he is.

What follows is the last of three installments about my dad’s life. This farmer from east central South Dakota experienced even more change from 1984 to 2014. These decades serve as the empty nest years in more ways than one.

For the previous 30 years, click here. For the first three decades of his life, click here.

Part III: The Past 30 Years

Senior Citizen: 1984-1994, Decade #7

The Berlin Wall falls in 1989 

Life was busy. Dad and my brother Elliott purchased a four-wheel drive tractor and the large equipment to go with it. And he kept buying riding lawn mowers for Mom. Those mechanisms were frequent irritations to my cousin Wilmer Kleinsasser, my Aunt Mary's son, who was Dad's hired man during these days. The mowers, from Snapper to Dixon to Lawn-Boy, seemed to always break down.

Come to think of it, I have never seen my dad mow the yard. And when I see my brother do it now, it just doesn’t look right. Mowing was woman’s work on our farm. Men were busy enough with cattle, hogs, and working the land that was owned and rented.

Half-century celebrations occurred during this decade for my parents: their 50th high school reunion in 1992 and their 50th wedding anniversary in 1994.

50th Wedding Anniversary: A Family Portrait

Dad bought a cell phone—in a bag! It came in handy after the CB craze from the 70s was over. Being 22 miles from our main shopping town required a call home to see if the men needed any parts, for it wasn’t just the mower that would break down. When I had a car for my last couple years at college, the bag phone traveled with me to Hillsboro, Kansas, and then I’d mail it home for five bucks.

the bag phone

Thus began the empty nest years with me at college. Dad and Mom, for the 40 years of their married life, had never been alone in the house. Grandma Elizabeth was still alive when they first married, and then came the four kids—spread out over four decades. Farm work and following their grandchildren’s school and church activities kept them busy.

Aging Bodies: 1994-2004, Decade #8

Terrorist Attacks in 2001 

Old age sets in with two successful knee replacement surgeries for Dad, but Mom’s health declined after she had hers. Elliott took over the farm since Dad’s job was to take care of Mom.

with Dad after one of his knee surgeries

He spent five years of this decade driving 44 miles round trip to visit her daily while she was in the nursing home, assisted living, and then back to the nursing home again. He only missed a couple days in five years due to the weather.

That’s what in sickness and health means, and all of the nurses and aids at the Huron Nursing Home saw it.

Then our country changed forever while Dad was eating breakfast the morning of September 11, 2001. He turned on the TV just in time to see the second plane hit the World Trade Center.

In April of 2004 with Mom in the nursing home, they celebrated 60 years of marriage.

clockwise: wedding, young married life, 50th anniversary, 60th anniversary

Alone, but not Lonely: 2004-2014, Decade #9

Independence & Freedom

Life without a wife began on January 2, 2005 when Stella, my mom, died. Dad had to learn how to cook and do laundry.

Later that year, Dad got Dish TV installed—a far cry from the first set in 1957. Seems the news and religious programming are his hobbies now along with texting on his phone. Yes, my 90-year-old father texts. And he taught me how to operate the remote when I got satellite TV after he did.

Area farms disbanded, so Dad was alone out in the country after my brother and his wife, empty nesters now too, moved to town. Almost every other neighbor did too. But Dad didn’t budge. That house he lives in, it’s the site of his birth. His home. And so is the farm. He’s not moving.

Early in this decade though, it saddened me to go home—not just because Mom was gone, but there was no activity with farm equipment and livestock like my childhood years. The men began to tidy up.

Dad inside Elliott & Doris' demolished kitchen

 
They tore down old buildings on my brother’s place, the farm Dad bought in the early 70s. My nephew Michael, who lives in Colorado, along with his brother-in-law Erik helped dismantle the place and burn down the house. All that remains there is that sheep barn I wrote about in last week’s post. Dad began tearing apart metal and hauling it to town for cash.

Dad's scrap metal project

On the main place where Dad lives, hog barns have been torn down and the feed lot removed. Just that 1954 granary, the cow barn that was re-sided in the ‘90s, the Butler building, the Harvestors, the silos, the grain bins, and dad’s house remain. No livestock.

Sounds pretty empty, doesn’t it? But it’s not. Dad’s not alone there anymore. He’s got a new view from his kitchen window.

views of the farm ~ Evelynn & Erik's house in lower right

His oldest granddaughter Evelynn and her Pennsylvania-raised husband Erik and their children live just a stone’s throw away on the same yard. Now there’s the hustle and bustle of farm equipment, an organized shop in the Butler building, and little kids running around. They get to grow up where I did.

Yes, the complexion of the farm is changing once again, and Dad’s around to witness it.

The Golden Years: 2014-present, Decade #10

The Future 

My dad, Waldo. A dreamer. A life-longer learner. A Child of God. His motto: we don’t know what tomorrow holds, but for those who know Christ, we know who holds our tomorrows.

For that upbringing, his good health, and vivid memories, I am grateful.

celebrating one of Dad's Christmas Eve birthdays

celebrating again, only on this picture, Dad is 90-years and 1-day old

Who are the loved ones in your life that you could talk to about the changes they've seen in their lifetime? What could you do to honor their memories and record it for generations to come?