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The Sad House

I glanced up into the rearview mirror and saw that my daughter in her van was slowly following me in the dim twilight. Spotting an unoccupied curb around the corner, I signaled, turned and pulled up alongside it. There were trees in front of the houses on this side of the street, but an empty parking lot across the street. I said, “This will be perfect for watching the fireworks.” to my brother who was sitting in the passenger seat. My daughter’s red van pulled up behind me.

Our small home town has a yearly celebration to recognize the many people who settled here in the late 1800’s. Earlier that day my family had enjoyed the small carnival, ethnic dancers performing on a stage in the park, a history museum, food tents and a parade. Continue reading

Land of the Brave

My daughter Niki surprised me the first time she told me her summer plans. I popped the cap off a bottle of apple ale and divided the contents between two wine glasses. Handing her one of the bubbly, sweet drinks, I asked while thinking that surely I had misunderstood, “What did you just say you wanted to do this summer?

Shifting Blaise, her one-year-old son on her lap, she accepted the glass and took a sip. She said, “Mmmm! Yummy. For our summer vacation, I want to take the children to visit a family Mike and I knew before they moved to Colorado.”

That was exactly what I had thought she’d said. The logistics of a widowed mother with eight children accomplishing the trip filled me with a mixture of dismay, worry and admiration. I questioned, “When do you want to do this?”

Niki said, “I want to fit our vacation between planting my garden and the boys and girls summer camps in July. I’m thinking we’ll start out on Father’s Day.”

“How long will you be gone?” I asked.

My daughter calmly said, “I hope to be back by Jon’s fifteenth birthday on June 29th.

After Niki and her family had gone home that evening, I wondered if as a young woman, I had ever been brave enough to do what she planned. Arnie and I had driven to Tennessee, South Dakota and other states, but we were always together and only had two daughters in the back seat.

A few weeks before the start of Niki’s planned vacation she said, “One thing worries me about the trip. If the van breaks down when I’m several states away, what will I do?”

I nodded and said, “I feel helpless when my vehicle has problems, but since I seldom drive far from home, I know people and places to call. Maybe you should enroll in the American Automobile Association. They have an emergency number that you can call for quick help, no matter where you are.”

A week before the start of Niki’s family vacation she added, “Jon wants a friend to come with us, so I will have nine passengers.

I said, “Your van will be jammed with luggage and kids.”

My daughter mused, “I wish I had shelves in the back of the van. We stack everything on top of other things and when you need something from the bottom, you upset the order. I’m bringing a lot of food. With this many people, it would be too expensive to eat every meal at a restaurant. Besides, the children are always hungry onean hour after we eat a meal.”

I said, “I suppose it is too late to have shelves put in. Maybe you could stack all the food on one side and the bags with clothing on the other side.”

Nodding, Niki said, “I’ve thought of another way to lighten the load. We will pack only enough clothing for half the trip. When we get to Colorado, we can launder what we’ve worn to be good to go for our trip back home.”

Right on schedule, Niki and the nine children left Wisconsin on Father’s Day afternoon. Since then I’ve been traveling along vicariously through her texts and pictures. Their first stop was in the Twin Cities where they visited the Minnehaha water fall and spent the night with the children’s Aunt Tami.

The children looked uncomfortably hot in the picture Niki sent from the Badlands, then wet and laughing at a fountain somewhere else. They visited the famous Wall Drugstore in South Dakota, Mount Rushmore and Crazy Horse Mountain.

Arnie and I had visited South Dakota with Niki and Tami in 1990. We had enjoyed that trip very much, but it felt good to return home to rest. When Niki called me from Cheyenne, Wyoming, she said they were having a good time, but it was the end of a long day and I thought she sounded a little tired. In the background I heard Gemma crying and calling for her.

I asked, “Niki, are you going to need a vacation after you get home from your vacation?” Niki didn’t have to answer me. I resolved right then, that I’d take all the children for a day so my brave daughter could rest when they returned home.

 

 

 

Lucky

Anne leaned forward over the minute kitten in her lap. She was trying to get it to open its mouth to suckle on the nipple of a doll-sized bottle. A silky curtain of her blond hair slid forward, obscuring my view. After a moment, my sixteen-year-old granddaughter leaned back and I saw the small calico kitten that she cradled avidly sucking on the nipple.

I asked, “Have you given the kitten a name yet?”

My granddaughter’s blue eyes glanced up at me as she answered, “Ah…no, not yet. We just call it, Baby Kitty.”

I thought, “It’s just as well that they not name it right away. The chance of this small feline surviving is very slim.” Nodding approval, I said to her, “When you do name it, think about ‘Lucky’.” Continue reading

Blessed

Damp, gray tree trunks stood out in stark contrast to the brown, winter-dead lawn. The bleakness of the cloudless spring day made me sigh wearily. Rolling to a stop at the end of the driveway, I looked both ways to check for cars before pulling out onto the road, thinking, “Early spring is depressing. Everything bad that has ever happened to me…has happened at this time of the year!”

Recurrent clinical depression had plagued my early years. Flare-ups happened more often in the spring. Doing a mental check-up, I questioned, “Is this just a down day, or the start of my going off track?” Shaking my head, I thought about Christy, my first baby who was born in early February and died two months later. My Mom and Dad both died in the springtime. Then nine years ago my husband Arnie died unexpectedly on the anniversary of Christy’s death. He was only 56 years old.

Last April my 42 year-old son-in-law died when a deer crashed through the windshield of his van as he was driving my daughter to the hospital to have their eighth child. Never expecting to share widowhood experiences with my daughter so early in her life, I’m still reeling from the randomness of this horrible loss. Niki and Mike’s children are all two years apart, newborn to age fifteen. At least when Arnie died, our children were grown and on their own.     Continue reading

Sauerkraut Dreams

Every time I woke during the night I wondered, “When I get up and look, will there be a long trickle of juice running away from the garbage can in the basement?” Behind my closed eyes I remembered mounds of crisp, white shreds of cabbage. The day before I’d had an intimate encounter with two hundred twenty five pounds of the cruciferous vegetable.

My daughter and I make a large batch of sauerkraut every other year. We slip extremely large, food-grade bags into a large metal garbage can especially purchased for this purpose. The fluid that forms when the cabbage is salted and pressed down allows fermentation to take place. Each year I fret and worry that a plastic bag leak could ruin an entire batch. Continue reading

Needing a Baby Fix

Even though my baby was in the car with me now after work, I felt frantic with anxiety. Everything felt off kilter. I hadn’t been able to cuddle Niki all day and my body ached with longing. Pulling to a stop in my driveway, I scrambled out from behind the wheel and opened the car’s back door. My six-week-old daughter contentedly gave me a big smile as I unbuckled her from the car seat. I scooped her into my arms and rushed into the house.

In the living room I sank down in my rocking chair and lifted her out of the blankets. Peace and calm settled over me the minute I put her against my left shoulder. She happily nuzzled my neck as our heart beats become one. I sighed with relief. Continue reading

Widow’s Supper

Widow’s Supper

I silently opened my back door and stepped in. The rich, delicious smell of roast beef filled the air. Stopping a moment to enjoy the scent of home and family, I glanced around. There were fourteen shoes of varying sizes scattered about on the long entryway rug.

Stepping over and around the shoes, I slowly opened the dining room door, thinking that perhaps I’d surprise my grandchildren. I found two-year-old Gemma standing near the table, looking at a small plastic figurine in her hand. Seeing me didn’t seem to surprise her. I guessed she expected me to be there and so there I was. She came for a hug. Continue reading

Devil or Angel?

I staggered into my daughter’s kitchen balancing a stack of gift-wrapped presents. Perched at the very top was a small brown paper sack. As I turned to set them down onto a kitchen cupboard, the bag began to slide. I stopped its rapid decent by using my right elbow to clamp it against my side. Hanging sideways, the sack disgorged an avocado and three tomatoes. They gracefully rolled out onto the counter without a single bruise. Continue reading