Archives

Unseen Blessings

Aug21
July 24th 2024, off the shore of New Hampshire, a whale breached, and landed on a 23-foot fishing boat. Two people were thrown from the boat as it capsized. They were quickly rescued.

My daughter stood at the door of the adorable 1920-era bungalow, watching my sister Agnes and me buttoning our coats. The sky was heavily clouded, so the shadowed rooms inside our Airbnb house made us feel like it was earlier in the morning than it really was. Tammie stated, “We need to leave now, if we want to get to Pier 69 in time to go whale watching.”

A slow-moving train made us stop and wait while trying to find a place for us to park. After finding a parking spot in a nearby car ramp, we then had to walk across the railroad tracks. Another train was going through, making us wait some more. We could see the wharf and the boat we would be spending several hours aboard through the gaps between train cars. I nervously glanced at my watch. Tammie assured me, “We’ll get there on time.” There were half a dozen other people waiting with us for the train to pass. I nodded. The only place they could be going was Pier 69, and a tour boat wouldn’t leave so many people behind.

Light rain spattered down from the gray blanket of clouds overhead as we boarded. A cold wind whipped around us. With a shiver, I commented, “Let’s hope there’ll be seating in the enclosed part of the boat. It’s hard to believe that the Midwest is having hot and humid weather this week. I’ve been slightly chilly ever since we arrived in Seattle a couple days ago.”

Most of the seating options on the San Juan Clipper that day were within cabins on two different decks. People who didn’t want protection from the cold wind and possible rain could sit on the open top deck. My sister wondered, “Do you think weather affects a whale watch?”

I answered, “I was wondering that myself. We’ll just have to wait and see. The tour promises guaranteed whale sightings. They have a 97% success rating.”

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Home Sweet Bungalow

Aug14

My daughter Tammie stopped the rental car, and announced, “Here’s the house we will be staying in while visiting Seattle.” I scanned the row of houses lining the street. They were all older homes tightly embraced by shrubs, flowers and bushes that had been planted around them many years ago. The houses looked messy, but cozy, like happy, comfortable homes.

“Which house?” My sister, Agnes inquired from the backseat of our vehicle, a Grand Cherokee Jeep. Tammie motioned to the house alongside the parking spot she’d just backed into. I turned to look and recognized it from a picture that my daughter showed me when making trip arrangements. It looked older and more cluttered than other places we’d looked at, but that was my choice.

Tammie and I were calling this trip to Seattle, Washington, a small trip. Instead of spending an entire day traveling to a faraway place, like Europe, our flight halfway across the United States had lasted roughly, about three-hours. The tiring part of the trip was all the waiting, the treasure hunt search for the right place to check in, the TSA line, the gate our plane was, and hopes there wouldn’t be delays. My travel savvy daughter made doing these things easier.

As we lifted our suitcases out of the Jeep, I thought about how I’d been lugging mine around since leaving home and decided that the word ‘luggage’ perfectly described suitcases. Even when they have wheels, a person must do a lot of lifting and lugging to get them from one place to another.

Hauling my suitcase up the porch steps, I hoped this would be the last lift for the day. The effortless roll of my suitcase was stopped by the threshold.  Glancing down, I lifted my wheeled suitcase over the bump and walked through the open entryway into the living room.

Glancing around to take in my surroundings, I breathed, “This place is beautiful!” From watching HGTV, I recognized the house was most likely a craftsman style build around the 1920’s. Other than upkeep, it appeared to never have been remodeled. The floors were wood, and the living room was open through a large arch to the dining room. A built-in buffet sideboard separated the dining room from the kitchen. Off the dining room was a small hallway with a bedroom on either end. Between the rooms was a bathroom. It was small but had everything a person would need.

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Hearing Problems

Aug7

The highway wound through a valley, over a river, past fields, small hamlets, and many stands of vibrant green trees. Tall, thickly forested baby mountains surrounded us. People were busy riding bikes along the two-lane highway, while others worked in their yards as we zipped past. One of my eardrums suddenly and painfully popped while going up a steep incline and then down again into another valley. The sounds in the car became distorted, as if coming to me from an empty void through a hollow tube. I swallowed hard, trying to make the eardrum pop back to normal.

Several months ago, Tammie and I were reminiscing about the trip to Seattle that Arnie, my late husband, and I took her on in the summer between high school graduation and the start of college over twenty years ago. It was a wonderful trip-a special time that we all treasured. Tammie asked, “Would you ever want to go to Seattle again?”

I didn’t have to think for long. I enthusiastically responded, “Yes, I would!” and added, “You know, three of my nephews live in Washington state. What do you think of this idea: we take Agnes with us? Her sons-John, Karl, and Gary-all live in different cities, but maybe we can coordinate our schedules, and get together.”

Tammie took care of the details. She bought our airplane tickets, arranged for a rental car, found an Airbnb for us to stay at while in Seattle, and then a hotel for while we were in Snoqualmie, where John and his wife Gail live.

When Tammie asked me what I wanted to see while in Washington, one of the things I mentioned was an art museum showing the art and artifacts of indigenous people who lived in the Pacific Northwest long before white men came.

Tammie assured me she’d found an interesting place for us to visit. She said the place we were going to was called the Hibulb Cultural Center. Gail had the day off, and since she was more familiar with the area, offered to drive. Karl came along, too. As we got into the car, my daughter Tammie instructed, “Mom, you sit up front next to Gail. That way you’ll be less likely to feel motion sick. I’ll sit in the back seat with Agnes and Karl.”

Instead of traveling on a main highway, Gail took a beautiful, scenic route. Repeatedly, as we wound through the valleys, turning left and right, up and down, we were treated to grand, quintessential state of Washington vistas: imposing, but distant, snowcapped mountains, which were framed by innumerable smaller peaks in the foreground, and richly covered with pine and poplar trees.

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Living off the Land

Jul31
V-shaped notches were used here to tap sap from a pine tree.

A cool breeze entered the living room window and swirled through the room. It had stopped raining a short time ago, so the damp breeze carried the smell of the lilies blossoming in profusion just below the window. Looking up from the comic book I was reading, I reflected upon how cozy it felt to spend a Sunday afternoon with Mom and Daddy like this. My older brothers and sisters were in other parts of the house.

Mom, in her upholstered rocking chair, had one of her favorite woman’s magazines on her lap as she dozed. Daddy sat in the armchair reading the big family bible. Sitting on the linoleum living room floor next to where Daddy sat, I leaned against his legs. An incredible thought suddenly occurred to me: Mom and Daddy had once been children, too!

“Daddy?” I questioned. “What sort of things did you do when you were a little boy”?

Looking up from the bible, he thought for a moment before replying. Glancing down at my bare feet, he said, “I didn’t wear shoes all summer long.” I looked at his face to see if he was joking. I’d taken mine off after coming home from Mass this morning, surely, he wore shoes to attend church! As if reading my mind he explained, “I grew out of the shoes I wore to school during the winter and I didn’t get another pair until sometime after the weather got really cold during the following fall.”

Mom had once told me she and Daddy were in their middle forties when I was born. I counted on my fingers…that made him at least fifty-five years old! “What else do you remember?” I prompted, realizing that his childhood was such a very long time ago.

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Pine Pitch Bandage

Jul24

Although I was going downhill, I kept peddling my bike. Hot summer sunshine blazed in the afternoon sky as I sped down the road creating a breeze that fluttered through my uncombed hair. The sleeveless top I was wearing caught some air and billowed away from my sweaty back skin.

The center of the gravel road was hard like pavement, but loose gravel lined the sides of the road. The driveway to my family’s farmyard came up faster than I was ready for it. With all the confidence of a ten-year-old enjoying her summer vacation from school, I decided to keep peddling and just turn the wheel of my bike when I got there.

All the hay wagons that had come in and out of our yard that summer had made the driveway hard as pavement, but also covered it with a large amount of loose gravel.  My bike skidded and tipped over, but momentum kept me moving. Still clutching the bike handlebars, my right knee scraped across the hardened driveway made up of thousands of sharp granite crystals.

Coming to a stop, I sat up immediately and took stock of the situation. My right knee hurt. However, I figured it didn’t hurt bad enough to have a broken bone. My wound was covered with gritty dirt. It didn’t even immediately bleed. I stood up and walked my bike to the back door of our farmhouse, yelling for Mom. By the time, I reached the door, there was blood running down my leg.

It hurt to have a soapy washcloth rubbed over my knee, but I understood that the dirt had to be washed away. Some of the dirt refused to leave the wound. Mom said it was trapped under a flap of skin. Opening the medicine cabinet over the bathroom sink, she pulled out a small bottle of mercurochrome. With tears running down my cheeks, I cried, “No! Don’t put any of that on my knee! It burns and hurts too much. My knee already hurts more than I can stand.”

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Groundhog Day

Jul17
Again!

I pressed the fork down on a small red, buttered potato and it easily flattened, releasing a small puff of steam. Taking the lid off a skillet on the stove, revealed tender, browned chunks of chicken breast and nicely steamed broccoli. After sliding the contents of the pan onto the plate containing the potato, I walked into the dining room and sat down at the table.

The food before me was everything my high school home education teacher said was ideal for a meal. It was attractive and colorful. The browned meat, buttery red potato and bright green broccoli were pleasing to look at. I’ve read that colorful foods contain all sorts of vitamins and minerals that a body needs. Best of all, despite having butter on the potato and vegetable, my meal was low in calories.

I want to lose weight.  But I also don’t want to suffer to accomplish that by having to gnaw on dry rice cakes. Being mindful of how good my food tasted and chewing slowly and longer than usual, I practiced every diet tip I’ve ever heard about that is supposed to help dieters feel satiated. Half an hour later as I placed the empty plate next to the kitchen sink, I felt full and satisfied. Surely, after eating such a good supper, I wouldn’t want to eat again until tomorrow morning.

The minute I sank down into my favorite living room chair, I felt a familiar longing for a snack. Trying to ignore the growing desire, I found a channel playing the 1993 movie Groundhog Day with Bill Murray. Enjoying the familiar story, I tried settling down to watch it. I couldn’t concentrate because a bar of dark chocolate in the kitchen was calling my name. Finally, glancing at the clock on the wall, I decided that since it was just eight p.m., it was still early enough to eat one more thing, especially since my evening meal had been so low in calories.

Confident that dark chocolate was a healthy choice, I felt good about having some. Chocolate is filled with lots of rich antioxidants. However, one piece of the candy bar wasn’t enough. As I made another trip to the kitchen, I rationalized that chocolate was good for me and it would be alright to have more. On the television, Bill Murray’s character was waking up to the same Groundhog Day for the seventh time. He was trapped in a time loop!

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Up At Bat

Jul10

Equipped with a towel, I stalked the little brown bat. When it flapped up the stairwell, my cat Jerry chased after. Sighing, I slowly trudged up the steps, hoping the wee creature didn’t decide to come back down to fly a few more rounds in the dining and living room.

In the upstairs hallway, I found Jerry leaping at the flying rodent as it looped back and forth overhead. Prepared to swat it out of the air as it flew past me, I readied the towel in hand. I swung too soon, and the towel barely touched the bat. It fluttered close to the floor but quickly recovered.

I grumbled, “It’s been such a long time since I last had a bat in my house. I’m losing my touch!” When I swung the towel the second time, I knew I had once again jumped the gun. To make up for my haste, I lunged forward and knocked the bat to the floor.

The minute I lunged forward, I knew my body was not prepared to make that type of movement. Searing pain in both of my calves made me gasp. Despite the pain, I had a mission to complete. The stunned bat lay on the carpet in front of me. The creature still needed to be put outside. I picked it up using the towel like a potholder. Recovering his senses, the little beastie inside the folds of fabric chattered and hissed angerly.

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I Should Have Said

Jul3
Is she really asleep this time?

The evening passed quickly. Before I knew it, the living room clock chimed midnight. Resisting the temptation to put off bedtime, I picked up the cat sleeping on my lap and carried him to the dining room door. Having retired to her sleep nest in the entryway earlier in the evening, Sadie, the girl cat met us at the door. Jerry leapt from my arms to join her.         

I turned out the living room lamps and took a glass of water with me upstairs. After washing my face and brushing my teeth, I snuggled down into my cozy bed. I expected to fall asleep quickly because I was so tired.

A cool breeze made the window curtain gently flutter. It felt good, but I was happy for the light comforter covering me. I could see a large moon in the dark night sky. There were faint, soothing outdoor night sounds. However, my brain refused to relax. It began to flash memories of the day across my mental screen. A thorn had been placed in my psyche earlier in the day and the harder I tried to go to sleep, the bigger the thorn began to grow.

As I tossed and turned, I ruminated on what had happened and what I had said and done. Embarrassed and frustrated, I mulled the experience over and over, wishing for a ‘do-over’.

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Vicarious Adventures

Jun26
We enjoyed trying to take funny pictures, but some times we took funny pictures without intending to. What sort of dog is my sister holding? Its front half doesn’t look like its back half!

I crept up the stairway. My sister Mary was in her bedroom practicing her forensics speech, and I wanted to listen without her knowing. Just as I slithered quietly across the hardwood floor to the room’s doorway, I heard Mary begin speaking. In dignified tones, she spoke of the life and values of a UN General Secretary named Dag Hammarskjold. I pictured myself in her place getting up to speak to an audience and receiving applause when I was finished. My sister’s speech made me sad. The man she spoke of as being so special died in a suspicious airplane accident.

All my older siblings did interesting things. Instead of playing by myself, I often tagged along with them and enjoyed their amazing adventures. I didn’t envy what they were doing because in my mind, I was participating in the adventure along with them.

I never knew what sort of things would happen when following my brothers. Whatever they did, it was always sure to be a lot of fun. On a summer afternoon one of them bought a half a dozen small firecrackers while in town. Just setting them off one after the other didn’t sound like fun. Everyone did that. All six would be used up too quickly. They decided to light a firecracker and put it under an empty soup can: to see how high the explosive would blow it off the ground, and what damage it would do to the can.

Standing far away from the test site, I screamed with excitement when the can rocketed into the air, shooting almost as high as the highline wires. Finding where it landed in tall grass, I crowded in beside my brothers to examine the blackened, bent metal can.

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Family Events

Jun12

My phone pinged, and I looked to see who messaged. Niki, my daughter, had texted, “I’ll be driving into Marshfield this afternoon with a trailer to get woodchips for my flowerbeds.” A second message from her followed. “I have an errand to do in Marshfield, so I will stop by at your place on my way there to drop something off for you.”

Tammie, my youngest daughter, was home visiting for the weekend. She saw her sister’s message and quickly texted back, “It you are getting woodchips from Resource Recovery, we should meet there to sample some wine. Have you ever gone into their gift store or event barn?”

Texting back immediately, Niki answered, “No, I’ve only ever stopped there to buy soil or woodchips. I’d love to join you to check out the place.”

Resource Recovery LLC is a family business started in 2002 by Bernie and Jen Wenzel, who are from the Stratford area. They sell a variety of woodchips made from recycled wood and topsoil. The business is located between Stratford and Marshfield along highway 97 in a farmyard once owned by the Hoefs family.

I like supporting local businesses, and this enterprise is more local to me than the average area business. I grew up less than three miles from this farmyard and now still live only four miles from it. Members of my family and the Wenzel’s have been friendly acquaintances In Stratford for more than one hundred years. In fact, family stories recount how our families emigrated from Germany around the same time to central Wisconsin.

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