“Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord!”

12 The next day a great crowd in Jerusalem heard that Jesus was coming there. These were the people who had come to the Passover Feast. 13 They took branches of palm trees and went out to meet Jesus. They shouted,

“Praise God! God bless the One who comes in the name of the Lord! God bless the King of Israel!”

14 Jesus found a colt and sat on it. This was as the Scripture says,

15 “Don’t be afraid, people of Jerusalem! Your king is coming. He is sitting on the colt of a donkey.”

16 The followers of Jesus did not understand this at first. But after Jesus was raised to glory, they remembered that this had been written about him. And they remembered that they had done these things to him.

17 There had been many people with Jesus when he raised Lazarus from death and told him to come out of the tomb. Now they were telling others about what Jesus did. 18 Many people went out to meet Jesus, because they had heard about this miracle. 19 So the Pharisees said to each other, “You can see that nothing is going right for us. Look! The whole world is following him.” (John 12:12-19, International Children’s Bible)

           You all know the story of Palm Sunday, when Jesus rode the donkey triumphantly into Jerusalem. You also know how just a few days later, the crowd completely turned on him.

          I used to wonder how that happened. How the people could be praising Jesus one day and crying out for his crucifixion later the same week.

          Look at the world we live in today, watch the news, scroll through social media. I think that now I completely understand how this could happen. Do you?  

The End, For Now

 Journal of Our Journeys

Chapter 20 - The End, For Now

By 1979, I had a summer job and couldn’t take off for a family vacation. It appeared that Mom and Dad stopped going on the family vacation then, too. They went away just on weekends or for a few days at a time, but stayed close to home. Sometimes I would still go with, sometimes dragging a friend along.

          Pat and I started going on camping trips in a small dome tent she had bought. Over time, we even took Judy with us. We had our share of excitement and saw lots of new sites, but we never went further than Michigan’s UP.

          In 1984, I moved to Colorado on a whim with my best friend from high school. We needed a change of scenery. Little old Tomahawk had nothing to offer either of us, or so we felt. We settled in Castle Rock, a town which at the time was the same size as my hometown, but it was twenty miles from Denver, thirty miles from Colorado Springs, and just down the hill from the Rocky Mountains. There was a lot to see and do out there, or so we thought.

          Brenda only stayed nine months before moving back to Wisconsin. Thanks to the man I met and married, I stayed three years before moving back home. In that time, Mom, Dad, and the dog came out several times in the fifth wheel. It was the only big trip they took anymore, and I wonder if they would have gone on any long trips at all if I hadn’t moved so far away.

          The last trip to Colorado in the fifth wheel was in 1986. The rest of the pages of the camper log remain blank.

          The following year, my parents just drove out in the car. My son Nick was 18 months old, and I let them take him back home with them. My husband and I were flying home a month later for a friend’s wedding, so we would bring him back to Colorado then.

          While we were in Wisconsin that summer, my husband applied for jobs at a couple of places, and he actually got one. So I moved back to Tomahawk, and my big adventure was over. For years after that, my annual vacation was a car trip back to Colorado to visit my husband’s family.

          My parents sold the fifth wheel to my cousin’s son. Last I heard, it still goes on the road once in a while, but not too far. It gives me satisfaction, though, that it has stayed in the family.

          My dad passed away in 1993, and Mom sold the truck, Big Red. A few years later, she sold the house and moved into town.

          My sister Pat and I bought an old pop-up camper, which we took to state parks and federal lands in northern Wisconsin and the UP. We took my two kids along a few times. Then Pat was diagnosed with cancer just four months after Dad died. That is another whole story. Her body succumbed to the disease in 1999, but her spirit lives on in everything I do.

          I still travel; I inherited the wanderlust from my dad. We started out driving the car and staying in impersonal hotel chains. Eventually, I talked my second husband into taking that old pop-up camper to the UP. He was immediately hooked.

          We bought a second, newer pop-up a few years later and eventually graduated to a 27-foot travel trailer. I’ve filled four travel logs of my own, the trips being a mix of camping and “moteling”. Those books include lengthy narration in addition to just the facts.

          I recollect a plethora of stories from my childhood, but the family vacation has to be where a lot of them begin and end. Sometimes I think that my family has been to so few places, but if I put it all together - 

          Wisconsin, Minnesota, North Dakota, South Dakota, Wyoming, Utah, Nevada, California, Arizona, New Mexico, Colorado, Nebraska, Kansas, Oklahoma, Texas, Arkansas, Missouri, Iowa, Illinois, Kentucky, Tennessee, North Carolina, Virginia, West Virginia, Maryland, Pennsylvania, New York, Ohio, Indiana, Michigan. Oh, and of course, Ontario.

          Did I miss any? Well, I did fly to Alaska with my aunt one Christmas to stay with her son and daughter-in-law in Juneau. Does that count?

          It appears that I covered a lot of ground as a kid. But more important than the miles are the memories. The time spent together as a family in tight quarters, with acres of the great outdoors just outside our door.

          My wish is that all of you have those memories, and if you don’t, get out there and start making them.

Trink – Weepy Wednesday, episode 10

Oh, boy, here I am, sharing about the last of our parents who passed away.  

Hubby’s mom, known by all as Trink, had been struggling with some dementia. The COVID pandemic really took a toll on her mental health; she was scared to death that she would catch it. Her fear changed her and we didn’t know what to do about it, how to reassure her that everything was going to be all right.

On Thursday, October 8, 2020, she fell down her basement stairs and broke her hip. They took her to the hospital by ambulance and scheduled her for hip replacement surgery the next day. The poor little thing was terrified of the surgery, too. We felt helpless.

Her heart stopped during the surgery, but they were able to bring her back. Thankfully, they let Hubby into the ICU to be with her (remember this was during the height of COVID and only with a little persuasion would they allow one family member in to be with a loved one).

She coded again, and they brought her back again. But the doctor told Hubby that she would need a pacemaker to have any chance of survival. Hubby called me and his two brothers, and we all agreed that the best thing for her would be to let her go. Could she even live long enough to get that pacemaker implanted? She never gained consciousness after the surgery.

She had lived a good life, though, and held so many happy memories of family and friends. The saddest part was that we couldn’t have much of a celebration of life, as this was the middle of the pandemic. Family and friends came and left quickly, a few handshakes and fewer hugs. Grief is an emotion best served with closeness and touch, with our loved ones supporting us physically and not just with a wave from across the room or a card in the mail.

But we will all be with Trink again one day, hugging her just as much as we can. 

With her 3 boys

With her grandkids

A meeting of the Grandma's minds

At her granddaughter's wedding. I think this picture is so special. 

On the plane to her grandson's wedding in Texas. 

Peace of Mind and Heart

27 “I am leaving you with a gift—peace of mind and heart. And the peace I give is a gift the world cannot give. So don’t be troubled or afraid. 28 Remember what I told you: I am going away, but I will come back to you again. If you really loved me, you would be happy that I am going to the Father, who is greater than I am. 29 I have told you these things before they happen so that when they do happen, you will believe.

30 “I don’t have much more time to talk to you, because the ruler of this world approaches. He has no power over me, 31 but I will do what the Father requires of me, so that the world will know that I love the Father. Come, let’s be going.” (John 14:27-31, New Living Translation)

I can’t remember who it was – a person I know or God – who sent me the 27^th verse of this chapter in the first few days after my daughter died in August. But those words have been imprinted in my mind and on my heart. Those words let me keep my life together, allow me to take deep breaths and know that everything will be all right.  

Peace I leave with you, My peace I give to you; not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid. (from the New King James Version)

          No matter what your struggles, turn them over to God and let Him cover you in His peace. And then study the rest of this chapter. Jesus left this world for a few days on Good Friday, but He came back on Easter morning and is still with us. Still giving us His peace.

I Have Always Been This Uncool

 Journal of our Journeys 

Chapter 19 - Virginia III 

It was 1978, and we were going to Virginia. Again.

I was 16 years old and still taking the yearly family camping trip with my parents. And once again, same as the previous year, my best friend and partner in crime, my sister Pat, couldn’t join us. She got a summer job at the paper mill in town, making an unreal amount of money for that time. I had only ever earned any money babysitting, and that was pretty infrequent. I was about as uncool as a teenager could be.

What has always been cool, though, are mountains.

From southeast Canada to Alabama, the Appalachian Mountain range runs the entire length of our country’s eastern seaboard. Running the northern stretch are the Alleghenies, the Berkshires, the Poconos, the Catskills, all places for lake mountain resorts, places where families used to go for month-long retreats. In the southern section, the mountains include the Blue Ridge, the Great Smoky Mountains, and the Shenandoah Mountains. They hold romantic names, mysterious descriptive names.

The Rocky Mountains in the west rise rugged and majestic from the plateau below. But it always feels like if you’ve seen one rugged, majestic mountain, you’ve seen them all.

The mountains in the east, though rising not nearly as high, have more personality. They change colors and moods throughout the day. Their forests are dark and mysterious, almost foreboding at times. Mists rise from the hills in the morning. You always have the feeling as if someone – or something – is watching you from the trees.

At a wayside somewhere in the mountains. Not sure if my hair or my socks are the most uncool. 

We took the minor detour through Chattanooga, Tennessee, again. And visited Rock City, but skipped the waterfall in the cave and other tourist stuff. I did manage to cross the swing bridge this time, hanging onto it for dear life. I never did stop being uncool. 

And, yes, Dad swung the bridge.

On our way to the relatives in Virginia, we spent the night at a KOA in Asheville, North Carolina.

What is significant about Asheville, you may ask? Nothing at that time, because there was no internet or travel brochures, and I knew pretty much nothing. As many times as I have paged through the Camping Log, I never made the connection.

As I write this, as an adult, life on this planet pretty much does not exist without the internet and all the information at everyone’s fingertips. If you have traveled at all in the southeast or if you have any interest in huge houses, you know that Asheville is the home of Biltmore Mansion, the massive estate of the Vanderbilt family.

I have been fascinated with the Biltmore ever since seeing it featured on A & E’s America’s Castles. Through the wonder of the internet, I have discovered that we drove within 15 miles of the estate. Once again, I am awed by my lack of knowledge.

I can understand how, at age six, I didn’t know where I was when we went to New York state, but you would think, that ten years later, I would have gained a few orientation skills. Do 16-year-olds in this day and age know where things are in this great country of ours? Maybe, but they only know what Google Maps tells them.

Hold it, don’t answer that. We live an hour’s drive northeast of the city of Abbotsford, Wisconsin. When my kids were young, whenever we drove by Abbotsford, we would stop for ice cream cones at the ice cream/cheese store in town. Until she was 15 or 16, my daughter thought all roads led past Abbotsford. No matter where we were driving, in what direction, she would ask if we could stop in Abbotsford for ice cream.

But we need to go back to 1978. We arrived at Mom’s uncle’s house in Virginia without visiting any emergency rooms, which was good.

While we were there, one of the relatives had the bright idea to visit Busch Gardens amusement park in Williamsburg. It would have been a fun place, had I not been the only teenager. Instead of going on many rides, we mostly walked around, took in the sights, saw the famous Clydesdales, and snapped a few pictures. Having never been to any amusement park, I still thought it was an interesting place, and, always having had a bit of a weak stomach, I had little desire to go on the wilder rides. Just riding through the mountains was usually enough excitement for me. 

And all these years later, I am still just as uncool.

Mom's Last Days - Weepy Wednesday, episode 9

Mom on Christmas 1984. She hated getting her picture taken, and this is one of the rare ones where she's smiling. 

During the past nine years, I’ve shared bits and pieces of the last days that my mom was alive, but I don’t think I ever told the whole story. I dug it out from my journal and here it finally is.

Sunday, January 15, 2017, we brought Mom over for lunch with a few of Hubby's family members. My mom and his mom had a good visit, and it was a good day.

The next day, Monday, the 16th, Mom called me at noon to tell me that she was vomiting and felt weaker than usual. She sounded horrible, so I told her to see if my brother could take her to the ER, and if not, she should call 911.

My brother brought her into the ER, and they checked her over. The only thing wrong with her tests was that her calcium was elevated. The ER doctor told her to stop her calcium supplement and sent her home.

I left work a little early, took her home, and tried to get her to eat something. She wanted a hamburger from McDonald's, so I ran and got one and picked up the Zofran script the ER doc had sent in. She threw up the hamburger, so I gave her a Zofran and stayed until she got ready for bed. Then, I stopped to see her the next two nights, until she came in to see her regular doctor for a recheck on Thursday.

She still looked pretty crummy on Thursday, just as weak, still a little nauseated, and getting confused. She was also dehydrated by then, so her doctor admitted her for IV fluids and observation.

She did okay over the weekend, but never really got much strength back, so on Monday, the 23rd, they sent her to the nursing home for rehab.

She did all right in the nursing home, had good days and bad days. Griped about a lot of stuff (the food, the staff, the other residents) to my sister and me, but she remained sweet as pie to everyone else, which has been her modus operandi for a long time.

Then on Monday, February 6, her insurance company gave her the final heave-ho; they were kicking her out on Thursday. We got home health set up to do an eval, ordered the Lifeline, and made an appointment with ADRC. I planned on staying with her for the weekend to make sure she didn't fall, that she was eating, and that she was doing okay.

By the next morning, she had decided that this wasn't going to work; she wanted to go back to the nursing home. She was just so weak and frail. She'd also been having pain in her hip, and it was getting worse. She had been taking Tylenol or Tramadol as needed, but I started giving it to her on a schedule, so that the pain didn't escalate.

Oh, and her little arthritic fingers were not strong enough to push the Lifeline button if she needed to, so there was no way she could stay home alone at all.

The home health nurse came on Saturday to see what they could offer, but they agreed she couldn't stay home without 24/7 care. I called the nursing home, but because it was the weekend, they couldn't admit her until Monday.

I stayed with her over the weekend, with my brother or sister relieving me for about four hours each day, so I could come home, unwind, take a shower, and try to get a quick nap in my own bed. I'd been trying to sleep on Mom's loveseat, and she also keeps her apartment at 85 degrees, so no matter how hard I tried to get comfortable, it wasn't happening.

Monday morning, she was in more pain, and she clearly had an infection in one of her fingers. It was a challenge, and I tried not to push her, but we finally made it to the nursing home by ten, when they were expecting us.

She got through that day and the next. But by Wednesday morning, the nursing home called to say the finger was even more swollen and was turning black. I told them to send her to the clinic, and her doctor would work her in, because that's what happens when your daughter works for your doctor.

When he went in to see her, I handed him hospital admission orders and told him she needed to be admitted. As soon as he saw her, he agreed. But because of paperwork and stupid computers, it was another hour before I wheeled her over to the hospital and helped the nurse there clean her up and settle her in bed.

Two hours later, my doctor came out of his office and told me, "The hospital just called." He paused. "Your mom just passed away." He was more shocked than I was. I saw this coming.

Hubby snuck this picture of Mom and me when she was in the hospital on Jan 22.

God, the Holy Spirit

 15 “If you love me, obey my commandments. 16 And I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Advocate, who will never leave you. 17 He is the Holy Spirit, who leads into all truth. The world cannot receive him, because it isn’t looking for him and doesn’t recognize him. But you know him, because he lives with you now and later will be in you. 18 No, I will not abandon you as orphans—I will come to you. 19 Soon the world will no longer see me, but you will see me. Since I live, you also will live. 20 When I am raised to life again, you will know that I am in my Father, and you are in me, and I am in you. 21 Those who accept my commandments and obey them are the ones who love me. And because they love me, my Father will love them. And I will love them and reveal myself to each of them.”

22 Judas (not Judas Iscariot, but the other disciple with that name) said to him, “Lord, why are you going to reveal yourself only to us and not to the world at large?”

23 Jesus replied, “All who love me will do what I say. My Father will love them, and we will come and make our home with each of them. 24 Anyone who doesn’t love me will not obey me. And remember, my words are not my own. What I am telling you is from the Father who sent me. 25 I am telling you these things now while I am still with you. 26 But when the Father sends the Advocate as my representative—that is, the Holy Spirit—he will teach you everything and will remind you of everything I have told you.” (John 14:15-26, New Living Translation)

We’re still studying John chapter 14, and once again, the eleven verses here seem like a lot of words. They are important ones, though, because they talk about the Holy Spirit.

It took me a long time to figure out Who or What the Holy Spirit is. I mean, we can picture God the Father. We see Him as an elderly man dressed in white reigning on high. That’s probably not even close to how He actually is, but at least we can picture Him as Something.

God the Son, Jesus, is even easier. We’ve all seen enough movies and TV shows portraying Jesus as a man with longer dark hair and a beard. We feel we can relate to Him because He’s made out of the same flesh.

But God the Holy Spirit? What does He look like and what does He even do?

"He is the Holy Spirit, who leads into all truth. The world cannot receive him, because it isn’t looking for him and doesn’t recognize him. But you know him, because he lives with you now and later will be in you.”

This is how I think of the three Persons of the Triune God. The Father is above us, the Son walks beside us, and the Holy Spirit dwells within us. I don’t need to have a picture in my head of any of them, because I feel each of their presences, above me, beside me, and within me.

The Grand Canyon Trip

 Journal of Our Journeys

Chapter 18 - Big Hole in the Ground

In June of 1977, we took off for Arizona and the Grand Canyon. This was the first, and well, only trip that I remember Mom asking for my input. All the other years, Pat and I just packed our stuff and jumped in the camper when it was time to go. I am sure they told us where we were going, but I don't remember ever being asked where we wanted to go.

Maybe it was because Pat graduated from high school that spring and wouldn't be going with us on this trip because she had to work. Here is the crazy thing – guess where she worked that summer, as well as the summer before? A campground. Isn't that ironic? Her science teacher, along with his wife, ran a campground just north of town, and he had asked Pat to help out there. After all the camping we had done over the years, you would have to believe that she had at least some of the qualifications required to do the job.  

Whatever the reason, Mom asked me that spring where I wanted to go on vacation. And I came up with the Grand Canyon. So, a week after Pat graduated, we left her home to have her own shenanigans and headed to the southwest.

It was a different trip. It was our first major trip in the new fifth wheel and the first one without Pat. I must admit that I got pretty lonely. Maybe Dad sensed that I would be, and that was why he gave me the task of being the keeper of the camper log. I kept track not only of the towns we stayed in, but also the mileage and the cost of campgrounds and gasoline. I even had a column for comments on the campgrounds.

This trip cost us $269 in gas and $75 in campgrounds. Hmm? In this day and age, you can't get a one-night hotel stay for $75, and on this trip, we were gone for two weeks. Dad kept track of the MPG, and we averaged just under 10 miles per gallon. I suppose that's not bad, towing that 26-foot trailer with the old pickup. I don't think a similar rig 30 years later would do any better.

The Grand Canyon was indeed awesome. It is one of those places that you can't wrap your mind around. It is just so big, immense, kind of like Niagara Falls. Your eyes can only take in so much at one time. The colors are constantly shifting; if you only stopped at one scenic overlook and spent the day there, you would feel as if you had seen several views because the light is always changing.

          On the way home, we drove through the Four Corners area, where the states of Arizona, New Mexico, Colorado, and Utah meet. A 30-mile drive into Colorado is Mesa Verde National Park.

From the year 600 A.D. to 1300, the ancestral Pueblo people lived here. Their homes were often built into the overhangs of the many cliffs in the area. The largest such dwelling, Cliff Palace, has 217 rooms and is estimated to have accommodated 250 residents. As large as Cliff Palace was, it was hard to picture an entire village living there.    

Our next diversion was the Black Hills of South Dakota. As long as it was on the way, we couldn't resist visiting again, even though Crazy Horse still looked the same.

A problem sprang up when we encountered a detour in Lead, South Dakota, and took a wrong turn. We ended up driving up a narrow city street that grew narrower and steeper the further we went. We soon realized that we had to be on the wrong road, especially when the road suddenly ended at a dead end.

Well, Mom was not too happy. Remember the episode with the railroad tracks when we were smelt fishing? Remember that I couldn't recall Mom's reaction clearly? Well, I remember her reaction to this miscalculation, and it wasn't to compliment Dad's navigation. 

It wasn't anyone's fault except for the highway crew, who couldn't accurately mark a detour. Mom had a few words, and Dad just slowly, cautiously turned around. I don't know how he did it; the driveways were all only wide enough for one compact car, and the street wasn't much wider. 

I started feeling that I preferred the pickup camper. I had rarely ridden in the truck's cab, so I never heard any of the arguments between Mom and Dad, and I'm sure there had been others over the years. From the bed above the cab, I would also have had a better view of the turning, although it would have only been half the fun with the much smaller rig.

Of course, thinking about the driving skills Dad employed to park the fifth wheel in the Red Barn, I don't know how I could doubt his ability to navigate it around a dead-end street in Lead, South Dakota.

Integrity – Weepy Wednesday (for a somewhat different reason), episode 8

 

My father-in-law, Lloyd Kincaid, passed away on November 1, 2007, at the age of 82. He served in the United States Army during World War II, from 1943 to 1945. On October 4, 1947, he married Trink, and they had three sons together, the middle one being my hubby. He worked as a meat cutter and later as a cabinet maker.

But what many Wisconsinites remember him for is that, from 1973 to 1990,  he served first in the State Assembly and then in the State Senate. And that he had more integrity than anyone I've ever heard of in politics.

Fairly early on in his career, a bill came up that would adversely affect the people of his district. He represented small rural communities in northern Wisconsin, and this bill was designed to help residents of larger cities at the expense of towns like his.

When his political party learned that he intended to vote against this bill, the party's leaders told him that if he didn't vote for it, they would find someone else in the party to run against him in the next election. They could guarantee that this person would win.

He would have nothing to do with it. He met with the leaders of the other political party, and they told him they would support him. So, he switched parties. (And to be clear, in case you research this and discover which party is which in this story, it doesn't matter. In our current political climate, you are either a Democrat or a Republican for life, and Lloyd would have chosen to switch parties no matter which one he started with.)

The moral of that story is that political parties have wielded this kind of control for decades. Reminds me of the movie "Mr. Smith Goes to Washington". If the television networks weren't already run by one party or the other, they would be playing that movie incessantly right about now.

Maybe if our current leaders in high places had their priorities set on the people they serve, rather than mindlessly following their party, the world would be a better place. Maybe they need to be reminded of that. And maybe in the next election, we need to remember that and vote for the person and their beliefs, rather than the party they are affiliated with. 

LLoyd in the middle standing behind Tommy Thompson

Ask for anything in Jesus’ name

Verses 8 through 14 from the 14^th chapter of the Book of John.

8 Philip said, “Lord, show us the Father, and we will be satisfied.”

9 Jesus replied, “Have I been with you all this time, Philip, and yet you still don’t know who I am? Anyone who has seen me has seen the Father! So why are you asking me to show him to you? 10 Don’t you believe that I am in the Father and the Father is in me? The words I speak are not my own, but my Father who lives in me does his work through me. 11 Just believe that I am in the Father and the Father is in me. Or at least believe because of the work you have seen me do.

12 “I tell you the truth, anyone who believes in me will do the same works I have done, and even greater works, because I am going to be with the Father. 13 You can ask for anything in my name, and I will do it, so that the Son can bring glory to the Father. 14 Yes, ask me for anything in my name, and I will do it!” (John 14:8-14, New Living Translation)

     For me (and others), the Book of John in the New Testament can be difficult to understand. The apostle often repeats himself to stress what he is getting at, but it makes the text monotonous instead of enlightening. He also uses a lot of symbolism and flowery language. But John also wrote the words his Lord and Savior used.

     That being said, I’d like you to read the above verses again, this time as one of the original disciples hearing Jesus speaking these words for the first time. Listen for His passion and conviction. Just like He wanted all of the people of His time saved, He wants all of us saved as well.

The Fifth Wheel and Big Red

 Journal of Our Journeys

Chapter 17 - The Fifth Wheel

 For years, Dad had been looking at fifth-wheel travel trailers. In the 1970s, they were still a novelty in camping. Also called goose-neck trailers, the style was more commonly used for horse trailers at the time.  

I will never know what Dad's fascination with fifth wheels was. We looked at so many of them over the years that I never really thought that my mom would cave and let him buy one. When we first got the pickup camper, we thought that it was so amazing. You can't even believe how excited we were by the prospect of getting a fifth wheel.

I was excited anyway; by the time Dad really got serious about getting a new, larger camper, Pat was a senior in high school. Her days of camping with the parents were numbered. I would be the lone child to continue the tradition.

After all the dreaming, Dad found someone he knew who was selling their practically new fifth wheel. The couple had bought it a year or two before, and after only one trip, the wife decided that camping was not for her. Obviously, she had never camped in a tent. The fifth wheel was more like a motel room on wheels.

So, camping in the fifth wheel really wasn't like camping. Besides the private bedroom over the bed of the truck for Mom and Dad, this thing had a full bathroom with a shower. The refrigerator was practically as large as the one we had at home, and the kitchen even had an oven. We didn't do much baking in it, though, using it mostly for storage.

Several weeks after returning from one trip with the fifth wheel, Mom was looking for one of her cake pans. It dawned on her that she had left it safely in the oven in the trailer. Ever the helpful daughter, I scampered out to the camper to retrieve it.

Well, not only had Mom forgotten the cake pan in the oven, but she had forgotten that there was still rhubarb cake in it. Ooh, it had gotten all moldy. Not only was it moldy, but the acid from the rhubarb had actually eaten holes in the metal cake pan.

This next part I will never be able to describe accurately; you would have to actually see it to picture it. When we had the pickup camper, Dad always parked it in the sixteen-foot-wide spot between the garage and the house. The area wasn't long enough for the fifth wheel, so for the first year, Dad parked it next to the garden in front of the house.

It soon became apparent that that was not going to work. When he retired, Dad had built a large pole barn behind the house and the garage. The mastery came when Dad backed the fifth wheel between the house and the garage and then angled it into the red barn.

(See the red barn in the back and that narrow space between the garage and the house? Yikes, is all can say.)

The best part was the clothesline poles along that route. People who had never been to the house could not fathom how he could not only back the trailer between the buildings but also navigate it past the clothesline poles, which were directly in his path. Little did they know that the poles easily pulled out of sleeves buried in the ground.  

The year after buying the fifth wheel, Mom and Dad decided they needed a new truck to pull it. The teal pickup that had come with the original camper had been replaced years earlier with a forest-green Chevy. Now, it was time to replace that one.

Mom and Dad went to Wausau and ordered the new pickup from the Ford dealer downtown. I even got to go with them, though my input was not taken into consideration. They picked out a bright orange truck to match the orange strip running down the side of the fifth wheel. The new truck also had an extended cab, so that there was room for someone to sit in the back seat. That was usually me, as the dog sat in the front seat between Mom and Dad.

Remember, this was 1976, when few pickup trucks had an extended cab, and hardly any had four doors.

(The AMC Matador was one of the ugliset cars built.)

        We named the new truck Big Red, and believe it or not, it is the vehicle I learned to drive on. Sure, I practiced on Mom's white AMC Matador and used it when I took my driver's test. But I drove Big Red as much as the car. Dad even would occasionally let me drive it while pulling the fifth wheel, only on back roads, though, at a slow speed, such as our road, which was fraught with ninety-degree turns.  

Other Aunts and Uncles - Weepy Wednesday, episode 7

On this depressing series of the deaths of loved ones, today I planned on revisiting the night my mom died. But yesterday, Hubby and I went to the funeral of one of his aunts; the funeral for another one of his mom’s sisters had been exactly two months ago.

Naturally, I wasn’t as close to either of these aunts as I was to my own, but they were still sweet ladies who lived full lives and loved their families.

And their numbers are dwindling. I believe that my generation of relatives – me, my husband, his brothers and sisters-in-law, and cousins – are the ones who soon will be all who are left to carry on.

We’ve had quite a few picnics at our house with these relatives, so that’s where the pictures are from. 

 2014 - Susie, Lois, Louise, cousin John, mother-in-law Trink, Joyce, Bill and Gerald (5 are gone)

2018 - Bill, his wife Pat, Joyce, Lois, her husband Larry, Suzie, Louise, and Trink (3 are gone)

2021 - Linda, Lois, Louise, Suzie, and Joyce (2 are gone)

Anyone from his family interested in coming for another picnic this summer?

Jesus is the Way, the Truth, the Light

         I’d still been having a hard time coming up with a theme for my blog posts during Lent this year. The only thing that kept running through my head was, “I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life,” from the book of John, chapter 14.

         So, I thought, what else does that chapter say? And is it all worthwhile to share?

"Don’t let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God, and trust also in me. 2 There is more than enough room in my Father’s home. If this were not so, would I have told you that I am going to prepare a place for you? 3 When everything is ready, I will come and get you, so that you will always be with me where I am. 4 And you know the way to where I am going.”

5 “No, we don’t know, Lord,” Thomas said. “We have no idea where you are going, so how can we know the way?”

6 Jesus told him, “I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one can come to the Father except through me. 7 If you had really known me, you would know who my Father is. From now on, you do know him and have seen him!” (John 14:1-7, New Living Translation)