The Easter Bunny

Since the middle of January, I've been writing once a week about relatives I have lost over the years. I'm not sure that you saw this coming, but all of that was in prelude to the family member I lost most recently and that I will never get over. But you know that since I find the greatest solace in writing, I would eventually subject you to a memoir of my daughter's life.

          I plan to start sharing Val's life on Wednesday; however, yesterday I was reminded of a story I had completely forgotten about. And since yesterday was Easter, I had to share this one now.

          Val held many jobs over the years. Some of them she quit for something more to her liking, but she was also fired from several. But whatever the case, she would dig in her heels and search for employment wherever she could.  

          She lost a job early one spring, and when no one was hiring, she took a part-time, seasonal gig at the mall, doing the last thing I would have envisioned. She was the Easter Bunny's assistant.

          She hated it! I can't remember what her costume was – it had to be better than a giant rabbit – but she still hated what she had to wear. The kiddos who she hoisted onto the bunny's lap were generally spoiled and obnoxious. She hated their behavior. The pay wasn’t like a dangling carrot, but it was enough to mess with her unemployment. 

          I can't remember where she worked next, but it wasn't long after that that she hopped on a respectable job again.

          But that was our Val. There was always something that sprang up in her life that was out of the ordinary. Oh, if only she were still here to tell those stories.

Nick and Val, Easter 1995 (the only Easter picture I have of them)

 

He is Risen Indeed

    Now after the Sabbath, as the first day of the week began to dawn, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary came to see the tomb. 2 And behold, there was a great earthquake; for an angel of the Lord descended from heaven, and came and rolled back the stone from the door, and sat on it. 3 His countenance was like lightning, and his clothing as white as snow. 4 And the guards shook for fear of him, and became like dead men.

5 But the angel answered and said to the women, “Do not be afraid, for I know that you seek Jesus who was crucified. 6 He is not here; for He is risen, as He said. Come, see the place where the Lord lay. 7 And go quickly and tell His disciples that He is risen from the dead, and indeed He is going before you into Galilee; there you will see Him. Behold, I have told you.”

8 So they went out quickly from the tomb with fear and great joy, and ran to bring His disciples word.

9 And as they went to tell His disciples, behold, Jesus met them, saying, “Rejoice!” So they came and held Him by the feet and worshiped Him. 10 Then Jesus said to them, “Do not be afraid. Go and tell My brethren to go to Galilee, and there they will see Me.” (Matthew 28:1-10, New King James Version)

He is Risen, He is Risen indeed, and we have nothing to fear.

In Court

          I was selected for jury duty for the month of March. Over the years, two other times I had received that letter in the mail, which everyone dreads, but the trials throughout those months were canceled. Not so lucky this time.

          I had to appear at the courthouse not just once, but twice last month. And this is how it went, in case you've never had the experience, or if they do it differently where you live.  

          First, all of us prospective jurors (about 40 to 45 people) waited for over a half an hour sitting on the most uncomfortable benches in the larger courtroom. I'm sure that the prosecution and the defense were trying a last-ditch effort to settle out of court. No such luck, either time I was there.

          Finally, they ushered us into one of the smaller courtrooms, gave us a few instructions, and then read off the names of the 23 people chosen at random to move to the jury box.

          The judge asked them a bunch of questions, such as whether they knew the accused or any of the witnesses who would be called, or if they had any strong feelings about what the defendant was charged with. It was a very long process, since whenever anyone raised their hand to answer "yes" to a question, they had to explain why. If the judge released them based on their answers, the clerk of courts would randomly pick another name from those still in the back of the room. And then the judge would have to ask them if they would have answered "yes" to any of the questions he had already asked.

          When the judge finished his questioning, the prosecuting attorney and then the defense attorney asked all their questions. They couldn't release anyone at that point – only the judge could – but they made notes on who they believed would be biased and who would be more likely to vote on their side (or so I imagine).

          After they were done with that, the two attorneys passed lists of their chosen jurors back and forth until they agreed on who would go home and who would be stuck in the juror's box. Someone read off the thirteen names (twelve, plus a spare in case someone got sick or something), and everyone else went home.

          I don't know. Does that sound convoluted to you? Couldn't they streamline the process to make it easier on everyone?

          In the end, though, since I was released from both trials, it only took up three hours of my life, and I got paid mileage.

          But, wow, what would have been the verdict in Jesus' trial if this had been how they did things back then? Except we know that God's plan from the beginning was for His Son to be sacrificed for our sins.

13 Pilate called the people together with the leading priests and the rulers. 14 He said to them, “You brought this man to me, saying he makes trouble among the people. But I have questioned him before you all, and I have not found him guilty of what you say. 15 Also, Herod found nothing wrong with him; he sent him back to us. Look, he has done nothing for which he should die. 16 So, after I punish him, I will let him go free.” [17 Every year at the Passover Feast, Pilate had to release one prisoner to the people.]

18 But the people shouted together, “Take this man away! Let Barabbas go free!” 19 (Barabbas was a man who was in prison for his part in a riot in the city and for murder.)

20 Pilate wanted to let Jesus go free and told this to the crowd. 21 But they shouted again, “Crucify him! Crucify him!”

22 A third time Pilate said to them, “Why? What wrong has he done? I can find no reason to kill him. So I will have him punished and set him free.”

23 But they continued to shout, demanding that Jesus be crucified. Their yelling became so loud that 24 Pilate decided to give them what they wanted. (Luke 23:13-24, New Century Version)

Why Covered Bridges

 

On my blog, over the past five Sundays, I’ve posted pictures of covered bridges that I have visited. At first, I just used those pictures because I had them, and I think the historic covered bridges are just so cool, reminiscent of a time gone by.

But then my mind started really mulling it over, and I decided that a metaphor of these old bridges could describe our faith.

As you know, a covered bridge has decking for the road, a roof, and siding, which in most cases creates an almost complete enclosure. The purpose of the roof and siding is to protect the wooden structure from the weather. Uncovered wooden bridges typically last only 20 years due to rain and sun, but a covered bridge can last over 100 years.

In addition to protecting the roadway of the covered bridges, the roof and siding also sheltered travelers from the elements, kept skittish horses from seeing the water below, and added strength and rigidity to the bridge.

          And what does that have to do with faith, besides believing a sturdy bridge is a safe bridge?

          It’s kinda like the parable Jesus told about scattering seeds. Some fell on the road, some on the rocks, some among thorns, and some on fertile ground. The seeds in the last place were the only ones to grow and become fruitful.

          Back to the bridge. Just like the wood on the covered bridge is protected from rain, snow, and the sun’s hot rays, we need to protect our faith. We need to spend time among other believers, read our Bible, pray, and cherish our friendship with Jesus. We need to keep our bridge of faith sturdy, strong, and safe so that we can follow the road to heaven.

This is Holliwell Bridge, one of the bridges of Madison County, Iowa. At the top of the page is Zumbrota Bridge in Zumbrota, Minnesota, which is the last remaining historic bridge in that state. 

“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.