Nine Months - Val's Story, Chapter 3a

Most of the nine months of my second pregancny were uneventful, other than having unrelenting indigestion no matter what I did or didn't consume. I was incubating this little bundle like a bun in the oven, or maybe like a little Easter ham. My due date was April 21, a week after Easter.

          At twenty weeks, I had the usual ultrasound they did around then to make sure Baby was growing all the right parts in the right places. At that time, ultrasounds weren't as detailed as they are now, but the technician could usually pick out if a boy or a girl was cooking in there.

          When asked if I wanted to know, I emphatically answered, "NO!"

          I hadn't had a clue when I was pregnant with my firstborn, and I didn't want to know now. Very few mothers-to-be feel the way I do, but I wanted to be surprised when the bundle popped out. I felt that if I knew ahead of time, there would be no thrill of discovery at the delivery.    

          One of the three obstetricians working in our clinic at the time, Dr. Skye, was going to give a presentation to colleagues from around the state and needed a willing pregnant woman to offer her unborn child a chance at stardom. Of course, I offered.

          So, a few weeks later, another ultrasound was performed on my growing belly; this time, it was being recorded. I still have a copy of it on an old VHS tape somewhere. 

          Summer had turned to fall – a season that is always too short where we live. Winter brought the usual cold and snow. At some point during that time, I was able to transfer to the clinic in town, saving me the half-hour trip every day. The local clinic was also much more laid-back and less stressful – just what the doctor ordered. And my OB doctor even rotated to that clinic, so I didn't have to take time off for my routine pregnancy checks.

          "Hmmm?" Dr. Skye was checking me one day when I was about 4 weeks away from my delivery date. She pushed on my bulging belly again. "Well, Chris, I hate to tell you, but this baby seems to be positioned butt-down. At this point in the pregnancy, Baby should already be turned with their head down."

          I had worked in labor and delivery at another hospital several years earlier, so I knew what that meant.

          "You should maybe get yourself psyched up for the possibility of a Cesarean."

          I nodded in understanding, but thought to myself, "There ain't no stinkin' way I'm having a C-section. This baby is going to turn."

          The next week, when she checked me, Baby's head was down, pointing at the birth canal. One of the few things this child of mine ever made easy on me.

Nick and the dog we had for a while when we were living in the mobile home. Maybe doesn't have much to do with this story, but it's where we were living when I was pregnant with Val. There were a few pictures I had in my head that would fit better (including one of that ultrasound), but I couldn't find any of them. 

He is Still Risen

Only last week, I took down the last of my Christmas decorations. Okay, it was really a snowman welcome sign, but still, it reminded me of Christmas. But it does make me a little crazy when people take down their tree and other decorations by New Year's.

          I feel the same way about Easter. Just last Sunday, we celebrated the rising of our Savior from the grave, our salvation for all time secured because He died and rose again on the third day. But everyone has moved on to other things – spring, yard work, summer vacation plans.

          I think that any day which is not spent celebrating Jesus' birth should be spent celebrating His rebirth. So, here are the Bible verses about how Jesus appeared to some of His followers later that first Easter day on the road to Emmaus.

That same day two of Jesus’ followers were walking to the village of Emmaus, seven miles from Jerusalem. As they walked along they were talking about everything that had happened. As they talked and discussed these things, Jesus himself suddenly came and began walking with them. But God kept them from recognizing him.

He asked them, “What are you discussing so intently as you walk along?”

They stopped short, sadness written across their faces. Then one of them, Cleopas, replied, “You must be the only person in Jerusalem who hasn’t heard about all the things that have happened there the last few days.”

“What things?” Jesus asked.

“The things that happened to Jesus, the man from Nazareth,” they said. “He was a prophet who did powerful miracles, and he was a mighty teacher in the eyes of God and all the people. But our leading priests and other religious leaders handed him over to be condemned to death, and they crucified him. We had hoped he was the Messiah who had come to rescue Israel. This all happened three days ago.

“Then some women from our group of his followers were at his tomb early this morning, and they came back with an amazing report. They said his body was missing, and they had seen angels who told them Jesus is alive! Some of our men ran out to see, and sure enough, his body was gone, just as the women had said.”

Then Jesus said to them, “You foolish people! You find it so hard to believe all that the prophets wrote in the Scriptures. Wasn’t it clearly predicted that the Messiah would have to suffer all these things before entering his glory?” Then Jesus took them through the writings of Moses and all the prophets, explaining from all the Scriptures the things concerning himself.

By this time they were nearing Emmaus and the end of their journey. Jesus acted as if he were going on, but they begged him, “Stay the night with us, since it is getting late.” So he went home with them. As they sat down to eat, he took the bread and blessed it. Then he broke it and gave it to them. Suddenly, their eyes were opened, and they recognized him. And at that moment he disappeared!

They said to each other, “Didn’t our hearts burn within us as he talked with us on the road and explained the Scriptures to us?” And within the hour they were on their way back to Jerusalem. There they found the eleven disciples and the others who had gathered with them, who said, “The Lord has really risen! He appeared to Peter.” (Luke 24:13-34, New Living Translation)

Almost a Miracle - Val's Story, Chapter 2

When our son, Nick, turned three in January of 1989, I talked to his father about having another baby. I didn’t want Nick to be raised alone; I wanted him to have a younger brother or sister, so he’d always have someone to play with and fight with.

          I went off the pill in April or May, so we could work on Baby #2.

          At the end of July, we went camping but got rained out. We scrapped the tent and found a small cabin for rent a few miles away. It only had one bed, so I tucked Nick into bed on the couch before my husband and I went into the bedroom.

          A week or two later, my husband’s back went out – I can’t remember how, but his back had bothered him before. Usually, a few visits to the chiropractor healed him. Not this time.

          On a Saturday night, I took him to the ER because the pain had gotten so bad that he couldn’t urinate. After some tests, they called in a back specialist, who determined that he had a ruptured disc, which was pushing on the nerves that controlled the part of his body that allowed him to go pee and get an erection.

          Or that’s the way I remember it. Since then, I have worked in the medical field for close to thirty years, including time with a urologist, and I have never heard of that happening to anyone else. But anyway.

          The specialist claimed my husband needed an emergency surgery on that disc, or he might need a catheter and be impotent for the rest of his life. So into surgery he went on Sunday afternoon.

          During that time, I thought I might already be pregnant. I was having heartburn, but I also hadn’t missed a period yet. Too soon to tell. But I thought, if this surgery didn’t work and my husband couldn’t have sex again, it would be like this baby was a miracle. Their conception timed just right.

          Of course, I never thought of the horrible consequences such a failed surgery would bring on my husband and our relationship. I must have already had baby brain.

          As it turned out, the surgery was a success, and he had an uneventful and full recovery. A few weeks later, one of the lab techs at the clinic where I worked privately showed me the slip of paper with the word “positive” circled in red.

Okay for One Day

“I am so happy.” My daughter Val was eating breakfast at the kitchen counter one Saturday morning. “I have a good job, my own car, and a wonderful boyfriend. Everything is going great for me right now.”

          I don’t remember where she was working at the time, who her boyfriend was, or what car she was driving. She went through all three of those things with regularity at that time in her life. I do think she was all of nineteen years old that day.

          She hugged me as she left the house, climbed into her car, and drove off down our driveway, a fresh layer of snow under her tires. As her mother, having lived those nineteen years with her, I knew these good days would continue to wax and wane.  

          Five minutes later, the phone rang.

          “I ran in the ditch by Bob’s house.”

          Bob was an elderly neighbor who lived a quarter mile from our house. Just past his house was a small hill on a curve. On many winter days, my own car would gently slide through that piece of the road.

          “I’ll be right there.” Her stepdad was at work, and I was sure my vehicle couldn’t pull out her larger car, but I had to do something.

          When I got to the curve, I found her car buried in the ditch and Val standing at the side of the road, cell phone to her ear.

          “My boyfriend and his friends are on their way.” She said the boyfriend’s name, but, as I mentioned earlier, I don’t remember which one it was.

          “It’ll be okay.” I drew her into a hug.

          “Why me?” she asked. “I wasn’t even going that fast.”

          I doubted that, but didn’t tell her what I was thinking. I just repeated, “It will be okay.”

          And for that one day, it was okay.      

She had more than a few incidents with vehicles.
At least no one let her drive this truck. Picture is from 2014. 

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. 

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.