Where to Start? Perhaps with a little Inspiration.

The past few months have been a whirlwind for me.  The last time I posted here I had just returned from my dear auntie Verna's funeral.  Since then, I started homeschooling my nine-year old daughter, spent a week in Kansas City to celebrate my beautiful sister's amazing wedding, and had double hernia surgery.  All of these topics could spawn several posts but what inspired me to write this morning was a phone conversation with my friend and neighbor, Jacki.

She has had a similarly busy time over the course of the past year and last week came the news that her husband is fighting cancer.  That news is always shocking and I'm sure they are running a full range of emotions.  Still, if anyone can face this with grace and courage it's Dan, Jacki and their family.

She called this morning to see how I'm recovering and brought me up to speed on the latest appointment with their doctor.   She went on to tell me how she, Dan, their son Andy and his wife were at the movies together last night when they happened to run into their surgeon and his family. 

Fankly, I never know what the proper ettiquette is when you see your doctor in a social setting.  Do I make eye contact with my OBGYN (or worse his wife) when we all happen to be at the same picnic?  Nope.  I gotta admit, I don't.  Do I try to chit chat with my family practice doctor when we both end up at the same ladies night out event?  Nah.  Let's not go there. 

My own uncertainty about this made Dan's reaction to seeing his doctor all the more amazing to me.

You see, my brave and composed friend turned and walked across the lobby of the movie theater where he addressed the doctor, his wife and their two young daughters saying, "A long time ago I took my daughter to work with me on Take Your Daughter to Work Day.  It was a good chance for her to see that when I was away from my family I was doing important work.  I want you girls to know that the same is true of your father.  He has a very important job and he helps a lot of people.  He found some cancer in me a few weeks ago and now he's helping me get better.  You can be very proud of your dad."

I imagine those girls will not soon forget the way a stranger spoke so respectfully of their father.  I also know that the doctor's daughters aren't the only ones who should be proud of their dad.  Just ask Kristen, Matt and Andy.

She Danced Her Way to Heaven

Earlier this week, my dear, great Aunt Verna, age 93, passed away after a long and full life.  She was a real piece of work and we loved her dearly.  Some years ago she got her things in order and had a headstone inscribed with the words, "She danced her way to Heaven."  I believe she did!  I was nominated as the family spokesperson (that's what happens when you live out of town and can't get there in time to decline) so I wrote some reflections on her life and shared them at her memorial service yesterday.  She was a wonderful woman.  Perhaps you'll be inspired by her, as I have been.

Verna Irene Kewin was born on December 9, 1916 in Prairie Farm, Wisconsin, the eldest child of Calvin and Mathilda Kewin. She was raised in a loving home where she was soon joined by her sister, Gertrude, and her brother, Homer, who was usually called “Bud.”

She attended school in Prairie Farm and claims to have been a student there when our school colors were voted on. She voted for green and white. Gertrude voted for red and white. Verna won.

As a teenager, Verna’s parents made a big announcement. They were expecting a new baby. Soon, Bonnie Jean, a name selected by her older sisters, was born. Bonnie’s arrival put a bit of a kink in her older siblings’ social lives. Verna and Gertrude were not allowed to go out on any dates until they had put baby Bonnie to sleep for the night. As Verna tells it, her boyfriend would be rapping at the front door and Gertrude’s boyfriend would be rapping on the back door and Bonnie would not stop crying!

I’m fairly certain if one boyfriend lost patience and left, another would have surely appeared!

Verna loved growing up in Prairie Farm and all through her life she enjoyed sharing stories about life in our small town during those early years. We once took a long walk around town and she recalled how things used to be… the Farmer’s store, the governor’s mansion, Kate Reed’s Variety Store , Belle Booten’s hatshop, grandpa and grandma Kewin’s hotel and grandpa Tollefson’s blacksmith shop. Just imagine all her sparkling eyes saw in her 93 years.

Verna met and married Russell Johnson and her son, Roger, was born.  Their family moved to Michigan, then to Friendship, New York for a time and then back to Michigan. Verna and Russell eventually divorced and later, she met and married John Bullen. The two of them lived in Prudenville, Michigan in a pretty, ranch-style house with her favorite dog, a German Shorthaired Pointer named Lady.

I remember being a little girl and waiting for her to come and visit. We would all gather at grandma and grandpa Kewin’s house and wait for her to roll into town in her green car and big sunglasses. While she lived in other parts of the country, her heart was always most at home in Prairie Farm and, in the 1980’s, after John died, she returned here.

She lived in grandma and grandpa Kewin’s house and during that time aunt Gert was spending most of her time in Prairie Farm, too.  Those were fun years with all three of the Kewin girls back on the same block. We considered them our families version of “the Golden Girls.” Bonnie was Rose. Someone would tell her a joke and a few hours later, she’d start to giggle. Gertrude was Dorothy. Independent, feisty and often shaking her head at the other two. And Verna, well, Verna was our very own Blanche Devereaux complete with silky nightgowns and house coats and high-heeled slippers with a fuzzy pouf on top!

Verna loved to dance and had a long line of dance partners waiting for her each Sunday at the Red Rooster until well into her 80’s. Men seemed to be spellbound by her beauty and style. Once, when she was letting me bake a Jiffy Cake in her kitchen, she told me with a wink that, “She had never been much of a cook but she’d also never met a man who minded.” The truth was there is just one man who had complete hold of her heart and that’s her son, Roger.

Roger, if I had a penny for every time she told about how delivering you by c-section nearly killed her, we could go out for a steak dinner tonight. She was very proud of you.  She was especially proud of her two pretty grand daughters, Lynda and JoAnna and her three great grandchildren Noah, Chloe and Lianna.

Pictures of them, and nearly everyone else, covered Verna’s refrigerator. Don’t you wonder how many rolls of film she went through in her lifetime? She was almost never without her camera. Just this spring, when my family was here for a visit, she got down on the floor in a pile of children and insisted we take her picture.

That’s when Verna was happiest, when she was surrounded by her family, especially the children. Aside from being a loving mother, grandmother and great grandmother, she was beloved aunt to children in Michigan, Minnesota and Wisconsin. She was loved again by the next generation and the next and still the next. Our collective love for her has been a common thread that runs through our entire family.

She was always so happy to see Mike, Bobbie, Billy, Mary Lou Pat and Judy when they came from Minnesota. She was equally thrilled to hear from the Michigan crew. Just last week she was enjoying the company of Pam, Lynda, Amber and aunt Millie when they came to visit and Dennis was with her this week, helping to keep her comfortable. As I understand it, she spent her last days encouraging Dennis to consider nursing school.

Those of us lucky enough to have lived close to her here in Prairie Farm feel especially blessed to have spent so much time with her. Peggy was her shopping and canning partner. They enjoyed a lot of adventures and put on a lot of miles. Jay kept an eye on her and she often told me he reminded her of her dad in the way he took care of his entire family, Deanne was fluffing her hair and making her feel pretty just hours before she passed and she and my mom, Jill, shared a love of dancing and mischief. She felt a deep appreciation for everything the four of you so lovingly did for her over the years.

Verna was so proud to have lived on her own into old age and she died just as she would have wanted, peacefully and after sharing laughter and good byes with her family. People gathered at her bedside, called, emailed and sent messages telling her they loved her. And at the very end, the same baby sister who wouldn’t stop crying, wouldn’t leave her side.

Verna died exactly six years after her brother, Bud passed away. The day before, her niece, Pam, who lives in Michigan, stepped outside to call for an update and looked in the sky to find a large white cloud in a perfect V formation. She took a picture and called for aunt Millie who was sure it was a message from Bud calling for his sister.

There is a poem I like that describes dying. It says…

I am standing upon the seashore.

A ship at my side spreads her white sails to the moving breeze and starts for the blue ocean.

She is an object of beauty and strength.

I stand and watch her until, at length, she hangs like a speck of white cloud just where the sea and sky come to mingle with each other.

Then, someone at my side says, "There, she is gone."

Gone where?

Gone from my sight. That is all.

She is just as large in mast, hull and spar as she was when she left my side.

And, she is just as able to bear her load of living freight to her destined port.

Her diminished size is in me -- not in her.

And, just at the moment when someone says, "There, she is gone," there are other eyes watching her coming, and other voices ready to take up the glad shout, "Here she comes!"

And that is dying.

93 beautiful years, and not a moment wasted. And that is living.

God bless our remarkable Verna. We love you and we’ll miss you.

Lake Effect

Sirens streamed into our neighborhood a few nights ago.  Police, sheriff department, fire trucks, ambulances, dive teams - the whole works.  As rescue workers set up across the street, neighbors starting gathering.  Word spread quickly that a young child had gone into the lake. 

"The lake" happens to be Lake Michigan, a massive and beautiful body of water that brings me great joy most days.  Tonight, not so much.  Tonight our lake feels cold and teeming and dangerous.  Even though my four children are safely at my side I have a sick feeling.  It takes me back to another lake and another report of a lost child.

I was a college student with aspirations of chasing big stories as a writer and reporter.  That summer I was working at a local television station.  Eager Beaver's like me got sent out on all sorts of exciting stories - tornadoes, gas leaks, gang fights, car chases, traffic accidents.  This job was turning into a real downer.

I was ill-prepared for the emotional toll telling bad news would take on the messenger.  "Reporting live from the scene of a tragedy, Holly Paulson, Action News"  did not have the same thrilling ring as I had envisioned it would. 

This was already getting old by the time I was sent to a local lake where a child had been reported missing.  Rescue squads and crowds had gathered, including family and friends of the missing boy.  The mother was sobbing and screaming in anguish and her cries echoed over the lake.  I watched with weak knees as they methodically dragged the lake for the boy.  I wanted them to find him so I could get out of there and the family could go home and grieve in peace.  At the same time I was afraid that they would find him.  I didn't know if I could watch.  Shortly before dusk the dive team signaled that the boy had been recovered.  A quick call to the station for an update led to a shocking order, "Make sure you get close enough to the family to hear their reaction.  We'll lead with that audio."

"We" would lead with no such thing ever again because I had already decided this was the last time I'd be part of a story told like this.  I didn't want to hold a microphone to this mother, I wanted to hold her hand and assure her that even though it didn't feel like it now, by the grace of God, someday, somehow, she would be alright.

That day at the lake had a major effect on my life.  No more TV news for this storyteller.  All these years later, and gathered once again by a lake, I prayed that this would end differently.  Once was enough.  Fortunately, once was indeed enough.  False alarm.  What looked like a small boy in the lake was not.  The only thing pulled from the lake that night was a reminder that prayers are indeed answered.

Today, I'm happy to report on a story with a happy ending.  A story that would have been deemed, "not newsworthy" by most reporters.  Afterall, who wants to hear about a child who wasn't pulled from a lake?  Me.  That's who. 

These days, I'm not a reporter; just a mom who still likes to tell stories in her own way and on her own terms. 

"Reporting live, not from the scene of a tragedy but from real life, where we embrace good news and pray for the strength to handle bad news with grace and compassion, this is Holly Hess."

It's Friday Already? Wow!

This morning when we were considering our options for the day, one of my daughters said, "It's Friday already?  Wow!"  Proof that time certainly does fly when you're having fun.  We're so busy enjoying our old-fashioned summer vacation there's little time for anything else, even writing. 

During the school year, going weeks without sitting down to write would feel like torture to me.  Not so during the sweet summer months.  Sharing long, lazy days with my four children allows me to live life from a delightfully creative state of mind.  It's one of the great gifts of motherhood. 

I hope you'll check in often but don't be surprised to find that posts are fewer and farther between.  We're busy chasing the butterflies that flutter around our front yard by day and the fireflies that join us at night, collecting lake glass - smooth and beautiful - that washes onto the shore of Lake Michigan just across the street, hiding under the canopy of the red bud tree in the front yard, searching for four leaf clovers, counting stars, making mud pies, skinning our knees, racing around on our bikes, splashing in puddles, taking long walks, finding frogs, getting the giggles and solving the mystery of the cat that might be, but most likely is not, (shh- don't tell) hiding in our garage.

Having children reminds me of  the days of summers past, when time marched at a different pace and the days flowed together in a way that was long and lazy and full of adventure.  I know how fleeting those carefree summers of childhood are and I won't miss this chance to enjoy every minute of the do-over motherhood offers. That said, I probably won't have a lot of time to write these days, and, if you're lucky, you won't have as much time to read. 

June is already a memory.  Here's to July and summer's awesome, annual invitation to go outside and play.

Justice, Well Being, Knowledge and Faith

This weekend, a young woman who grew up in our church is being ordained as an ELCA pastor.  What a great day for her and the people who love her. While I don't know her personally, I do know and have great respect her mom, a woman whose story inspires me.

Life has not always been easy for the public school teacher and single mother of four.  As we all know, sometimes things just don't work out as planned.  For her, that meant a challenging marriage and a difficult divorce.  Still, you don't need to know my friend for long to know she is a woman of great strength and spirit.  She took the high road, which was also often the hard road, in order to carve out a better life for her and her family.  She's the kind of woman who makes the rest of us want to stand up and cheer.  I'm always amazed by women like her who overcome life's challenges with grace and strength.

This weekend, when her daughter is ordained, she will sit inside the church the proud mother of four grown children.  Four children raised by a woman who didn't just dream of a better life, she made it happen.  A woman who would settle for nothing less than a life of justice, well being, knowledge and faith.  Qualities she passed on to her children - the lawyer, the doctor, the teacher, and the pastor - and inspired them to share with the world.

Time Out

I have been in the zone all weekend, pouring all of my energy into a home landscaping project.  The shrubs in front of our c.1867 house are are so overgrown it looks like they haven't been properly maintained since the Lincoln administration.  We've been here two years this month.  Last year we tackled the back yard; this year the front.  I've approached this project with gusto digging and pulling in every spare moment since Friday.  I want my husband to share my enthusiasm for the demolition phase.  He doesn't.  Seems we're both having a problem being patient.  I'm intent on clearing out the old so I can move ahead with tending our new garden and watching it take shape over the coming months and years.  He wants to plant things that look mature and beautiful from day one.  We're clearly products of our "want it, got it" culture. 

We've been so wrapped up in plowing through the project that we haven't taken time to enjoy the process, to appreciate the opportunity to work on it together, and to soak up the warm spring sun.  At least not until now.  Turns out we've got company.  Over half way through "Operation Shrub Pull" I uncovered this little sweetie.  A mother Robin has made her nest in one of our overgrown bushes.  What's an eye sore to us is home sweet home to her and her tiny, baby bird. 

This discovery has really put the brakes on our project.  I can't help but wonder if God has put us in a timeout.  We've been so focused on our task that we've been blind to the beauty that surrounds us.

Time to switch gears.  Our new landscaping will have to wait a few weeks while our family lets nature take its course.  We've put down our shovels, poured some lemonade, and found a seat on the front porch.  After all, these shrubs have been overgrown for years, what's a few more days.

"M" is for the Million Things She Gave Me

It's mother's day, quite possibly my favorite day of the year.  This picture-perfect day came complete with church, fresh flowers, a brunch buffet, a nap, a walk, and plenty of precious gifts, handmade with love by my children.  Bliss.  The only thing that could have made today any better would have been the chance to spend some time with my own mother.

As a little girl, we learned a corny song called "M is for the Million Things She Gave Me" at a church mother-daughter banquet and an off-key tradition was born.  The song goes something like this:

M is for the million things she gave me.
O means only that she's growing old.
T is for the tears she shed to save me.
H is for her heart of purest gold.
E is for her eyes with love light shining.
R means right and right she'll always be. 
Put them all together they spell mother.  The word that means the world to me.

We usually call and sing this song to my mom every mother's day. It's a race to see who can call first.  This year, I had to leave a message so my sister won.  Hopefully writing about it will earn me some extra points.

My mother became a mom when she was barely eighteen years old.  She and my dad moved into a small house located kitty-corner from where her parents still live, in the house where my mom grew up.  She tells about being in her house at night, home alone with me when I was new baby.  She was scared and lonely.  She would look across to her parent's house and want so badly to go home.  But she didn't.  She stuck it out.

As a child I never realized how young my mom was.  I guess having a baby at eighteen makes you grow up fast. I was soon joined by a sister and then a brother.  The three of us meant everything to mom.  She was a natural.  She didn't read parenting books or join a mommy group.  She just seemed to know what to say and do.  I grew up in the care of a mother who was kind, fair, gentle, funny, understanding, patient and strong.  Her loving example remains the heart of our family. 

On her first mother's day, my mom was just a girl.  Today, she is mom to three grown children, all of whom have college degrees and successful, happy lives.  She's also a mother-in-law and a beloved grandma to four grandchildren. 

Growing up, we may not have had everything we wanted but, because of our mom, we had everything we needed - and then some.  It's been a long time since my teen-aged mom looked out her window and yearned to go home. Looking back I hope she knows that her selfless sacrifices on our behalf made all the difference in our lives.  This mother's day, like every other, I'm reminded that "M" is for the million things she gave me - and so much more.