My Yard is Full of Memories

Before I begin, I just want to rant a tad - JUST WHAT I NEED - A CHANGE OF EVERYTHING IN BLOGGER.  Why can't anybody just leave well enough alone.   I just got hit with Timeline on Facebook, which I have been dreading.  And no, I still don't like it.  Oh, well - nothing ever stays the same.

Which, of course, includes things in nature.  But I have to say - my yard is my refuge (except when the kid next door decides to wash all the cars in his family with his music on full blast).  July 1, it will be 34 years that we have lived in this house.  I have posted about the yard off and on over the years, showing the beginnings and the changes.  

This particular trip down memory lane began when we discovered that the lilac bush in the far back corner of the yard had finally bloomed - about 10 years after we transplanted it there.  It came from Minnesota as a little stick, brought by my brother from my Grandma Swanson's yard, before she went to a smaller house, then the nursing home, then to heaven.  The property sat there unchanged for many years after it was no longer hers, so we grandkids went exploring there at different times.  We used to play in the ditch where there was a profusion of these lilacs. 

This is my little tiny grandma that I have posted about a few times before.  She was my wonderful farming, cooking, baking, strawberry and cucumber picking grandma (as opposed to my other wonderful grandma who had a job, bowled, and brought pop and goodies home from the bakery).  

 

 This was taken at the nursing time the last time I saw her, when she was seeing her first great granddaughter for the first and last time - Kristen at about 18 months.  

 One year when Dwight's folks went back to visit family in Wisconsin, they brought us back two gifts from the woods behind his grandma's house.  This blue spruce was about 2 feet tall - and now it is at least 20.  

 

 This maple tree was a tiny sapling when we transplanted it from Wisconsin.  The next spring, when things came back to life, lo and behold there was a beautiful variety of wild flowers growing around the tree.  Turns out that these woodsy flowers had traveled to Colorado in the ball of dirt around the tree's roots.  What a nice surprise - especially the raspberry bushes that we moved to a good spot, and have enjoyed every summer since.

 Then there's the spot where our sweet little dachshund, Fritzie, lies in rest after entertaining and loving us unconditionally for 14 years.  He died on Valentine's Day, the day after Kevin's 19th birthday, in his own little bed in the basement.  We couldn't stand to send him anywhere, so we probably broke the law (don't tell anybody!)  The marker is still there, 16 years later, in what used to be the garden.  

 

Right outside the garden area is an apple tree, at least 12 feet tall.  It brings back another lovely memory.  It was during the time when we saw our step grandson, Anthony, a lot.  He asked me one day where apples came from.  I showed him the seeds in the apple he was eating and told him that's how they started.  He asked if we could plant a seed, so we planted two - in the flower bed right off the patio.  I never dreamed (and Kristen says she can't believe it because she was always planting seeds that never came up) that it would sprout so quickly.  By the end of that summer, Dwight transplanted the larger one out to the back part of the yard.  Anthony asked me at that time when it would have apples.  I told him probably about the time he went to college - he's 14 now, so that might be about right.

The first spring in our house, when we were putting in our yard, Dwight was working horrific hours - he was in accounting and it was year end crunch time.  So I would go pick up the bushes a few at a time and plant them each day.  We had this nice bare root tree that hadn't been planted yet when the rains began.  Dwight had dug the six foot diameter, six foot deep hole and told me I must put it in the next day or it was going to die and we'd waste a lot of precious money.  That night - yep it rained, and filled the hole like a swimming pool.  We had also just fertilized the day before with the natural good stuff, and the whole yard was very soft and gooshy - and now was very soft and gooshy mud.  I got up very early that morning, donned Dwight's fishing waders, and headed into the mess.  I was scooping the water out with a bucket, getting my legs twisted up like a pretzel.  It's a wonder I didn't fall in.  Finally, I got the water to stay out long enough to be able to place the tree into the hole and scoop the mud back in to hold it in place.  Needless to say, of all the trees and bushes I planted or helped plant, this one holds a special place in my heart.  It is huge.  And of course it looks much lovelier when it is in full leaf.

We have always wanted a variety of irises, and last year we were privileged to see the fruits of the planting the previous fall, from rhizomes given to us by our champion iris-growing friend, who knows each of her flowers by name.  We're excited to see how they do this year when the time comes.

The daffodils and tulips are coming in profusion now, as well as windflowers and tiny little forget-me-nots.  But this is the first flower I took a picture of this spring - such an interesting, different tulip.  I love them all, and am sad when they are gone.

Have a blessed week-end!

The Sounds of Christmas

As usual, I am immersed in the music of Christmas - preparing for the church presentations next Saturday night and Sunday morning, as well as the Loveland Choral Society concerts - the following Friday evening, Saturday afternoon and evening, and Sunday afternoon. It's a lot of work, but I enjoy it so much. All this involvement with the music has brought forth some long ago memories.


Wherever we lived when I was a child, we tried to get back to Monticello, Minnesota for Christmas with both sets of our grandparents. My Grandma Swanson's church was full of good friends and wonderful Christmas memories. The most prominent memory from those early years involved the pastor, whose name was Rev. Noel, appropriately enough. It was pronounced Noll, but it looked like Christmas. He had a wonderful singing voice, and every year would sing "O Holy Night." Oh, how we looked forward to that, even at such a young age. It remains one of my very favorite Christmas songs, and we're singing it in the Loveland Choral Society concert - a beautiful rendition arranged by Rene Claussen. My favorite recordings are by Sandy Patti and Josh Groban - both of them just soar at the end.


It was the 5th grade in Heber Springs, Arkansas. My dad had just accepted a new pastorate in northern Minnesota, and we were leaving before Christmas - right in the middle of our preparation for the school program. That year we were singing a Christmas carol I'd never heard before. I loved it - "I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day." I was so incredibly sad when I had to leave a few days before the performance. I still love the lyrics, which were written during the Civil War by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. But I love even more the newer version of the music, which we sang in our church musical last year and are repeating this year. Take a few minutes to be blessed by Casting Crowns:

It was the 9th grade, at Edgewood Junior High School in a suburb of the Twin Cities in Minnesota. I was taking a typing class (which, by the way, would have a huge impact on my future in the workaday world). Our teacher was clever and devised a contest to spur us on. It was a trip from Minneapolis to Miami, with each step advanced by virtue of our speed and accuracy. A new friend named Kathy became my rival, and we really helped each other as we worked to be the first to arrive in Miami. Truthfully, I don't remember who won, but I know it was very close, and that we both benefited greatly from this class and the contest.

Ironically, Kathy and I also became rivals in another arena that required dexterity and speed of our fingers. We were both in the mixed choir and both played the piano. We were both privileged to be asked to accompany the choir. I was chosen to play for the Christmas concert, and she would accompany the spring show. I was so excited, and nervous, as I practiced on my own and with the group. It was heady stuff, because it was quite a large school. I must admit I do not remember a single song we were going to perform. Probably a week before the scheduled program, I got very sick. My glands were swollen, my throat was sore, I was totally fatigued, and I had a high temperature. I ended up not only missing the program, but the last two weeks of school before vacation - and I was sick the entire two weeks of vacation. It took the entire first two weeks to get the diagnosis of infectious mononucleosis. I had never heard of it before, and was appalled to learn that it is also called "the kissing disease." I was so sick - it made my eyes hurt, so I couldn't read or watch t.v. The only thing I could do was listen to the radio - and that's where I first heard "The Little Drummer Boy." I loved it - at least the first 300 times it played. The other one I remember was Frank Sinatra's "And this song of mine in three-quarter time wishes you and yours the same thing, too." I don't know why I remember that. I liked it better in later years with The Carpenters.



And then of course there was my first year of teaching in southwest Kansas when I heard "I'll be Home for Christmas" every time I turned on the radio and was very thankful that it was true. I've never been without family at Christmas in this long life. The only even close to bad memory was the first Christmas we were married. We were heading for my folks' place in Colorado Springs, a 2 1/2 hour drive on a good day. We had been hit with a storm during the night, but we headed out anyway. The interstate was treacherous, and it took us far too long to reach that first truck stop outside of Longmont, about 20 miles from home. The truckers all told us to turn around and go back home, that they'd never seen the roads so bad. That was enough for us! But, we had been prepared to be gone all week-end, were taking one dish to share at the feast, and had nothing to eat in the house - and in those days, no self-respecting store was open. So we foisted ourselves on my SIL, had a great time together, and headed down to the Springs for the rest of the week-end, and for our first anniversary on the 28th.


There are so many other wonderful songs that evoke other memories. But I must close for now. I trust you're truly enjoying this season of busyness, and remembering why we do it all. Happy Birthday, Jesus!

Social Insecurity

I am fascinated by memory triggers, those things that bring the feelings back from a past trauma, insecurity, fear, or joy and happiness. There are places I drive by that bring back very bad times in my past. There are scents that carry me back to good and bad times. There are songs that transport me back to high school or college, or other times in my life.

Kristen lives very near a high school, and the corner where you turn to take her kids to school is a gathering place for the type of kids I would never want as my grandgirls' group. They take over the corner, wearing black, smoking, pushing each other around, and intimidating those who need to navigate that corner. When I am taking the girls to school, I often have to turn that corner.

Two times in my life when I felt very insecure came rushing into my memory, and I could feel the way I felt back in those days. The first time was in first grade in Arkansas. I was much more shy back then. I was also a very slow eater. We had to walk across the street from the school building to an entirely different building that served as the lunch room. We went by grade, and I was never finished eating when the first graders left; in fact, I was still eating when the sixth graders arrived. That required me to cross the street by myself back to the playground outside the school. I was a good reader, and could certainly read the "STOP" sign, but the sixth grade crossing guard always tried to make me read it before I could cross the street. For some reason, that made me nervous and I did not want to do it. I felt like he was just doing it to show off his "power." At that point, I began rushing through lunch so I could go back with my classmates. That was the beginning of my eating too fast, and I have never learned how to slow down.

The insecurity of my walk to and from school when I lived in northern Minnesota floods back into my body. This town where we lived was a rough place. There were many kids who delighted in pelting other kids with icy snow balls. I was never of a mind to defend myself - I just wanted to disappear from their sight. Fortunately, my sister a year younger than I had a lot more guts. She would actually throw back at them. This school was badly in need of more space, and as a stop-gap measure they instituted a new schedule which alleviated some of the problem. Some went to school from 7:30-2:00, some 8:30-3, and some 9:30-4, if I recall correctly. One year I was the very early shift, and one year the very late. I liked both of them, because it means I walked to school before or after the crowd.

I could write about why I haven't learned to swim, how my fear of heights has affected me, but I would like to hear some of your stories!

Great Cloud of Witnesses

Hebrews 12

¹ Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, ² fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith.

I've been thinking a lot lately about the saints who have gone to heaven from our church. I think of them as I drive around town and pass the houses where they used to live. They were all "prayer warriors" and our church and our personal lives were diminished when they went home to be with the Lord. I miss them all.

Mrs. Stinnette lived in this house by the railroad tracks with her husband, a former pastor of our church, until he died quite a few years before she did. She always called him "Mr. Stinnette." They moved back here after retirement, as many of the former pastors have done (including my parents). I don't know of anyone who called her by her first name, Faye. She was a forever Sunday school teacher - I remember the day Kristen went from the nursery to her class at age 3. She was the one who kept track of the "Cradle Roll" babies for many years - she went on countless visits to new mothers in town, inviting them to be a part of our church with their new babies. She was eminently interested in missions, partly because her daughter and son-in-law were the first missionaries of our denomination in Columbia, before his way too early death.

One of my favorite memories of Mrs. Stinnette was when her eyesight became too bad in her 80s to continue driving. My experience is that most of our elderly loved ones fight this change in their lives with great resistance. When she failed the driving test because of her eyes, she drove her car home (not quite sure how that was allowed), put it in her garage, and never looked back. Her biggest concern was how she was going to continue to "take care of the old lady" she had been employed by for a very long time.

Heaven was richer the day Faye Stinnette entered those gates.

Joe and Maizie Anstett lived in the above house for many years - Joe was extremely proud of his yard and garden and I think he would be very sad to see what has become of it since he died and Maizie had to go to assisted living until her death at age 102 last year. Joe and Maizie had been married for 75 years before he went home to Jesus. She missed him greatly, but continued to be a cheerful, sharp minded, delightful, talkative lady, fun to visit. Her little tiny suite was filled to overflowing with pictures of her large, loving family and mementos of all sorts that they had brought to her. I loved visiting them when they both lived in that small area, after they had to leave their home. Joe was such a sweet man - he always asked about our kids and was genuinely interested. Joe would try to tell a story, but never got very many words in before Maizie would chime in and correct him. He was the most patient, loving man - and they made a delightful couple, testament to great love and endurance.

Across the road from Joe and Maizie's place is this house, occupied for many years by Floyd and Violet Hicks. Floyd was a godly man, but very very quiet. Violet, or Grandma Hicks as everyone called her, was a bright spot in our congregation. She had been around forever - she and Faye Stinnette used to spend many days each week visiting folks who they wanted to see come to church. She had a very large family and loved to cook for them on Sundays - inviting others to join them - what was one or two or three more?

Violet lived up to her name in a very concrete way - everyone who came to our church got a visit from her with an African violet - new babies were welcomed the same way, with a plant for the mothers. I remember mine well, and it lasted for many years. I wish I still had it.

I can still envision her sitting in the third pew, organ side of the church. Whenever the congregation was asked to choose a favorite song to sing on a Sunday night, she would, without fail, choose "Living by Faith." And she did. I know she and Maizie and Sister Stinnette are up there in heaven having a grand time.

I had to make a special trip to photograph the house above, because it's not in my usual route around town. But I couldn't leave out Alice Campbell - a tiny little woman who had once been a missionary to China. She always sat in the second row on the organ side and her presence was known - she always asked for the chance to give her testimony of what God was doing for her in her life. I treasured her prayers and counted on them. In fact, if it weren't for her, I'm not sure I would have married DC - she told me one day that she had assurance from God that it was okay to marry him. I always thought she had a hot line to God! She had not had that same sense about my previous boyfriend!

When Sister Campbell was unable to live by herself any longer, she graciously went to the nursing home. She continued her ministry there, delivering mail and cheering the other residents every day. What a blessing she was.



Then there were Gladys and Esther, two wonderful maiden ladies who made a home together. What delightful ladies they were. Esther was a Latin teacher in her career days. She was shy, lovely, and I always wondered why she never married. She was generous and sweet, and I knew she was praying for me. Gladys was a nurse and did not retire until she was past the prescribed age. After she retired from "working", she became the nursery attendant and loved on our kids for quite a few years. Oh, how they loved "Grandma Gladys." I actually concocted that name because I didn't want my kids to call her Gladys and Miss Ehlers was way too formal for her. Grandma Gladys she was to everyone, and still is when she's remembered. I miss her still. When Gladys died, our pastor at the time was brand new. He honored her at her service with the most amazing insights he gained by looking through her Bible.



Last but certainly not least - Ray and Ethelyn lived in this apartment complex the last years of their lives. Ray and his first wife came to our church when their little church closed down. It wasn't long before his wife became ill and died. It became amusing to watch, as the time went by, the elderly unmarried ladies giving him the eye. He was quite refined and handsome, and very very nice. The one who won his eye was Ethelyn. She had spent her youth raising her younger siblings, then married at a much later age than the norm. Her husband was much older, and not in good health. I'm not sure how long they were married before he died, but I know it was not an easy life for her. She had never had the chance to just really love life - until she and Ray were married. What fun it was to watch her glow with love for Ray. Talk about another prayer warrior.

I have been blessed to have known all of these saints who have gone on before us. I love to think that they are keeping tabs on us down here. I don't know if that's possible or not, never will in this life. But I know that their lives have left a profound legacy to us in our church. They left some very large shoes to fill.

Creativity on a Meager Budget

When we were kids we had to be creative in our gift giving because of lack of funds. I remember one year when Vicki and I were in junior high, when somehow we had a means of some income. We walked to town, in a much more innocent era, every Saturday to put a dollar down on the layaway of a quilted robe for Mom. We were so proud when she opened it on Christmas Eve. I wish I could find the picture, but I know she wouldn't appreciate my publishing it because she had pincurls in her hair that night.

When we did have money we had fun buying gifts. When we didn't, we improvised. I have such a clear picture in my mind of the Mother's Day Eve when Vicki and I realized we had done nothing to prepare for the next day. It was too late to buy anything, even a card, even if we'd had any cash on hand. We came up with the idea of writing her a letter. We spent the evening in our bedroom memorializing memories of her as our mom. I remember laughing so hard as we wrote, thinking that Mom would laugh just as much.

Now as mothers, we understand, but that Mother's Day we were shocked by the reaction of tears instead of laughter. I wouldn't be surprised if she still has that letter somewhere in her precious memories stash. I'd love to read it at this stage of my life.

Another time I remember well was the summer I was 18, between sophomore and junior year of college, I believe. Another time of poverty in the lives of the Swanson kids. We needed to do something for our parents' 20th anniversary that August. It was Sunday after church and while we were still dressed up, we decided to go to the basement and take a picture for them. Our brother, Barry, was editor of the high school paper that year and also the photographer. He had his own little dark room down there and was able to process and print pictures. He set the camera on the tripod with the timer and we waited for the flash, and waited, and waited, feeling sillier by the second. Thus the incredibly wide, cheesy grins - we were laughing so hard I'm surprised they didn't come down to see what was going on.

I imagine we did some sort of "show" for them as well, but the photograph lives on.

A Fun(ny) Memory

Thank you so much, everyone, for stopping by and wishing me well - and praying! I feel ever so much better tonight. I hope to feel even better in the morning so that I can go to work. I just hope it's not like Mary said, that the tiredness and cough are the beginning of the flu, and it gets worse from here!

Today as I began to feel better, I took advantage of the free time to visit all of you dear friends. When I was over in Maine at Midlife Mom's place (while she's vacationing in Florida), I enjoyed her visit down memory lane.

What was really funny is that I have been planning for quite some time to do a post on gum wrapper chains. It was nice to know I was not the only one of our "era" to have made one.

When I was in high school, it became quite the rage to have one of these chains in progress. Some liked to make them out of every different kind of gum. I chose Wrigley's Spearmint. I don't know if it's because I liked that flavor the best, or I wanted it to be white. Maybe it's why I don't chew gum any more! (I think the real reason I don't chew gum is, besides the fact that I think it's a very irritating looking habit, it is so pointless - if I'm going to expend that much energy chewing something, I want some satisfaction from swallowing it!) But I digress.

I truly believe we should have bought stock in Wrigley's company - we were buying so much gum. Don't ask me where I got the money. Of course, it was probably a nickel a pack in those days! I don't remember when we had the time to do this. I can't imagine that I was doing it during class, because I never did anything at school that would get me in trouble.

The story is that you were supposed to make the chain as long as your boyfriend was tall. There was something about burning it at some point, but that part is lost to me. Anyone out there remember that piece of the puzzle?

Since I didn't have a boyfriend, my imaginary guy had to be at least 6 ft. 2 inches tall, so that I could wear my three-inch spikes and still have him be taller than I. I had grown to 5 ft. 10 inches by this time. I did it - a 74-inch gum chain. What in the world did I do with it? I wish I had it now to do a show and tell!

As it turned out, my freshman year in college I had a boyfriend that tall. Long story, destined to end. The "rancher" that I told about in my "100 Things About Me" was that tall. A couple other guys I dated were that tall. But the guy who won my heart is not. I wore flats for my wedding. We're about the same height. Good thing I didn't have the chain to measure him by! Height just doesn't matter. Not at all. It's all about his heart, his soul, his kindness, his love.

But it is a fun(ny) memory!

(Some people mentioned in Midlife Mom's comments that they didn't remember how to make the gum wrapper chain. Check out this site - I don't remember cutting them in half, but maybe I did. It was a long time ago!)

IMPORTANT: Don't stop praying for Ladybug (Margarita Martinez) who is still missing. Pray for her mother, Cynthia, and her entire family. Let Cynthia know that you are praying!