For you Dad...

Dear Dad,


I miss you already. You slipped quietly away from us, from this earth, after a day that frustrated us all in our inability to keep you as comfortable as we would have liked. You were such a trooper, so strong and determined, you didn't want to leave us that day. It was the only day you spent in bed... ever.


But you waited. You waited for your son, daughter-in-law, and granddaughters to return home. And when they arrived it should not have surprised any of us, but you walked on your own accord to the living room, sat in a chair and for half an hour you made us all laugh. You wore your Twins shirt with pride that day, and teased your grandchildren while making plans to get Dairy Queen treats. Little did we know, less than 24 hours later, you'd be in your new heavenly home.


While you've left us physically, I still feel you everywhere. Your scent clings to your things in the bedroom in the apartment. We've filled the apartment with your beautiful wood work from dressers to desks. The scent of wood shavings and sawdust will forever remind me of you. Going to find your suit in the basement of your old house, was almost more than I could bear. But seeing the "chip clip" you used to hold the plastic together over your suit made me laugh, resourceful you at your best.


As much as you fought through your illness to stay with us, and refused to acknowledge your imminent passing, I have no doubt God blazed a trail for you right up to heaven. The sunset Monday night was a spectacular sight. I have never seen the whole horizon glow as golden and bright as it did that night, just hours before your passing.


Dad, I hope its okay... we picked pine wood for your final resting place... I know you never cared to work with pine because of how hard it was to rip through the knots with your saw. But it was rustic and sturdy, with an understated beauty, and it reminded me of something you may have made yourself.


I love you Dad...


I have always been proud to be "your little Snicklefritz..."



















Thanks to Rick, for being there for me and for capturing this sunset in all its glory...


As I sat writing this morning, this showed up in my email. Thank you Brian Andreas for giving me the perfect words to go forward from here...

StoryPeople... Story of the Day...


I carry you with me into the world,
into the smell of rain
& the words that dance between people
& for me, it will always be this way,
walking in the light,
remembering being alive together

Nolan, the locksmith and the FBI...

We'd suck at being burglars... Breaking and entering is not our strong suit. Okay... ask me how I would know this?

It was the stunt that nearly put me over the edge last night on a day that had been nothing but a comedy of mishaps all day... otherwise known as "one of THOSE days."

The fighting and bickering amongst the boys was constant. Nobody, wanted to go hockey camp, maybe even me. Its beens 4 long weeks of car pool in and around road construction, several times a day and nobody was all that anxious to climb in the car again. So because we were already running behind, it was the day the baseball gear was left on the seats in the truck.

I tried everything I could to push it, pull it and drag it to make room for the all the boys and their hockey gear. It took 3 of us, but we got it to budge finally. I was hot and tired. It seemed to follow me the rest of the day.

After an hour of running to Walmart and back and 14 phone conversations about it, I discovered the tension rods I bought for the shower at mom's new apartment...  already came installed with her showers... she just didn't notice them. I'm hot, tired and insert crabby here now.

The next call comes when Rick realizes that not only can he not coach Colton's t-ball game, but he can't run Nolan's practice either. With half an hour to spare we had to line up rides for Nolan, coaches to cover, and I had to move the baseball equipment again! I am hot, tired, too tired to be crabby in fact, and now hungry... Enter the FBI... yes really. The coach filling in for Rick is an FBI agent... I mean if you can't count on the FBI, who can you count on?

With Nolan safely to his practice, and Colton with me at his game... I began to think I was home free... which one should really never think...


While I am sitting at Colton's game I get a text from a friend. Nolan is at her house, because he is locked out of our house... hmmmmm... I know I left the door open for him...

But since this is Nolan...

I return home, having just sat through a gale force wind and the most I've had to eat is the sand thrown in our faces from the fields... only to discover when I open the garage door... that by "locked out," Nolan means he not only locked our outside door, but he locked the door leading from the garage to the house... we are screwed.  Safe, but screwed.

Grandpa has the only spare key... on his key ring at the lake an hour and a half away. Okay... tired, hungry, hot, gritty, thirsty... and HOMELESS!!

While I am trying to google from my phone "how to break into your house...," hubby enters.

In one fell swoop he loads us all up, gets drive through pizza, brings us home, remembers cold gatorades in the fridge in the garage... and calls a locksmith.

Locksmith guy shows up... in 2.8 seconds and 60 bucks later, has us in our house... I offer him my first born son in trade... literally... he declines...

I am home... I am now grateful, relieved, full of pizza and gatorade, and happy to crawl in to my bed.  Sense of humor, fully intact!

Please dear lord, tomorrow we have to move my parents from their home of 44 years, into their new apartment... please let this day have been the challenging day!!

“Summer is the time when one sheds one's tensions with one's clothes, and the right kind of day is jeweled balm for the battered spirit. A few of those days and you can become drunk with the belief that all's right with the world.”

~Ada Louis Huxtable

























By all accounts I know I should be drunk... with summer.


I know I am in a bubble. First we have a big move for my parents planned for the end of this week, into their new apartment. After we get them settled for a few days, my brother and his wife and their two girls are coming for a visit the following week.

So much to do, to look forward to, to enjoy. It keeps us all in the bubble. As if by our activity, we can keep everything we cherish within our collective grasp.  We're afraid to sit still, to stop moving, to get off the ride.

While the boys went with their father to a baseball game, I worked in the yard yesterday.  I started with just pulling some stray grass growing amongst the flower beds.  With the soil saturated from all the recent rains, they slid out easily in large clumps.  The steady monotonous work was soothing. I watched my fingernails fill with dirt and remnants of grass. My fingers were caked with clay. I pulled and I pulled.

Soon, all that was left  were the thistles.  Maybe its my frame of mind, my inability to leave the safety of my bubble, but I found myself barehanded, tackling those thorny weeds.  I tugged and pulled at their spindly base, wincing at the prick on my fingers when coming in contact with the thorny stems.  Yet, I never once moved to get my gardening gloves.  I sat with a tweezer last night, surveying the wounds and slivers covering my hands.  They are battle scars and a badge of honor, that serve as reminders of the heavy burden I carry.

For all of the beauty of my blooms and blossoms, simply can't take away the worry in my mother's face. Or my sleepless, restless nights.  Or the change in my Dad's words, his appearance, his growing weakness.

Our bubble is showing signs of weakening.  I tread lightly, holding my breath, knowing the bubble will one day burst.  The thorns and the thistle will take over, no matter how many times I bravely reach to yank them from the ground.

A pocketful...

I am carrying "peace" in my pocket with me today... the cool smooth stone is a tangible reminder to take a deep breath, and know... all shall be well.  Thanks sweet friend for knowing the perfect thing to send to me.  


What kinds of things bring a little peace to your world?

Hockey Day Minnesota

Take 3 NHL Minnesota Wild hockey players.

Add in two NHL hockey players from our town.

Mix in one big announcement that our town and high school hockey team were chosen as the backdrop for Hockey Day Minnesota 2011, to be broadcast on television, February 12th.

Squeeze in the zeal of our hockey community.

Presto, you have one monumental day.

Such an honor for our town to have two former players represent us so well in the NHL, with a third one to join soon.

Lots of media on hand...

A large crowd in attendance.

Chris Vande Velde, has recently signed to play with the Edmonton Oilers and will report to their AHL affiliate In Springfield, MA.  In the meantime he works out at the rink.  Its an odd juxtaposition to have our young boys running stairs along side the pro players.  How cool would that be as a young player to hang out and be coached by your idols? 

Brian Lee, finished his season last year with the Ottawa Senators playing defense.  We're excited to see where he may land next year.  

Matt Cullen, in an ironic twist was traded from the Carolina Hurricanes to the Ottawa Senators too.  We had two former Moorhead players on the same NHL team!  Matt donated 30,000 dollars to our youth rink to build the outdoor rink where our Moorhead Spuds hockey team will play Hill Murray, February 12th, 2011. 

Brent Burns, defenseman for the Minnesota Wild.  

Colton getting autographs.

Games galore was sponsored by Well Fargo and the National Guard.   Nolan and Colton racing... Colton ended up with a huge burn on his backside... owie...

Nolan and his buddy Caleb racing cars... 

Wells Fargo stagecoach rides!  

What a great day for the State of Hockey!  

I was also in close contact with my mom yesterday. Dad had a good day. He has decided to allow more morphine to be given, which in turn has eased his breathing and relaxed him. He rested and read and listened to his music in comfort yesterday, and listened to our hockey tale at the end of the evening. Your prayers, and kind words and deeds, continue to encourage and humble me...

His presence...

I couldn't figure it out.  What is that, sticking up, from the gutter?  A stick?  A feather?  Another shoe?  Yeah, there's been a  shoe on the roof before... don't ask.








Could this little guy be it?  Where'd the pointy thing go?





I watched...




observed...



leapt for joy when Rick gave me HIS camera with the telephoto lens to use...



Except then this happened...




But later he flew back...





With treasures in his beak...


Comin' in...


for a landing... 

And then he left again...



came back...


left again


Hi Colton... (sorry this has nothing to do with anything, he's just cute.)


Another "present"


And then... suddenly, mystery solved.  Two birds, building... a nest.





But not just any birds.  Mourning doves.



Through a veil of tears I uncovered the symbolism of the appearance of mourning doves...

Mourning doves

The dove is a member of the pigeon family and both hold the qualities of home, security and maternal instincts.

The dove's song is its most distinctive feature. It can be heard throughout the day.

When "Dove" makes an appearance to you it could mean:

Unexpected and unseen support and assistance will come when you need it most.

Travel is often indicated when Dove appears prominantly, and this may include relocation to a new home.

A death, either physical (of someone one knows or is close to) or symbolic (within the individual) may occur and while it may bring grief, there is also quite often a sense of relief and gratitude that suffering has finally ended and peace will soon be at hand.

Even in the Bible, the Holy Spirit is depicted as a dove in the baptism of Jesus.  According to the Bible, when Jesus emerged from the water, a dove from heaven descended upon him.

********************************

If you asked me where God is, in these moments when a life's journey is coming to an end, this is what I have discovered so far...  the signs of his presence, are everywhere. 

It's in the young buck I saw leaping through the grasses down by the river, who stopped, turned his head and looked at me... unmistakable right at me... then bounded off.  

It's in the fury and power of the weather, the umpteen tornadoes that swirled with force and power all around our community yesterday, destroying some, while leaving others unscathed.  It's a stormy day that will remain in the memories of many forever, as well as in the weather history books.   

It's in his eyes, my father's, as he searches my face.  On good days, he is all there, and we talk about every day things like always.  On not so good days, he searches my face for recognition, as if to ask, "Am I still here?" 

It's in the syringes, all lined up in a cup, next to his chair, filled with morphine.  We use them now, to help with his labored breathing at times.  

It's in the cards, letters, facebook messages, food, phonecalls... every. single. prayer.  said in his name, our name.  Especially there, I feel HIS presence. 

It's in these doves who have shown up, cooing their mournful calls, beckoning to places beyond...  while reaffirming the circle of life with each twig they add to their nest, preparing for the arrival of the new life.

The lunch girls

Dear Brynne,


Today you had your first three hour lunch with the girls.  Its a tradition between your mom and I that started more years ago than I can count these days.  The first time your mother and I had lunch together we were probably still in high school and we grabbed fries and a diet coke at Hardees or Mcky D's.  Then suddenly we were in college and started a long standing tradition of grabbing pizza at Godfathers.  For awhile I remember many late nights spent dancing at The Old Broadway, which turned into many early morning breakfasts at Cher's Kitchen.  


Over the years your mom moved away, and then later I did too.  But we both returned home to visit family and always got together for our lunch date over the holidays.  We'd both go back to our towns and resume our lives, collecting and gathering our stories to share with each other the next time we'd meet.


There have been many phone calls, emails and visits in between, but your mom and I have had an innate ability to pick up right where we left off each time we get together.  Its grown much more complicated, this gathering of ours.  Its not just her schedule and mine to juggle any more, but its husbands, and kids and now parents we work around each time you and your family come for a visit.  


Plus our topics have matured along with ourselves.  While we might have focused once on boys and dating and shopping, we now talk about boys, as in our sons, and dating, which we agree we won't let you do till you are at least 30, and shopping... well some things never change.  


But somehow we've managed to remain friends all these years.  As you sat watching us over lunch today, I couldn't help think of all the things we have yet to teach you.  But here's the main thing I want to tell you.  The things worth keeping in life, are the ones we make time for.  


Like your mother and I, and our lunches.  Those lunches have seen us through, engagements and break-ups, weddings and mortgages, funerals and births.   I have no doubt the seeds of hope for a baby girl for your mom, were once whispered over one of our lengthy lunch conversations years ago. 


Oh sure, on the surface, its just lunch I suppose.  But string together all of those hours spent sharing the stories of our lives, and what you have, is the thing worth keeping.  A best friend and a friendship borne over diet coke and french fries, still dreaming about the future and all they will have to share, the next time they have lunch. 


Thanks for lunch girls!!!