Family Archives - Page 23 of 51

What Is Aunt Letha Sewing Now?

by jphilo | Sep 26, 2011 | Family

Last week was packed with reunions and good-byes. In fact, I’m still recovering from the wonderful Nebraska visit with old friends and the passing of Abby the dog’s. But from all indications, the spate of hellos and farewells isn’t over yet.

This weekend, news arrived of the death of Aunt Letha. One of my mother’s older sisters, she’d been in declining health ever since Marvin, her husband, passed away a year ago. The decline intensified a few months ago, and the updates her kids sent now and then prepared us for the inevitable.

Thoughts of Letha have been my companion since the news arrived.

I see her in the tiny farm kitchen, whipping up the most amazing meals for her husband, seven kids, and her assorted nieces and nephews visiting for a holiday weekend or a week in the summer. I see her processing the eggs we gathered, preparing bottles for us to feed to the orphan lambs, and running fresh milk through the cream separator.

This woman knew how to work.

When Aunt Letha needed a break, she sat at her sewing machine and turned out shirts and pants for her sons, dresses, skirts, and blouses for her daughters, and if memory serves me right, even the occasional swimsuit. When she ran out of clothes to make for her kids, she moved on to the visiting nieces and nephews, even making new underwear for those of us who hadn’t packed undies to last a week.

I am not kidding.

Letha was the most accomplished seamstress among her sister siblings. That’s saying something, because all five “Hess girls” were pretty good with needle and thread. But Aunt Letha outsewed them all. She was no slouch with a crochet hook, either. In her older years, her hands were constantly busy making afghans, first for grandchildren and then for great-grandchildren.

18 of the former, and 16 1/2 of the latter at last count.

So this picture is a fitting remembrance. It was taken a few years back at the Jasper, Minnesota apartment where she and Marvin lived, a few miles from their old farm. She was in her early 80’s then, still busy crocheting and sewing as the skein of yarn on the chair beside her and the spools of thread on the end table bear witness.

She was working on an afghan for a new great-grandchild, she said.

This is the Letha we will remember Wednesday when family gathers to celebrate her long life. Her still hands will be proof that her busy, talented spirit no longer inhabits her body. But the crowd of her descendants – children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren buzzing busily about – will bear testimony of her powerful, productive life. And every child, niece, and nephew who ever sported her custom made foundation garments will be wondering the same thing: could she be sewing underwear in heaven right now?

Nah.

Good-bye, Abby the Dog

by jphilo | Sep 23, 2011 | Family

Yesterday afternoon, our week took an unexpected turn when my brother’s wife texted with news about Abby, the dog. Our former pet’s health, which has been tenuous for the past month, was rapidly going downhill. An MRI showed a large mass on one of her ventricles, and the formerly perky, still quirky pooch was in heart failure. Did I want to come to the vet clinic, my sis-in-law wondered, to say good-bye before she took her home to die?

Hiram and I hurried over, arriving at the same time as her present owners. The vet brought the little doggie out, her tiny sides heaving with the struggle of breathing. It was obvious that the trip home would be a further misery to her. So my sister-in-law, who is soft-hearted toward all critters, but especially for one small, shallow, barky, and lovable red daschund, kindly decided to put the suffering dog to sleep.

But not until Abby, who loved food almost as much as she loved my sister-in-law, had one last meal. One whiff of the mound of soft dog food, and the little glutton rose to the occasion. She ate ravenously, with great gulps, licking the plate clean and lapping water afterwards.

She was curled up on my sister-in-law’s lap, as happy as a dog could be, while the vet administered the meds. Through our tears, we watched her breathing grow quiet and her body relax. Silently and sweetly, she slipped away.

Good-bye, silly dog
who caught grasshoppers and ate them,
who loved to lick the sweat off Hiram’s head after he went jogging,
who ate anything that hit the floor,
who hoarded chew bones to taunt her pack mates,
who loved playing more than napping,
who loved snuggling more than playing,
who loved eating more than snuggling,
who made us laugh the minute before you went away.

May the dog food be never-ending wherever you are today.

A Cow Hating Man

by jphilo | Sep 19, 2011 | Family

Believe it or not, my sweet, kind, gentle husband recently ‘fessed up about his dark side. It happened just the other day. We were talking about something or the other, and out of the blue he stated,

“I hate cows.”

Shocking, but true.

Since exposing the dark underbelly of his soul, the subject again reared its ugly head after his phone call with an old South Dakota friend, Donnie. Way back when, Donnie was our pastor, Connie (Donnie’s wife) was Allen’s babysitter, and I taught their oldest two kids in school. Donnie was also a cowboy, constantly roping Hiram (figuratively speaking) into going on trail rides and doing cow-related stuff.

Eventually, the good times ended. We moved to Iowa. They moved to Nebraska, and though Hiram misses his cowboy buddy, Iowa’s lack of livestock-centered activities has been a great relief to him for the past 27 years.

Next week, we’re going to visit them for the first time in maybe fifteen years. Hence, Donnie’s phone call with directions to their place and some really good news which Hiram shared after he got off the phone.

Donnie’s gonna be working cows all day Monday, and Hiram gets to go along!

Unless, of course, I need Hiram along for my two women’s club speaking engagements in the neighboring towns. Hiram said he’s willing, more than willing to attend the women’s club meetings if, for any reason, any reason at all, he can be of assistance. This from the guy who under normal circumstances has a list of reasons – time to mow the lawn, cut toe nails, get a root canal, endure Chinese water torture, clean the grill, listen to fingernails on a chalkboard – for not attending functions containing the phrase “Women’s Club.”

Which once again exposes the dark underbelly of this good man’s soul.

He hates cows.

But not as much as he wants to spend time with his old friend.

So on Monday, Hiram will saddle up and join Donnie and the cows on the open range.
It’ll be just like old times.
Donnie in his element.
Hiram wishing he wasn’t on a horse, exposing the dark underbelly of his soul.
Me and Connie having a good talk indoors, far away from the critters.

Yippee ki-yay, get along little doggie!

I’m No Complainer – Recycled

by jphilo | Sep 13, 2011 | Family

I chose this recycled post for two reasons. First, reading it reminded me again of what a good husband Hiram is. Second, I’ve been waiting for a chance to show off this photo of my hubby which I took this summer in Idaho. He’s a shy person and not easy to photograph – not that I’m complaining, mind you – so this pic was a bit of a coup during the hike to the waterfall. (That’s the white stuff in the background.) But enough about the picture. Time to read about one of the nicest people I know.

I’m No Complainer – Recycled

I’m not a complainer. Maybe that’s not quite true. But I don’t complain all the time, just most of the time. Look at it this way. On a really good day, there are whole minutes when I don’t complain at all. Pretty impressive record, if I do say so myself.

This morning as I worked on a devotion for my book for parents of sick and dying kids, God kept me from complaining about my husband. Not that I complain about him all the time, and the devotion I wrote this morning should boost my record.

This devotion was for separated and divorced parents who need to lay aside their differences and communicate with each other for the sake of their sick child. Thankfully, a divorced mom was completely honest about the struggles she and her former husband had when their son battled leukemia. Because of her, I was able to share a story and give some advice to help other parents in a similar situation.

Hearing her family’s story and writing about it made me thankful for my husband. He endured with great patience my emotional, hormonal rants after Allen was born and flown away for surgery. Sometimes as I look back, I’m amazed our marriage held together. But it did, mostly because of his love and patience and forgiveness.

That realization put the kibosh on my complaining, least for today. But I’ll need another reminder tomorrow. And the day after that and the day after that. Good thing Hiram’s still a loving, patient and forgiving man. Because of him our marriage will last.

What Do You Give a Woman Who’s 83?

by jphilo | Sep 7, 2011 | Family

Mom’s birthday was Saturday, and as was mentioned in yesterday’s post, we (meaning 20 people in her extended family, including her baby sister, Donna, pictured above) celebrated in style with the traditional family birthday cake. What wasn’t mentioned in the post was my personal quandary that has grown more perplexing as Mom grows older.

What do you give a woman who’s 83?

Mom doesn’t like to be given stuff because once it’s hers, she frets about it.
“What should I do with it?” she asks.
“Where should I put it?” she asks.
“Do you want it?” she asks.
Kinda defeats the purpose of giving a gift, when she wants the giver to take it back.

This year, I rationalized away the quandary this way.
“Baking the German chocolate cake is my present to her,” I thought.
“Sharing my bed with her for the reunion weekend is my present to her,” I thought.
“Hiram sleeping on the floor for the reunion weekend so she could sleep in our bed is our present to her,” I thought.
“Hosting 20 people at my house for the weekend is my present to her,” I thought.

But do you know what?

Throughout the weekend,
the more I watched her listen to the young adults describe their forays into grownupdom,
the more I saw her enjoy watching everyone play yard games,
the more engaged she became during several rousing games of Catch Phrase,
the more I realized my thoughts were not rationalization.
Instead, those thoughts were the answer to the quandary.

What do you give a woman who’s 83?
The gift of your time.

I Will Not Cry

by jphilo | Sep 1, 2011 | Family

Here it is more than a week after our daughter and new son’s move to Ohio, and I’ve yet to do more than address it in passing. Perhaps that means that I move much slower than my daughter who is the blur zipping around the kitchen in this picture.

The move was fairly uneventful, except for the part when the first apartment was so gross that Anne – along with Hiram’s step-brother – went to battle with the rental agency and got out of the lease. But we weren’t there yet and never saw the inside of the gross apartment, only the inside of the one they moved into. It’s nice, in a poor graduate student kind of way, clean, with lots of light, and much bigger than the basement apartment they lived in last year.

You should know that I did not cry once, not even when we left and I knew our daughter would be 10+ hours away from home. Oh, I wanted to cry. But I kept the vow I made in 1978 when Mom, my uncle and two cousins helped Hiram and I moved to the wilds of South Dakota, 12+ hours away from my childhood home.

My mother’s reaction to our tiny, wild town was more than over the top, even after taking the neighbor’s six half-wolf dogs chained to posts across the street into consideration. Mom and I shared a bedroom the night before the moving crew headed home. (Hiram was working at the boys’ ranch overnight.) Every time the neighbor’s wolf dogs barked, and they barked about every five minutes, she sobbed, “Oh, I can’t leave my little girl here,” or “Jolene, what have you done?” or just, “Oooohhhhh, no.”

Not pretty.
Not the encouragement I needed.
Not a good memory.
Hence my vow.
Which I kept.
And am still keeping.

I have yet to cry, even though
the first job Anne found turned out to be not so great,
her job search is frustrating,
she misses Iowa’s landscape horribly,
she and her hubby are finding the adjustment to a big university harder than expected,
and their neighborhood is noisy at night,
what with the police and fire stations down the street.
Not quite barking wolf dogs chained to posts, so I will not cry.

Instead, I’ll remember how much we learned our first year far from home. I’ll think of the lifelong friends we made. I’ll be thankful that Anne and her hubby are less than a half hour from Uncle Mike, Aunt Brenda, and Grandma Glenna. And I’ll call now and then, to encourage them.

“You’ll be fine,” I’ll say.
“God has a plan for your lives, and this is part of it,” I’ll say.
“You’re going to make it,” I’ll say.
And because those words are true, I will not cry.