by jphilo | Jul 14, 2008 | Reflections on the Past
This past weekend, we had our annual Hess Cousins’ Reunion in Pipestone, Minnesota. We also celebrated Mom’s upcoming 80th birthday, but since she might not like having her age broadcast on a blog, I’m not going to mention it.
Anyway, we went a few days early and visited with some of Mom’s siblings and sibling-in-laws. We drove past my aunts and uncles’ former farmsteads and stayed at one of them with my cousin and his family. We drove past the Pipestone Monument where we used to spend summer afternoons. (Admission was free.) We drove past the Dairy King we never got to visit. (It was too expensive. We drove past Hank’s Grocery Store, but didn’t stop to see if they still stock the Uncle Sam’s Cereal. (The label said it was full of bran fiber, but the taste convinced me it was corrugated cardboard.) Grandma used to send us to the store for the cereal when she ran out or couldn’t stand having us underfoot anymore.
Then we drove by Grandma’s (and Grandpa’s, too) old house. She hasn’t lived there since the mid-1980s, but to me it’s still Grandma Hess’s house. The paint’s brown now instead of the 1950’s beige I remember. The picket fence is gone. Grandma’s flower beds are gone, too. The house is the right size, but the yard is a whole lot smaller than I remember. In a few years, the house will be gone, too. The hospital, which is across the street, owns the house and plans to build a helicopter pad on the site of my grandma’s house.
Getting a picture of the place was a top priority during the trip. I want a tangible memory of Grandma’s house – something to look at while i remember sitting on the aluminum chairs in the back yard, eating sugar bread she made for our snacks, while I conjure up the smell of the pajama drawer we pawed through when we stayed overnight unexpectedly, while I picture the basement fruit room full of cobwebs and shelf after shelf of her home canned fruits and vegetables.
Now I have a new top priority. I’m not anticipating any grandchildren in the near future, but I want to clean out a dresser drawer and stock it with kids’ pajamas. I have fond memories of Grandma’s house. And I want to pass them on.
by jphilo | May 30, 2008 | Reflections on the Past
Wednesday morning, my brother and mom picked me up at 6:15 to attend my uncle’s funeral. We spent most of the day on the road. In the course of the trip, we realize a dream that would make most seven-year-olds salivate. We ate three meals at McDonalds.
In our family, this accomplishment is earth-shattering news. My siblings and I spent most of our childhoods begging to eat at McDonalds. Since the closest one was 25 miles away in Sioux City and money was tight, our pleas fell on deaf ears. Except, of course, when Mom had saved up for a big city shopping trip. Then, if we were also running short of the straws for Dad, we ate lunch at McDonalds with strict orders to save the straws, ketchup packets, plastic spoons, extra napkins and anything else not nailed to the floor.
Our taste buds have changed in the intervening years, so we weren’t thinking of Golden Arches when we started out Wednesday. Later, my brother said he did have the Clear Lake McDonalds in mind since his mother-in-law would be there with her breakfast gang. She was, and we had a nice visit. My yogurt cup was delicious.
We arrived at our destination around noon. With the post-funeral light lunch three or more hours away, we decided to get something to tide us over. Pipestone, Minnesota’s dining options are limited. Once again, we chose McDonald’s. Their side salads are pretty good, I discovered.
At the church, Mom had time to visit with her sister-in-law before the funeral. The service was sweet and touching, a good end to my uncle’s life lived long and well. The cemetery was beautiful with dozens of fern peonies buds opening to the warm and welcome sun. During lunch back at the church, we chatted with relatives more than we ate and didn’t leave until after 5:00. By 8:30 we were close to Albert Lea, hungry as bears. Mom suggested we stop at the travel plaza that housed several fast food places. We agreed, but we weren’t hungry for Pizza Hut. We were hungry for Cold Stone Creamery ice cream, but after quick waistline checks we shook our heads.
Our third option was – you guessed it – McDonalds. I ordered a salad with grilled chicken, then caved and added a large fries to split with Mom. As we carried our food to the car, my brother said, “I think this a new record. Three McDonalds meals in one day.”
At that moment I realized we are getting really old. Forty-years ago, a day like this would have thrilled us. These days it makes us green around the gills. No doubt about it, we’re slipping. I have proof. We didn’t even save our straws.
by jphilo | May 18, 2008 | Reflections on the Past
The best thing about going on vacation is not doing laundry. The worst thing about vacation is all the dirty laundry afterwards. But a recent trip through Ohio’s Amish country changed my wash day paradigm.
The weather in Ohio was gorgeous last Tuesday, a welcome relief after a rainy, cold weekend. As we wound along country lanes, every farmstead boasted a full clothesline. Our favorites were the single, long line variety. A clothesline was strung from one regular-sized pole to a distant high pole with a pulley on top. From the looks of things, the owners pegged clothes along the reachable section of line, then cranked the pulley and moved the laundry towards the high pole.
My outer adult loved the method’s efficiency. My inner child hated the problem posed by one, long line: a week’s worth of family underwear is visible to God and the neighbors.
Now don’t write me off as Miss Prim and Proper. Consider my childhood history. The number one clothesline lesson I learned way back then was simple. HIDE THE UNDERWEAR by hanging towels, sheets, and outer clothing from the outer lines and both ends of the inner lines. Then, hang undergarments to the inner lines so the UNDERWEAR iS HIDDEN. Doing so, we were told, was VERY IMPORTANT.
My childhood reasoning couldn’t make sense of the importance of HIDING THE UNDERWEAR because my parents said wearing underwear was also VERY IMPORTANT. So I thought it might be better to hang the underwear on the outside lines as proof that we ALWAYS WORE UNDERWEAR. My argument didn’t convince my parents, and being an obedient kid, I HID THE UNDERWEAR. No wonder my inner child couldn’t reconcile copious quantities of Amish underwear blowing in the May wind.
When we got home from vacation, I did laundry. The weather was as beautiful as it had been on our day in Amish country so I hung the clothes on the line. I even took a picture to prove how industrious I was. As you can see, I successfully HID THE UNDERWEAR on the inner lines. Or we DIDN’T WEAR UNDERWEAR for an entire week. WHAT WILL THE NEIGHBORS THINK?
Single laundry line, here I come.
by jphilo | May 5, 2008 | Reflections on the Past
Friday was a wonderful day, though on the surface it looked a bit dicey. The weather was cold, windy and gray as I hauled bags and boxes full of party supplies, along with an eight-year-old time capsule to my car. Shortly after noon I pulled up to the service entrance of Bryant School, where I taught for many years. A thunderstorm was in full progress and the rain came down in sheets. Opening doors and hauling in supplies was a bit tricky with an umbrella in hand, but I managed.
A few minutes later, I was in one of the school’s empty classrooms, getting ready for a party. Everything was in place when the guests of honor, my former fourth grade students who are graduating this year and their parents, arrived. The seniors entered, self-conscious, trying to be cool. But as they looked a the memorabilia laid out on the tables – their elementary yearbook, the class scrapbook, photographs, and notes they’d written and old projects they asked me to save – the cool vanished. When they realized the video playing on the TV was of them in fourth, they began to laugh.
That’s when the day turned wonderful. The sense of camaraderie and innocence they’d shared when they were nine and ten descended upon them again. The oneness that had developed during nine months of learning together settled upon them like a blessing. The room filled with delight. When the program began, and each student came forward to reclaim their time capsule treasure and tell us their plans for the future, the blessing continued.
I have high hopes for these former students. I hope they all use the remarkable talents they’ve been given for good. I hope they have happy and meaningful lives. And I hope the memory of our year together and the time spent celebrating on a cold, rainy afternoon takes root inside them and continues to bless them.
I hope one day, they will recognize the blessing and pass it on.
by jphilo | Mar 12, 2008 | Reflections on the Past
In the past forty-eight hours, three friends have emailed with news of the death of a parent. In each case, the death was a quiet end of a long illness and decline. My friends knew the deaths were blessings. Their families knew it.
I know it, too, for my own father’s death came after a prolonged decline in a nursing home. He and all of us were ready for him to go. We wondered why God waited so long to set Dad free. I spent fourteen years before his death grieving for the loss of the father I’d once known. So I was surprised by how much I grieved the loss of the man he’d become, confined to bed and a wheelchair, a man who hadn’t recognized me or remembered my name for a decade.
It took a while for me to understand the object of my grief. I wasn’t so much mourning the loss of my dad as the loss of my identity as a child. When Dad died his memories, like his memory of the birthday when my friends and I swam in a tiny inflatable wading pool in our back yard, died too. (I’m the hatted one furthest to the right. My little brother is in front of me, and my little cousin is in the bottom left corner.)With the loss of his memories of my childhood, I became an adult, whether I wanted to or not. I didn’t see that coming.
Those of you who have lost a parent know what I’m talking about. You know what my three friends are facing in the weeks and months will experience. I’ll be praying for them and asking them, now and then, if they’ve been surprised by grief.
And since I’m pretty sure what they’re answers will be, I’ll keep the Kleenex handy.
by jphilo | Mar 11, 2008 | Reflections on the Past
Dr. Seuss knew what he was talking about when he wrote that book. As children, we haven’t a clue of where life will take us, no matter how active our imaginations are.
When I was a kid, my family thought my imagination was a little too good. I imagined myself doing a great many things. Having quintuplets was one of my favorite day dreams. My second favorite was living a life of passion and drama as a pioneer woman heading west with her family in a wagon train. I was particularly good at screaming when we spotted the Indians lined up ahead on the ridge. As an adult, I came to my senses and got over the quintuplet obsession. And after seven years of on the prairie with nary an Indian on the ridge, I gave up dramatic screaming. Hiram was pleased.
All that birthing and screaming aside, my active imagination never prepared me for the places I’ve gone. I never could have imagined writing a book that required an interview with a well-known pediatric surgeon. I never could have imagined that today I would conduct such an interview. I never could have imagined that during the interview this learned, skillful man would be so humble and personable. But this morning, that’s what happened. And since it was a phone interview it happened without me leaving home. Who’da thunk it?
Now I’m wondering what new places I’ll go while researching and writing this book. I can hardly wait to find out. I feel ready for anything today, like a real pioneer woman. Too bad this adventure won’t include spotting Indians on a ridge. I’ve had a dandy scream ready and waiting for years. It’s a shame to waste it.
