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  • Heaven Bound-Aunt Carole

    April 2016

                             

    These photos were taken in December 2015.  My Great Aunt Carole was helping make blankets and pillows for all 7 of my granddaughters.  We made them wooden cradles out of solid cherry , so she and my Mom sat in their home and made the blankets and sheets and matching pillows   .   

      I write this morning from the bed side of my great Aunt Carole. She is 79.  She moved here in December from Florida in hopes of building a small apartment on our farm and finish out her life here. She was very excited at the prospect of Spring arriving  as she wanted to sit on the deck and watch the farm animals, ply with my 12 grandchildren and she thought she would be able to cook meals while I was in the field putting in crops.

    She talked very candid with me these last few months about her life . The mistakes she made she couldn’t go back and fix, about the loved ones that had written her off, and about two of her sons passing. When you are dying I believe  especially then,  that YOUR STORIES MATTER, YOU MATTER,  and MOST THE TIME people want to talk about their past, and they need a listening ear…. not a judge.

    She spoke of the Son she gave up to her sister to raise. How she was on the sidelines of that young boys life as his “Aunt Carole” for 36 years. Upon her older sisters death , the man ask Carole to explain the circumstances that caused her to relinquish him to her sister. She said with a big smile. “We spent all of one day talking and talking and at the end of the day, He covered my hand with his and said “Its ok Mom, I understand why you did what you did. I forgive you”.  And just like that the two were inseparable until his death  years later.  Everyone deserves forgiveness. And I am thankful she received that gift from him  and that finally she had a son “outloud” and He called her mom.

    In February, she was diagnosed with lung cancer, after she was coughing up blood.  And so plans have changed. For the last 2 weeks I have been her 24 hour hospice care team. We have a n RN that comes in once a week to be sure that Aunt Carole is out of pain and checks her over all condition. There is another darling  little gal  that comes in mid week and offers a bath if Aunt Carole  wants one.

    My Grandchildren come to visit with her daily and Aunt Carole loves it.  Emmalynn plays tic- tac- toe with her when Aunt Carole can’t push down hard enough to make her mark on the electronic tablet Emma just smiles  up at her and pushes it for her .  At lunch time Emma was eating her macaroni and cheese and suddenly she asks me if she can help Aunt Carole eat , and she fed Aunt Carole as if she were feeding her doll.  It was too precious not to get a photo of.

      

        

     

    And in the last two weeks Aunt Carole wanted a puppy. I understand completely why, she wanted something fuzzy and live to hold and pet. She hated that she wasn’t able to get up and go see all the new farm babies. Pigs, cows, sheep.  One morning she ask if I would bring one of the new sheep into the house and show her. Of course we did. And our miniature poodle Moxie became our mascot. She loved the coloring of the little sheep and so every afternoon I would wonder out into the pen and steal away another baby for Aunt Carole to see and hold.

    Aunt Carole is my 6th loved one that I have provided hospice care for. It is NOT my career choice, or my calling. I would say it is something that I FALL INTO . My Daughters and girlfriend Cheryl would tell you that I was chosen each time. I only do this for someone that I love, that I am close to, or  they ask me themselves to do this for them.

    It is a very hard job, and its leveling to me for weeks afterwards.  I watch my loved ones from the side of the bed as DEATH like a speeding train comes racing at them . We see it coming,  we feel its rumble,  , We hear it off in the distance and we KNOW  its coming …closer and closer and its going to  HIT our loved one and there is no DETOUR. No rescuing them.  We sit  and watch helplessly.

    We both sit for hours, talking about movies, and shows, memories, in between the   deafening sound of the oxygen machine, and her labored breathing. We shared many sweet  “end of a life” conversations. I watched her daily as she depleted quicker than the human eye or heart could believe.  Speaking for her became labored but she insisted on talking and would never just finish the sentence where she lost her breath, in her true PERSERVERING  spirit she would start over.  Again and Again. She wanted to say the full thought all  at once.

    Aunt Carole is a fighter from way back. Never intentionally mean. Yet, her life had some pretty high hurdles and it didn’t make her bitter and nasty towards others but it gave her an “edginess” that could be taken as mean or crusty.  When she ask me if  I thought she was  a difficult person to be around, or to get along with. She patted my arm and  said to be honest.        I told her,  she wasn’t mean or hurtful , but I thought that perhaps her FILTER was plugged sometimes cause she would say things in a way that could offend people unless they really knew her. And then again sometimes….it offended you even when you did know her. lol   She was that much like her momma Aena . She spoke straight from the hip.

    Four day into our ” hospice  care” on a Wednesday afternoon , Aunt Carole removed a gold necklace  and a gold dome ring that had originally  belonged to my grandmother (her sister) and she put them on me. I watched as she removed the ring from her middle finger and slid it onto my middle finger.  She said she wanted me to have them . I thanked her through tears and  told her that I loved her, that her life mattered and that I would miss her when she wasn’t here.

    It was the last time she was able to raise both her arms and put them  around my neck .  She hugged me and said “You know I love you,  I don’t know what I would have done if you  hadn’t taken me in. I didn’t want to  die in a nursing home.” We both cried .

    Now We talk, we cry, she sleeps.  When she wakes in pain, I try to get her medicine down her using applesauce. Its about all she will eat not and just a few bites. One for the pills, and one for a “chaser” she called it.   I feel her pain and hurt  clear down to the bottom of my feet and I hold her hand until it subsides.  She doesn’t want to be alone anymore. So each night I push HER  hospice lift chair next to her bed, and I crawl into it and I sleep holding onto her forearm that is now lots of loose skin. Each time she wakes, she pats my arm.   Neither of us is getting much sleep.

    Oddly, before this Aunt Carole wore hearing aids. Yet now her hearing is so acute. And as a care giver the ONE area that I constantly fall short in is in regards to my hands. I have had cold hands and feet due to Reynaud’s Disease and I always  forget that, so  every single time I touched her ..her eyes would widen and she would say “Oh those cold hands of yours”. And we would laugh as I apologized for the hundredth time.

    I would hold her hand at night and say prayers together just like I did with my children when they were small.  She doesn’t want to watch much television now, though before any kind of a detective movie was her pick. Now we visit, she sleeps, and she stares at the ceiling.  Yesterday afternoon a girlfriend of Aunt Caroles and mine was visiting and we  took photos of her parents, her siblings, the love of her life, and photos of her son and ran upstairs to  my office.  We used my HP printer and blew up their faces into 8 x 10’s. Then  we  tacked them in a collage above her bed while she was sleeping.

    When she awoke she gasped and tears fell down the side of her face. I ask her why she was crying and she pointed to the ceiling and said “I love it”.  Cheryl and I  told her everyone of those people were waiting for her and she was fine to go on to meet with them anytime she was ready. On this day she also wanted to play a game of yatzee with  Cheryl and I…

    …and we did.

       

    We are nearing her final hours. I can tell by that “far away glaze” in her eyes.  She can no longer use her hands to hold anything , it has become impossible for her to swallow without choking badly. I hate to put her through that every 12 hours with medication prescribed by the hospice Dr, so I have called in and requested something different. A rubbing compound for her wrist will be put in the over night mail. The hospice team have been so great. They come and talk with Carole and check on her. When  the RN would talk with her and how happy she was to be here in this little bungalow with me the  tears would run down her face and Cindy would say  “carol why are your crying hon”…and she would whisper “Im so happy to be here. I just kept waiting for it to get done so I could be here.

    A few days earlier  she told the aid Rachel

    “You know its just normal for all kids to get into trouble.  We have all done it. But not her kids….(she pointed  to me)  she hasn’t had any trouble with her kids, they are all very nice people,, and all her grand children are just like her children. Most kids run away from sick old people. But her grandchildren just come up to me and hug me ….”  then she was wore out from that conversation.  I remember hurrying to my journal to write it down as I never wanted to forget it.

    All the sadness and hurts from this human life will soon be gone for Aunt Carole.  I know that only one of us will be crawling out of this BLACK DEATH HOLE and trying to re adjust to normal life again. You wouldn’t think that is hard to do. When HER journey is complete you would thing I could just   spring back and move forward.   Alas, it is not that easy when your heart is connected. I CHOSE to climb down here with my Aunt. I promised her when she got bad I would take care of her and not allow her to die alone, OR  in the purple room at the home she was staying at, and I promised NOT  to put her into a hospice home or nursing home.  I listen tonight to the sounds of eminent death, the rattle in her chest, the heavy breathing, the sound of the oxygen machine and my heart is hurting. I wipe my tears EVERY TIME she stirs and I stand by her bedside and talk with her. She tells me over and over  “stop fussing so much” and then she winks.

      Wednesday April 20,  She was between pain medications, the old pill and the new rubbing compound and she was very aggressive. I understand many people go through this stage just a day or so before they pass. Hopsice team says its completely normal. She was angry, yelling and I can attest that the old lady still has a good right hook. Felt it twice.  I cried big tears as I tried to calm her,  and  when hospice returned my call and told me to go to the SURVIVAL KIT they left in the refrigerator I gave her a dose of meds to calm her.

    Thursday April 21…we talked very little today , but I continued my bedside vigil . She last spoke to me about noon . When she woke I said   ‘Hi, Aunt Carole” and she replied

    “Hi Babe”…I ask her if she knew who I was as i was rubbing her wrist with her medication for pain , and she said, ” why yes”  and she called me by name.  I told her that last night she was not too happy and that she didn’t know me and that she had a mean right hook, and she started to cry and with a lot of effort said “Im sorry”.   I wiped her tears, and kissed her forhead for the hundredth time during this ordeal and said I know it wasn’t you..its ok…

      Aunt Carole and I holding hands and praying.

    Friday April 22 ………………At 1:18 p.m. She was freed. Free of this life on Earth. Free of the past mistakes or decisions she had made throughout her life that others would NEVER let her forget.  Free to go see Stan, the love of her life.       (The man she loved for 9 years . His former wife being catholic would not consent to a divorce, she set him free but would not legally release him. ) She kept his photo and that of her son next to her bed. She would be able  to hug her parents, her Sons, her Grandma that she said she saw before she died.

    For me, once again I am cleaning up a body, calling a coroner, and waiting for that black Hurst to coming pulling in. This time it drove into my farm yard. What a sobering sight.

    On top of this job, which is not a pleasant one at all when it comes to cleaning and changing an adult human. Watching their bodies run rapid with fire fever and infections. Watching the skin start to loose its shine and moisture and begin to peel…all of these and more are part of the last few weeks of life. I met them head on and wanted to. It was after her death, and I contacted her immediate family members that she said had disowned her years ago, that I really got hit hard with judgment’s,  ridicule, questions of why they weren’t called…..and they went so far as to request an autopsy convincing themselves that there was foul play involved in her death.   We understood, then …the stories that Aunt Carole had  told us were accurate.

    I still cant turn the handle of that door without expecting to hear the oxygen tank, hear the tv or Aunt Carole saying “Good Morning”.  It is my belief that we all DERSERVE TO HAVE A DIGNIFIED EXIT from this world, and I believe each and every one of us on this planet deserve to be forgiven for things we did or did not do intentionally. Forgiveness heals. It is not  so much a gift for the offender but more of a gift for the one who graciously offers forgiveness with a  smile and says its ok..none of us are perfect……lets go forward.

    ONLY GOD HAS THE RIGHT TO JUDGE AND HE ALWAYS FORGIVES HIS CHILDREN AND RECEIVES US ALL WITH OPEN ARMS.

    Rest in Peace Aunt Carole. YOU MATTERED TO US

    October 9 1936 – April 22, 2016

  • Nina Came Home To Visit

    April 2022

    Many years ago, around 1999, when our children were still young and attending school, we began to host exchange students from various countries. As time passed, over fourteen different students stayed in our home. Some we chose and some were dropped off here when the house they were staying in wasn’t working out for whatever reason.

    Our home seemed to be the designated “safety” zone for any child. Not to mention that, along with several exchange students, we also had a house full of teens non-stop. We were blessed with three really great kids who never gave us an ounce of trouble. Therefore, we made sure that our home was also a fun place, a food place, and a comfort place. It didn’t take long for me to realize that I would not be able to save enough money to send ourr children to college. If they wanted to go, we would have to consider loans, grants, scholarships, etc., as feeding that many teens on a regular basis required a lot of creativity on my part and money. We loved it. Those were some great times, and I wouldn’t change any of them.

    That being said, Nina came to us from Hamburg, Germany. She was a very frail-looking 17-year-old girl, and I remember when we picked her up at the airport, I was deeply troubled by her weight. She smiled politely and her English was pretty good, but she didn’t talk much, sort of stayed to herself for a few days. Back then, there were no cell phones or social media apps you could contact your family and friends a hundred times a day. I believe she spoke with her own mom 3 times while she was here, and she had one phone call from her Dad, and though we won’t discuss that conversation, he devastated his only daughter that day, and she and I played hooky from school the following day together, in an attempt to mend her broken, bruised heart. We watched movies, ate lunch and snacks in front of the tv, and just spent the day together talking about life and its many aspects.

    Nina, warmed up to our family fairly quickly and she became one of us. Just as the numerous other exchange students had done. She worked outside on the farm with us pitching hog manure, baleing hay, cleaning the yard, and she helped in the house when it was time to do laundry, dishes, or dinner. She and our two daughters, and our son, all got along well together, and they enjoyed cooking together. Below are some photos of Nina from 1999.

    FAST FORWARD 23 YEARS:

    On April 15, 2022, Nina visited Michigan, back to our farm and the family that loved her and missed her. When she left here twenty-three years ago, she was a teenager, the whole world bright and fresh and beautiful. She was cheerful and fresh, beautiful, full of life and ideas. When she drove into our driveway on Friday evening, close to 9 p.m., she sat in the car for a moment before she opened the door and got out of the rental. I was standing on the sidewalk looking in the window and shaking my head in disbelief. I knew the girl, still see the girl and her heart, but a woman who just turned 40 was sitting behind the steering wheel. Seemed so surreal. How had that many years passed by? She stood before, the same tall girl, just a little older, and worldly wise. She looked at me for a long moment, then said, “Mom, I can’t believe it. 23 years. I just can’t believe it”. I said I know, and began to cry. It was a happy cry, a celebration, a reunion we never dreamed would happen.

    Nina, spent seven days and eight nights here. Our children were all grown now with children of their own. For Nina, it seemed unreal that her host brothers and sisters had so many children, almost fully grown. Many things around the farm were the same to her, and some things she picked up on right away. They would trigger her memory, and she would laugh and share the discoveries with us. For instance, this old house was built in in 1880. The door knobs are 142 years old. They have a unique piece of metal that forms on the side of the knob. It’s curved to fit your thumb just perfectly as you grasp the handle with your hand, and you have to squeeze it inward to release the old latch. She remembered that, and it made her laugh. She remembered all of us sharing one bathroom, remembered our typical friday nights with pizza and a VHS movie. She reminded me of quite a few things that I had forgotten also. With a farm to tend to a home to remodel and three kids of our own, there were alot of things that i had forgotten while I was busy doing whatever had to be done.

    Nina, is a fabulous cook, and she can make dishes that look like they came straight out of a Rachel Ray magazine. She’s had dinner parties back in Germany for several of her friends, when she has cooked all day and made a seven-course meal. She eats very healthily and enjoys spices, onions, garlic, etc. She showed me photos of her many of her creations, and one included stripping down an octopus, cleaning its legs, and restuffing them with “something” and then deep frying them. She has been a skydiver for many years, well until about three years ago when the wind velocity worked against her and caused her to land with her knees locked, tearing all the ligaments surrounding her knees. That forced her to retire from skydiving, and now she literally travels all over the world seeing sights, and hiking the mountain terrains of Sweden, Switzerland, France, South Africa. I cannot name all the places she has been. She is a delighted, satisfied “woman of independent means” with stories that could go on forever and are never boring.

    We spent the week together cooking new dishes, shopping at the grocery store for things my cupboards have never seen in forty years of housekeeping, and we had a surprise lunch invitation that we accepted, and we all had a marvelous meal and visit. We went to a sporting goods store, and while I pretended to hold a few articles of clothing that Nina wished to purchase, she looked for a specific lightweight tent. I raced to the front of the store to buy the articles for her as a gift before she could tell me no. (Previously, we shopped at the supermarket together, and before I made it to the pay machine, she shoved me aside and slid her silver Mastercard before I could. We laughed and the cashier laughed, told us to enjoy our reunion/adventures together and try not to kill each other. We never ran out of things to talk about. I especially enjoyed hearing about Nina, the adult. The career woman, and all the choices she has made that have landed her working for Johnson and Johnson in the eye department. She is a web designer, owns her own flat in Hamburg , Germany but her heart belongs strickly to Switzerland. The beauty of that place, the hills, the terrain, the trails, the solitude, it all calls to her soul.

    We celebrated Easter while Nina was with us, and that was an enjoyable day also. She helped fill easter eggs for the 7 of our 12 grandchildren that were here for the meal, she helped hide the eggs and of course the day before there was an entire day of pie baking, where she was learned to “pinch a crust” just like my granddaughters have done over the years with me.

    Also, because she is so good with computers, I had her look at mine, and when we and her genius brother figured out that Dell Inspirions all have the same issue I determined it that i should quickly go out and purchase a new laptop while she is still here and I can glean from her knowledge. I did buy a new laptop and I am happy to say that after 25 years I have made the switch from DELL to HP and I am elated.

    Nina left here the following Saturday morning, April 23, 2022, a little after 9 a.m. It was a difficult goodbye, we cried and hugged one another several times. More than anything else, I wanted to be sure she knew that she heard me when I told her how proud I was of her and the woman she has become, and I wanted her to know, to always believe how much she is loved here. She is a remarkable woman, and I am truly blessed to call her our adopted daughter and friend. Below are pictures from her trip here to the States.

  • MODOC

    Written March 2024

    CIRCA – 1942

    Recently, my old Gehl 95 feed grinder literally fell apart. This grinder was in less than poor shape when we were forced to buy it, four years ago after a barn fire here on our farmstead that destroyed our four bay barn, all of our tractors, hay equipment, corn planters, bean drill, two mold board plows, a tandem disc, a newer ponderosa stock trailer, parade-ready Farmall M, the list is endless. Of course, the one in the fire, we had just purchased from some older gentlemen, and it was in pristine condition. The old relic that finally gave up had been causing me nothing but pure grief for the last several months. The loading auger that takes in the ear of corn and feeds it to the cutting knives moved so slowly and got so choked up that I had to hand-feed every ear of corn that went up the auger. Grinding two tons of feed that way was a long, daunting task.

    Last Sunday, while grinding corn, it finally broke apart and spit parts and pieces everywhere. For the first two days, I would climb down into the grinder bin and fill buckets of feed for the cattle and calves and hand them down to someone else. The bin is only 12 feet deep, and besides being a tad claustrophobic, I cannot climb out to the round tower prison without someone having to pull me out or lower a ladder through the 16-inch opening.

    After a few days of retrieving feed that way, my son-in-law asked me why I didn’t cut a hole in the side of the grinder. Ingenious. The heap of metal had already won an all-expenses-paid trip to the scrap yard, so what difference was it going to make now? Well, for another two days I dug the ground feed out of the cone-shaped bottom of the grinder and scratched up both my arms and hands trying to get it all out to feed. I look as though I have fought with several cats at once.

    The “panic hunt” commenced, with the aim of finding another grinder as soon as possible. There are two key considerations when introducing a new piece of equipment to a small farm like mine. One, it isn’t considered a good deal unless it is at least two hours from home, and two, pay close attention to ads on the internet or in papers/magazines etc. Some sellers can be sneaky and NOT post pictures of all sides of the unit, and you make the drive for nothing.

    I finally found a grinder we could afford and a good friend, and I began our journey south, about two hours from my farm. It was a beautiful October morning. Once we arrived at the dealer’s, we located the few feed grinders they had on their lot and began assessing which one would be the best one for me. The one I went to look at was very decent on ONE SIDE, the other three sides were mangled and broken, rusted, and looked like they had been dented with a wrecking ball. No, Jack, a few bearings are missing. I was disappointed, to put it mildly.

    Two other grinders were available, which were more expensive than I wanted to spend. Within another half hour, I decided on a New Holland 355 brand feed grinder, and we asked if someone there could hook a tractor up to the PTO (Power take-off), so we could see it run. The man they sent out to help us was slower than a sloth. Soon, the grinder began to run, but the auger inside the grinding bin was not. A few moments later, we discovered a pin had been sheared. We ask the man if he could find another one in their shop somewhere. Forty minutes later, he returned with nothing that we could use. At this point, we suggested they run down to their local hardware store and find a bolt or shear pin, and we would grab a coffee somewhere, return, and give the machine one more try before we took our trailer and headed home without a grinder. It was already 12:30 p.m.

    We drove about 8 miles into a town called Wabash, Indiana. This small vintage town is riddled with boutiques, antiques, bookstores, make-and-take art studios, a movie theater, and several other quaint shops. The whole town sits on a slope. The main street is somewhat level, but from there, the buildings go up, up, up, at a steep climb. The town had a warm country charm about it the minute we started walking on the sidewalks. (There isn’t a place to park a truck and trailer anywhere in town, so we parked several blocks away and walked.) It was a Nice Walk.

    We stumbled upon a small coffee shop on 205 South, Miami Street, known as Modoc’s. We stepped inside and stepped back in time. The room held about 5 tables with a few chairs, vintage coffee cans lined some shelves, and had candy bars, gum, and several different varieties of homemade chocolates. While most of the town is closed on Mondays, Modocs are open and offer a special soup and sandwich of the day. We passed on the soup but decided to share a sandwich.

    Throughout the store, you could see enlarged circus-type photos that were 3 or 4 feet tall. A few Ringling Brothers Barnum and Bailey Circus advertisements were hanging on the walls, and silhouettes of elephants had been chiseled into the plaster near the old tin ceiling.

    In a room adjacent to the coffee store, there was a reading nook over in the far left corner, made up, especially for children to read and relax. There were several pieces of vintage leather furniture for adults to sit and read, along with a couple of additional tables for those who just wanted to work using their Wi-Fi.

    As we walked around, sipping our Peanut Butter coffee, a woman sweeping the floor began conversing with me. She ask if we were just passing through the town and rather than explain the Grinder mess, I smiled and said yes. She then asked if we knew their store’s history and the reason for all the circus memorabilia. She gave us a small slice of the history, but then I was captivated and had to know more. This sentence will no doubt date me, but as my favorite mentor, Paul Harvey, used to say:

    HERE IS THE REST OF THE STORY:

    On November 11, 1942, the circus came to Wabash, Indiana. They set up at the Wabash High School, and at the time, the circus owners said this would be their last circus for a while, as the war was on and workers and visitors were becoming too scarce to merit the moving and setting up, and hauling the animals.

    There were three gray elephants known as Judy, Empress, and Modoc. The girls were all tethered outside the Wabash school before a performance of the GREAT AMERICAN CIRCUS was to begin. A couple of stray dogs started barking and jumping, which spooked the elephants, causing 12-year-old MODOC to bolt. Weighing 4,000 pounds, she was able to break free from her handlers and run.

    Her first stop was a nearby garage, where she walked through the garage door opening and tore out a furnace and hot water pipes, and she made her own exit out the back of the building. Then she walked down Main Street where she spotted 48-year-old Mrs. Chauncey Kessler. She had just finished work for the day and was standing outside the news office, reading some of the bulletins in their window when she saw Modoc. At first, she thought she was seeing things, but then she remembered that the circus was in town. By the time she realized the elephant was real and on its own, it was uncomfortably close to her. She ducked into the Bradley Brothers Drug Store for cover.

    The Elephant followed her into the store, and before she could take cover behind a counter, the animal knocked her down with her trunk and began rolling Mrs. Kessler between her front and back legs several times, before Modoc moved away from her because the smell of roasted peanuts grabbed her attention. The elephant pushed a solid marble soda fountain 12 feet off its base and smashed chairs and tables, while she made her way to the peanuts. She ate all of the roasted peanuts she could find, yet never touched a beautiful glass candy display standing by the end of the counter. Finally, using her trunk again, Modoc picked up Mrs. Kessler and then gently placed her back on the floor, nudging her out of the way with her foot. Then, she made her own exit through the back of the store, a door that was only 42 inches wide initially, which was pushed much larger to accommodate Modoc’s exit. Mrs. Kessler suffered a severe cut on her jaw, and forehead and multiple bruises up and down her body from being tossed between the 4000-pound elephant’s legs.

    For four days, the elephant plodded through farm fields and crisscrossed through the Wabash and Salamonie rivers several times. In an attempt to flee from Modoc, a farmer stumbled into her path.

    Kenneth Kindley, a 38-year-old farmer of the community, said he walked up towards the elephant, intending to lead her out of the timber, when she suddenly ran forward and knocked him down with her trunk. While he was on the ground, before he could get away from her, Modoc then sat down on top of Kindley and rolled on him. He was carried out of the woods by five fellow farmers and taken immediately to the Huntington County Hospital. He had sustained a fracture of the neck at the base of the skull, was in critical condition, and was hemorrhaging from both of his ears. Paralysis then developed in both his arms and one leg, and he had a long, severe gash on the back of his head.

    For five days, Modoc was on the run and roaming the county.

    Her eventual capture took place in the thickets of a farm owned by Claude Kreig, 9 miles outside of Wabash. Over fifty adult and child spectators defied the local sheriff’s orders to remain behind barricades and secure safety lines. They climbed high up into the trees to watch Modoc as she passed below them.

    At Claude Kreig’s farm, one of her circus playmates, Judy was led into the woods where she finally let out a cry for Modoc to emerge. Modoc walked up to her friend, and they entwined trunks. Her trainer, Terrell Jacobs, approached her with thirty loaves of bread. While Modoc enthusiastically ate them, Jacobs strapped and shackled her legs and then led her to a waiting truck, where she was given twenty more loaves of bread and 7 quarts of whiskey for medicinal purposes to handle her better.

    It should be noted here that during her five-day adventure, Modoc lost 800 pounds. Jacobs later explained that while Modoc crossed two rivers, she may have been too afraid to stop and drink. Elephants require a considerable quantity of water a day, and contrary to popular belief, she couldn’t have foraged enough food to meet her daily requirements.

    For five days, local papers and those from surrounding states capitalized on the crazy elephant’s escape and capture. The Bradley Brothers drug store was repaired, and the name was changed to Modoc’s. A mural of her antics graces the exterior of the building, and a historical “elephant” marker was placed to mark the event.

    It should also be noted here that on March 25, 1945, the Logansport, Indiana, Newspaper printed several articles regarding the Modoc follow-up. Mrs. Chauncey Kessler was suing Terrell Jacobs for 10,000, and the farmer, Kenneth Kindley, was suing Jacobs for 25,000. 00 in damages.

  • The Angels Carried Them Away

    Mom, August 28, 2021 – Dad September 01, 2023

    This is a photo of my in laws that was taken near their 25th wedding anniversary, in November 1986. I met them when I was just barely 17. I worked for the Tri-County Head Start program as a work release through school. Janice was a cake decorater among many other talents she had. On my birthday that year, she showed up at my work and had a sweet little two layer cake she had made for me. Of course it never made it to my home, my co-workers devoured it.

    On that day, as she was leaving she hugged me tight and said “I want you to know whether you ever and Carl Jr ever stay boyfriend and girlfriend or not, you will always be the daughter I never had but wanted, and I know this in my heart and we both share the same birthmark on our legs.” It was the sweetest day for me. Someone really loved me that didn’t have to, she wasn’t required to.

    As it turned out I did marry their son, in December of 1981, and she made our wedding cake. I was able to help her do it, but it was mostly her while I watched and learned.

    Then come Easter Morning April 03, 1983 we made them grandparents for the very first time. Now that in itself would have been splendid, however, we had a baby girl and there had not been a girl born in the Shelby family for two long generations so they thought that we had hung the moon. She came from God but we sure enjoyed some of the notoriety for it.

    Mom fell asleep in a hospital on August 28, 2010 and she never woke up. She was gone. The loss was staggering. It still is. She had the sweetest, kindest spirit and I still have one of her last phone messages to me, because she also began by saying, “Hello Sweetheart, this is mom.”

    A lot of things have changed since her death thirteen years ago. Life has a tendency to do that I suppose. A little over three years ago, we moved Carl Sr to our property to stay in a one-bedroom, bath/laundry kitchen living room apartment. His health was slowly declining. There is one thing you need to know, this man loved his television. It was the one hobby/habit he enjoyed. Even when Jr and I were dating, Sr would come home for lunch which Janice made the days big meal. Meat , potatoes, corn bread etc. Sr would come in and sit at the table and from noon to one oclock no one was supposed to talk to him as he watched the Young and the Restless. I know it sounds funny today, but he loved that show and followed it to the very end.

    Once he retired that was all he still enjoyed doing was watching his television. Twenty four hours a day, seven days a week. On top of that he was taking almost 40 prescriptions a day, one of them being oxycoton which really took its toll on him. At one point, his medical doctor told us and him that this was a narcotic and that it would slowly kill him. It would eat up all the muscles in his body and then hit his organs and he would be left almost paralyzed with a sound mind and a non working body. Unfortunately, we saw this come to pass.

    This last year has been a hard one for him. I would go get his groceries each week, and his scripts which were never ready all at the same time. He would have me call an ambulance for him constantly for any little ache or pain he had. Sometimes, I could talk him out of it, other times I could not. Most of the time, they wouldn’t transport him as they could see nothing wrong.

    In April of this years, he had a severe UTI infection that spread to his kidneys. He had them all the time without ceasing because his diet consisted of real mountain dew, pop in the oven cinnamon rolls and candies or cakes. He was taken by ambulance to a hospital and after four days there, he was resistant to all the antibiotics, they called in a specialist and within a few more days, they released him but only for rehab as he wasn’t strong enough to stand on his own and BCBS insurance would not pay for the continued stay. I met him at the nursing home facility in our local hometown, and when I saw made me sick, He was lying on a cot, in a little room without a window, barely dressed, just a sheet. It was too sad. I woke him up and told him I brought him clothes and his tablet and other things. He sat up and told me he wanted to go home. He didn’t belong here. I walked out and told the nurse he was signing himself out and then we loaded him up into my Super Duty pickup truck and headed home.

    All the way, we both cried. I told him he was going to have to do some serious changing. He needed to eat better, move around the house more and get off his couch. He said he was going to , he was so happy to be out of that home. I called a friend to help get him into the house safely as his legs weren’t very strong. When we finally had him back inside his own home, he cried harder, and so did I.

    Then in mid July, he had another spell, we called the ambulance again, though the paramedics said it was nothing to transport for, I knew the fever and chills meant something was wrong. Sr and I insisted they take him to the hospital. Again, another severe UTI, more antibiotics and then they sent him again to a nursing home rehab home near the hospital. It was over an hour away from us, but he was only supposed to be there a few days for therapy.

    For the next several days he was there, but refused to participate in the therapy and soon the BCBS called me again, and said if he wasn’t going to cooperate he couldn’t stay there. I got on the phone and found a place for him to move closer to home, only twelve miles away now. The first week, every time I went to see him, he seemed to be doing fairly well. Soon, he went back to refusing physical therapy and would not eat anything they brought him, unless it was a Chocolate milk or a strawberry milkshake. Those he would drink. Again, more chronic UTI’s and them a pic line was put into his arm for meds. He ask to come home, and I told him as soon as this round of antibiotics was finished they said he could come home.

    Early one Sunday morning at 1230 a.m. they called to tell me he was spiking a fever again, and that in his sleep he had lost his oxygen hose and his oxygen was down to 60. We raced over there in the middle of the night, and waited by his bedside for two hours, but soon he rallied, and he was back to his old self. That morning he ask me to take him home. They said there was no one there to release him at 3 in the morning. He grabbed my hand as I was leaving and said “You are going to come back and take me home right.” With tears in running down my face, I nodded and said “Yes, I will be back in six hours. I will be here by nine a.m, to take you home.

    I went back the next morning, and I borrowed my mother’s mini van, so he could climb in easier. All the way home, he was looking out the window, and I would ask him over and over again, are you ok. He would say he was fine. Again I called on a friend to help me steady him and get him into his house. It was a little more difficult this time but we made it and he was sooo happy to be in his bed and watch his big television.

    For the days that followed, things between him and I were different. Different in that he would say thankyou to me for getting his drinks, and helping him change his clothes. He would thank me for wiping his face or combing his hair. He wasn’t very appreciative in the past, and complained about everything.

    Changing my father-in-law of 42 years wasn’t on my bucket list of things to do before I check out of this life, but we made it through together. He said, “we should have thought this through more before I came home.” I ask him why, wasn’t he happy to be back home. He said, “Yes, I am but it put alot more on you”. I patted his white t-shirt-covered chest and told him it was alright, we would persevere together and we did, and I made sure to give him as much dignity as I possibly could. I would get him drinks in Styrofoam cups like he wanted. We would alternate back and forth between real coke and real Mountain Dew.

    No one expected him to go as fast as he did, but I know that is what he wanted. He kept telling me that he was laying in that rehab center just dying every day and he wanted to do that at home. He wanted to be in his bed, watching his tv anytime he wanted and as loud as he wanted and just fall asleep. His wish was granted.

    I gave him a drink that morning, changed him, and ask him how he was doing, he said fine, wanted more ice in his coke and then I told him I was running to town and I woud be right back. Town was only seven miles away. When I came back, I walked in,and noticed the television wasn’t playing anything, it was in stand by mode. I woke him up and ask him if he wanted anything. He wanted another drink, I got him one, ask how he felt, did he have any pain, he shook his head, whispered the word fine, and then turned his head and he was gone. It was so sudden, so hard to believe he was gone.

    I believe it is a true gift to be with someone when they pass from this world and step into the next one. I have been the care taker now for ten people as they made their own departure, in their own way. It is incredibly sad, its painful to watch someone you love slipping away, and its terribly sobbering to sit with a deceased loved one while you wait for a coroner to come. They aren’t there, the body is just an empty vessel, but its still the vessel that you touched, and took care of, the one that used to laugh or hug you. Now, its just a worn out glove that has been shook off and left alone. The spirit, the soul, the person they were on the inside is gone.

    There are people in our lives that we meet, and some we will come to know and know well. Others we will say we knew them, but we really never did. As I mention, in the last few years, Sr has been a bit difficult. He was grumpy and irritable. He never said thankyou for anything I did for him and I couldn’t quite please him no matter what I tried to do.

    When people pass sometimes we tend to make them into saints. Its a common practice some humans do to endure the loss, i suppose. The truth is, I find it refreshing to be able to say…I knew him as a happy man, knew him when he was cross and not happy at all, and I was able to see him soft and kind again before he left this troublesome world.

    Healing is what we get after we have experienced discomfort, acceptance and we gave allowed ourselves to grow. If you haven’t been down in the trenches with someone, where you discover what they and you are made of, then perhaps you didn’t know a person for all they were. It isn’t always a delight to see the real side of someone, they may be abusive verbally to their children or their spouse, sometimes physically abusive, but at least you really knew them. All sides of them. My father in law died just thirteen years and four days after my mother in law did. They are the end of a beautiful era, from when I was a young teen girl, who felt all alone in a giant world.

    One week to the day, we had a small graveside service per his request, and his only granddaughters, and grandson in laws and two of his great grandsons carried him from the hearse to the grave. A hard moment, from the minute we saw himi waiting there till they placed the coffin where it would be lowered. It was heartbreaking, still a moment i believe one day the children will look back on and be grateful they carried him, his last few feet. Carl Sr and Janice had three sons, and five grandchildren. Three grandsons, two grandgirls, and they had fourteen great grandchildren.

    These are OUR twelve Grandchildren….we are BLESSED to have each and every one of them in our lives.

    Savannah, Leah, Alaina, Benjamin, Allyson, Matthew, Andrew, Emmalynn, Jacob, Carly, Norah, & Logan,

  • Our Kitchen Table

    March 2017

    ITs just an ordinary table.  It’s oak, its solid, and it holds more memories, more words, more pictures that a human brain or even a computer could recall if you wanted it to.

    There are folks that have gone on to Heaven now, but they once sat at our table. They were once a part of some  beautiful conversations that took place there. Secrets of the heart were shared , along with countless cups of coffee. It was a teachers table as the children were  learning the combination of school lessons as well as life lessons. We as a family had hundreds of conversations around it. We made decisions about our  farm, about our crops, about our  finances,  about our children. We talked and planned and talked so more.

    Most every Sunday now  our children, and  their spouses and all their children come to our home for breakfast.  The meal  normally consists of southern made biscuit that fill at least four large cast iron  skillets, and we  fry up about 3 or 4 pounds of whole hog sausage , 3 dozen eggs and multiple kinds of jams and jellies adorn the table.  There is lots of chaos, lots of laughter and lots of love.

    About the time that the breakfast debris is cleaned up , dishes are  washed and put away and then its time to  begin thinking about lunch. We  figure out an impromptu menu that will be enough to feed the hungry masses, (depending on the days work project) and then we get started.  Again, once lunch is cleared away and dishes done, we begin trying to figure out  what’s for supper .

    Through the winter months  on Sundays , the men folk gather together to  cut and split and stack firewood for the outdoor burner we use to keep this farmhouse warm. The women work on meals and keeping all the children in check. Winters are hard on the kids, not to much outside play and no matter how large the rooms are they never seem large enough when there are 12 grandchildren racing about. If the older kids want to play a board game, the smaller kids steal cards, and checkers and they tend to be a bit of an interference. When the  weather permits, they all  go out side and build snowmen, and snow forts.

    Once Spring arrives, the farmstead is alive with activity. Each grandchild has a bike here and there are bikes flying up and down the driveway ,  around the barns, between the other out buildings and any people who may be in their way.  Sometimes we play baseball, which gets better every year as the children are getting older. Sometimes we play soccer.

    There are usually baby sheep, a few calves, some baby pigs, baby chickens,  lots of fun stuff to keep a child occupied and keep them grounded in family values and life.

    Its good stuff, that we all learn how to work and eat together , its good stuff to learn to turn the other cheek, to grant forgiveness for the small things as well as the larger ones and this life on our family farm is  just plain “Plain good Stuff”.

  • Please Pray for Joey Martin Feek

    March 2016

    According to the Bible, there are close to 124 miracles mentioned throughout its pages—three dozen just within the four gospels.
    Joey Martin-Feek is a beautiful, vibrant daughter of God who is in desperate need of a miracle. In fact, all around the world, there are folks in desperate need of a miracle. God is no respecter of people. He loves all His children the same and does not place one above the other.

    As I sit here these last few weeks and ponder on God’s job, I can assure you that I am glad that I do not have His job. For most of my adult life, I have been a firm believer that the business of living and dying is God’s business, not mine, and therefore we are to accept his decisions of who goes and when and who lingers behind for a spell. Yet I cannot help feeling the MAGNITUDE OF THIS SITUATION……


    WHERE WERE YOU WHEN KENNEDY WAS SHOT,
    WHERE WERE YOU WHEN MARTIN LUTHER KING WAS SHOT
    WHERE WERE YOU WHEN THE MEN LANDED ON THE MOON
    WHERE WERE YOU WHEN THE TWIN TOWERS WENT DOWN
    WHERE WERE YOU WHEN YOU HEARD THE SAD NEWS ABOUT JOEY’S CANCER RETURNING…


    Yes….She and Rory have made THAT KIND OF A DIFFERENCE in the world.
    Our entire nation is coming together tonight in the form of a prayer vigil for Joey at 8p.m. Her and her husband have always kept Christ front and center in their lives. They have continuously given God the glory for their good fortune, their voices, and any successes they had, even in difficult situations, they continued to praise the Lord. No matter what life handed them, they continued to lead His army, their brothers and sisters in Christ, with dignity, honesty, and grace. They have been true inspirations to millions of people. Whether it was their laughter and love towards one another that NEVER STOPS shining, or the way they give back, always paying forward all that was given to them, or just the beauty of their joined voices, they are pillars in the Christian Community and in the Country Music world.


    Over a year ago Joey had surgery for cancer….. (the same stage IV type I myself had ten years ago). She has been a real trooper and gone through every chemo and radiation process as the doctors have prescribed and it appears to have served no purpose. Now, they have ceased all medical intervention and chosen to go home and trust and pray ….and trust and pray more.

     
    I imagine small children usually stomp their feet and get loud when they think we cannot hear them or we are not paying attention to them and they need to be heard, to communicate to us.
    For the last several weeks I have walked around in my own life trying to make some sense out of this situation that is trying to take Joey from all of us. I realize we aren’t supposed to be angry with the Lord, we are not supposed to question His judgment or ask why. However the human side of me is asking why. Day after day on the Inside I ache and hurt and cry over this whole sad story, on the outside I want to jump up and down and stomp my feet, grit my teeth and shout for how much I don’t understand this, how unfair….ill timed….

    Joey has a little girl who needs her momma, needs to have a few more years with her, GOD PLEASE GRANT JOEY A MIRACLE, please don’t take her.
    Life is a voyage, and we cross some pretty turbulent waves at times, there are storms that come out of nowhere and threaten to shake us to our very core, capsize our vessel and possibly dump us at the bottom of our ocean.
    We are all on this journey, and it is not an easy one. Let’s join hands and remember we are all walking one another towards HOME.

    When we have reached our final destination, it will have been worth it all. I believe this. The trials of the “trip” of our “Voyage” it will be lost in the GLORY of the reunion/celebration that awaits us. But for now, please join our nation tonight at 8 p.m.
    Whisper a prayer for Joey tonight….for a miracle, her miracle. And a peace that will surpass all understanding, for if our Father does not hand out a miracle, there will be literally thousands of people crushed, crying and praying…an entire nation that will remember where they were when ……..

    shs

  • Joey Martin Feek- February 2016

          Anyone that knows me, would know that it is NOT like me at all to steer clear of anything that touches my heart. The death of Joey Martin-Feek on March 4, 2016 was more than I could deal with.

    Here IS a beautiful, talented, young Christian Singer, Wife, Mother, Daughter, Sister. She never hesitated to give ALL THE GLORY to GOD. For everything in her life, and she strived to be a fine example to all. Yet the Lord saw fit to call her home. She  was so young, too young. She left behind a baby girl, (Indiana Boon) a precious reminder to  everyone that she was here, and a part of her will now remain.

    I know the Lord could have kept Indiana in Heaven, but He chose to share her with Joey for two years. He chose Rory and Joey for that little girl with Down syndrome. The LORD KNOWS what HE is doing, He knew the future, He knew the outcome of a terrible cancer diagnosis back in 2014.

    Still, I have had a very difficult time with her death. I have followed her and her career since its inception. I have identified with her and Rory on more than a few points of life and I so much wanted her to be healed. For at least a couple of years.  Many people who walk this earth are filled with hate and anger towards others.

    There is nothing on this Earth that will satisfy us.  Nothing.

    Contentment is a difficult Horse to catch!!

    We can’t be satisfied. Not out of greed so much as just because we are all hungry for something that cannot be found on this earth.  We plan trips, take them, and then start planning the next one. As a child, we think “oh, when I’m a teenager”, then we think “when I have kids”, and the “Someday…when I get a minute”, and the somedays never really show up. I believe that only God can satisfy and fill the void that sometimes plagues us. We can chase up and down every avenue in our own lives and believe that if we could just get that room finished, get the yard looking better, get those bills paid down THEN we would be happy and content. But it isn’t as true as we would like to feel it is.

    I believe in God. I believe in the Bible. And all it says.  But I can’t begin to understand why He took Joey.  I am very touched and impressed with the way in which she left this world, and the way her family is going forward and walking through the painful battlefield of loss. I realize there are thousands of people in the world walking through troubled waters……we all do it. Its a part of living this Life, but it makes no sense to me.

    And I will miss seeing Joey on her television show. I will forever miss the duo that she and Rory were, the love they shared that was so BEYOND real that it captivated you from the word go. They were the real deal, the authentic American love story, the country kids gone to Nashville but still kept their dirty farm boots on their feet.

    Joey sang more beautiful hymns that I can name here, my recent favorite was Softly and Tenderly she recorded during one of her chemo treatments…and Precious Lord, Lead me home.

    The Lord saw fit in HIS PLAN, on HIS TIME SCHEDULE, to lead Joey Home, a little earlier than we all wanted it to be. The sun hadn’t set yet, there was still daylight left to play in… but it was “Supper time, at Jesus’ house”.  And who could pass up that invitation?

    I am grateful that JOEY MARTIN FEEK didn’t leave this world “an Unknown”…. because of her music was needed in this world to make it a better place, I am a different person, a better person.  I hope.

  • Message In A Bottle

    Social Media is an interesting topic. I really appreciate when people use it to keep others informed of hospitalizations of a loved one, when prayers are needed its a very effective tool. Some folks use it to promote their businesses, orchestrate family gatherings , birthday parties, anniversaries, a baby’s birth, first day of school etc.. It can be a very effective tool in our day and age.

    Now and then, because someone sees your name come across a post that they commented on you can get reacquainted with folks you haven’t seen or heard from in years. That is what happened to me.

    A few months back, I received a message asking me if I was related to the people who lived on such and such road 35 years ago. I replied that I was in fact related and that my family stills dwells on that road , and on that farm.  The older gentlemen then began to communicate every couple days with me. Asking about extended family members that he once knew.  It was an enjoyable exchange as I attempted  to bring him up to date regarding relatives . Some were still here, others had passed on.

    The strangest thing happened that neither one of us could have known or foreseen. We began talking about other things in life besides just my family members that He used to know. He is a Mountain Man. He chose a tougher, harder way of life among the mountains and streams.  He took his wife and children many years ago and ,moved to the Mountains .  Together they built their  own log cabin on their own property.  He has  hunted and trapped for their food, grown their own vegetables. Has been a Guide for other men to come in and hunt bear ,or track  moose, elk etc.  He is an avid fisherman. He is entirely unique and I am proud to call him “FRIEND”.

    Living somewhat off the grid as they say today, he taught his Sons how to be independent and how to survive in the wild, in the bitter cold of winter, how to keep warm and fed and hunkered down until a storm passes. How to rely on their own knowledge and instincts.   He has  many wonderful stories to tell of his life and the journey he chose. 

    Recently I received a package in the mail. It was an unexpected delight from my Mountain friend. I opened the box and there inside was an old long john shirt that had been worn almost through and  wrapped around a bottle. I pulled the bottle from the box…it was a vintage Milk bottle  as unique as He is. Also inside the bottle was a letter on lined notebook paper all rolled up and tucked in neatly inside.  I tried to pull the shirt out but one sleeve had been rolled up half way and duct taped .  I removed the tape and found a piece of Copper Ore . 

    The letter stated where the milk bottle had come from, where it was found, and the chunk of copper from his mountain near by.  The  “Message ” itself was absolutely priceless to me.

    Upon the white paper the black   letters  were shaky and the pen strokes were heavy.  This wonderful man took the time to write me a HAND WRITTEN letter.  What a treat. Who does that now days?  He talked about his life, things he had done, the joys of living off the land. The hardships of life sometimes. The complications of just living and surviving the day to day when your body has stopped functioning as it used to.

    For almost 28 years I had a treasured friend (37 years my senior) and he sent me a letter at least once a week and filled those letters with everything and anything under the sun. I would race to the mailbox, see  a letter from him and I would get all my work done just so I could sit down and absorb his letters. at one point we lived 3 miles apart and the last 15 years of his life we live 50 miles apart. Still when his letters  arrived it felt like someone had sent me a bouquet of flowers through the mail. I loved them. I craved them. I appreciated them. I always told  Burton that I knew one day one of us would out live the other and what a sad day that would be …especially if I was the one left behind. And I knew then that NO ONE would be sending me letters anymore. I have a suitcase full of his cards and letters and they are still just as touching and precious to me as the day they arrived in the mail. Burt has been gone 5 years now.

    Now you can understand the thrill of receiving a package from “The old man in the woods” as he calls himself. To him perhaps it was just a message in an old milk bottle….but to me it was as if He had sent a beautiful bouquet of flowers right to my mailbox. 

    Social Media =  Old Acquaintance = New Friend = GRATEFUL HEART

  • Thankful….Grateful….BLESSED

    July 2015

    My life is full of   WOW’s.

    Three beautiful grown children that still today sometimes I stop, scratch my head and look towards the heavens and ask :  Lord, how could these great people have come thru me.”  They are truly good people. The kind of folks I would want to know more if they weren’t our children.  They love one another and treat each other with care and respect and love and that is a precious gift in itself.  WOW!

    Thom, Catherine, Tonya

    Ten, beautiful Grandbabies. There isn’t an ugly one in the bunch.  Haha  ( I may be a tiny bit prejudice). Each and every one is so incredibly precious, young beautiful skin, new hair, and teeth, chubby arms and thighs, twenty feet and twenty hands all moving at once when they are all here together. Beautiful laughing eyes and pools of giggling all about me.  WOW!

    A beautiful farmstead that is always in need of my attention.  Repairing, replacing, or renovating. The barns need painting, the grass needs mowing, the fields need tilling, and the vintage equipment needs greasing and updating.  This farm steals my time and some that I don’t even have. It leaves me dog-tired at the end of my day, worn out, yet happy, and my heart so full it feels like it could burst. I am grateful to be the steward of this farm and land, and I pray that i am bringing honor to the previous caretakers.  

    UPDATE AS OF 2025.

    We have 12 beautiful grandchildren, our oldest grandchild has added a wife to our brood, and this home is filled to the brim every Sunday with laughter and happiness and lots and lots of love. Some people live in houses fit for queens; some people walk around with bulging pockets of cash……..I live comfortable, clean and extremely blessed with all that MONEY cannot buy.

  • Drinking From My Saucer

                               MOTHERS DAY  2014

    QUESTIONS without answers.

    REASONS we may never know.

    Why does GOD answer “yes”, “Not at this time” or “ I have a better plan”.

    Every day I try to remember to ALWAYS be grateful and appreciate all that is before me and around me. Something is always lurking in the back ground of the day waiting to steel your love, your joy, your calm. We struggle and hustle to make ends meet and pretty soon we (I) end up in what I refer to as my “Robot Mode”…where I am functioning like a machine but not living in the moments with my whole heart and wide awake.

    Tragedies generally make all of us step back and reevaluate our lives. Makes us promise ourselves to slow down, take time to breathe and really be awake. Kinder, softer, more loving, easier to forgive and let go of grudges.

    This last Mother’s Day, we were blessed to have our three grown children here, their spouses, and all ten grandbabies. It was a full blown loud, crazy fun filled day. We grilled out, the children played in their two story playhouse with 3 slides, the guys pulled the corn planter out of the barn and greased it up so I can plant the fields if the rain stops. After several attempts with the help of the oldest 5 grand kids, the men also ended up helping us corral the sheep. (I haven’t seen our son Thom sprint across a field since his high school days).

    At the end of this day, I was presented with a VIDEO of my life. Thomas and Brandy sat down TOGETHER  and created the most heartwarming….sweet video. It touched me so deeply. Still does.  There was not a dry eye in this house including Papa. And the poor little kids kept looking all around and asking “Why is everybody crying”. It was precious. Thom chose the songs and this one makes me cry everytime I hear it.

       FIGHT LIKE A GIRL

    Little girl alone on the playground
    Tired of gettin’ teased and gettin’ pushed around
    Wishin’ she was invisible to them
    She ran home cryin’, why do they hate me?
    Her Daddy wiped her tears and said,
    Baby, you’re brave and you’re beautiful

    So hold your head high
    Don’t ever let them define
    The light in your eyes
    Love yourself, give em hell
    You can take on this world
    You just stand and be strong
    And then fight like a girl



    10 years of climbin’ that ladder
    All the money and power don’t matter
    When the doctor said, the cancer spread
    She holds on tight to her husband and babies
    And says, this is just another test God gave me
    And I know just how to handle this

    I’ll hold my head high
    I’ll never let this define
    The light in my eyes
    Love myself, give it hell
    I’ll take on this world
    Yes, I’ll stand and be strong
    No I’ll never give up
    I will conquer with love
    And I’ll fight like a girl

    The thing is, when I was fighting cancer, I remember Brandy ( our daughter in law)  was carrying our first grandchild.  I was so sick and so exhausted (mentally and physically) from all the treatments and doctoring and existing from one apt to another for over an entire year I didn’t think I would be here to see BENJAMIN THOMAS  born. I stood in my kitchen on Sunday and though I would like to think that I am appreciate to God from whom all my blessing flow I was in complete awe that I have ten grandbabies and I have the joy, pleasure, and blessing of KNOWING and HUGGING on each and every one of them. I am so Grateful that we have been able to watch our own children grow up, to see the people they became. Strong, sincere, wise, kind, loving…. well rounded people that I would want to know and spend time with  if they weren’t our own babies.

    I spent that year NOT DREAMING, NOT PLANNING for anything. You crawl into this survival cave, you keep your thoughts and feelings and details of procedures to yourself and just function through your days like a robot.

    Afternoons I spent in a park wishing that someone would try to take me out of this world, so wore out from doctor appoints and procedures that wouldn’t work, hotel stays because of procedures that requires hospitalization but I would not comply so I stayed near by. Hoops that the insurance company made me jump through time and time again with stage 4 cancer before finally agreeing after exploratory surgery with a scope that it was time to eradicate it all.  Not wanting anyone at the hospital when the dr flew in from Mayo clinic in case I wore up wearing a bag….the hardest part was learning to really live all over again, to allow myself to dream about tomorrow or plan for something more than just a week out. . Today I am grateful and I anguish over why some are spared and “healed” and some are just taken. Appears to be no rhythm or reason to the madness.

     

    This is Ben …..and there are 11 more grandbabies  that have followed him. Once again I realized…….I’ve done nothing on Earth to deserve the beautiful life that stood before me and filled our kitchen this particular Sunday Evening with so much love and warmth towards one another.

    There are two babies…Norah and Jacob missing from this photo

    I can attest that truly :

    I AM DRINKING FROM MY SAUCER FOR MY CUP HAS OVERFLOWED

    UPDATE as of 2025. We have been blessed with 12 beautifully, intelligent grandchildren.