Author: middlesisterkathleen

CLOSER TO HEAVEN: PART THREE

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Technically, there was no Part Two of Closer to Heaven, just part one two years ago (Closer to Heaven, March 5th, 2023.) However, there was one last year that could have been Part Two: She Let Herself Go, March 4th 2024.

March Fourth came and went again, as it has every year since calendar time began. For our family, however, it became March Forth in 2008 when we lost our parents in a car accident that day. Since then, as you know if you are a reader, our family has grown stronger with this loss, and we march forth into each new day and year.

It has been seventeen years. Gail, Suzanne and I try to travel at this time to celebrate our parents and their legacies, but this year–and last year, too–we were not able to be together.

Two years ago, Gail and I went to our favorite Colorado town, but Suzanne was not able to go. Wanting to find a special way to commemorate the day, I traveled to the top of Pikes Peak–elevation 14,115–to be closer to Heaven.

Last year, as I detailed in She Let Herself Go (March 4th, 2024), I joined Gail and friends in Colorado, then took off solo for a road trip through New Mexico and Arizona, ultimately reaching Sedona, Arizona–elevation 4,350– to spend March 4th. I wanted to be in a mystical place that date, as well as being closer to Heaven. It was both.

This year, while I wanted to travel somewhere exotic to a higher elevation, I had higher aspirations to meet: my son and his wife, who are home to stay from the other side of the world after being gone four years, were available to spend the day with me locally, and there was no place of any elevation that could surpass that. It’s been Heaven of a different kind since they arrived home on Valentine’s Day, which was the sweetest gift I have ever received.

So, we found the highest spot we could find locally, and traveled there.

Coronado Heights–elevation 1,632–is a bluff rising 300 feet above the valley below, and is believed that the explorer Coronado climbed this summit in 1541 and abandoned his search for the city of Quivira. It is a beautiful local landmark, one we have traveled to many times to take in the natural, panoramic beauty. Once again, it offered just that.

And, of course, I was a little bit closer to Heaven.

There will be more Heaven soon, as they are expecting their first child in June. We have been blessed with babies lately, but I will try to sneak away from my grandmotherly joys for another trip to a higher elevation in yet another mystical place next year.

And speaking of babies, our spelling bee teammate, Jordan, was blessed with twin boys several weeks ago. Along with her husband and daughter, they are closer to Heaven too with their newly expanded family.

When I walked back to the car on top of Coronado Heights, I found this in my path:

This dime from Heaven was a sign from them, as dimes have seemingly become one of our parents modes of communication with us. Stay tuned for the Dimes From Heaven post in the next few weeks. We believe in signs, and they have been sending us a lot of them lately.

Spring is trying to spring in Kansas, soon new life will abound in nature. Enjoy the natural beauty whenever and wherever you can; as it has been a brutal Kansas winter. Summer can’t get here soon enough for me, but as Gail and Suzanne will attest, even windy, cold days are good days. Especially the windy ones. For me, if I get there, I hope there is no wind in Heaven.

AGE IS A GIFT

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Please, no matter how many years you have lived, do not bemoan turning another year older. Not only is it an insult to Life itself, but you are choosing to look at the dark side of age. It will always be there if you look for it, but so will the bright side.

Just ask Gail.

Gail celebrated her 65th birthday in grand style on February 21st in her small town in western Kansas. It was a good crowd to help celebrate her 65 year mark.

Just a mere five years ago, just before the world shut down due to COVID, we rang in her 60th year in grand style as well. Mercifully, her birthday was in late February. Had it been just a few weeks later, the gathering may have been prohibited.

Her youthfully energetic daughter Lydia helped plan and carry out that party, and she was the ringleader again this time, organizing this soiree five years later.

The event was held at a downtown gathering place. Clearly, a fun time was had by all. Being the early-to-bed type, I didn’t stay until the wee hours as many of them did, but the report was that a great time was indeed had by all. Suzanne was not able to come, the winter flu was taking its toll on her. Two of our brothers were tending to calving on the farm and the other two could only be there in spirit, so I was the lone sibling there to help her celebrate.

Many hands make light work, as the axiom goes. The clean-up the next day was a party of its own, as several guests came back to help restore the venue to it’s pre-party state. And just because it’s the morning after, that doesn’t mean the party is over for Gail.

The party is never really over for Gail, and that is a great thing.

At age 65, many people are winding down their working lives toward retirement. That is a great thing, too, but not for everyone. Especially not for Gail. She will continue to keep all those plates spinning in the air, and will enjoy every minute of it. She will more likely continue to re-fire, continuing to get fired up about all that life sends her way. She will continue to work with a smile on her face, likely until she can no longer work or smile, which, will likely be her last day on earth.

I pray that day is not before she celebrates her 100th birthday.

This Tuesday, March Fourth, will mark the 17th anniversary of our parents’ deaths. Mom and Dad were 71 and 73, and we would have given anything we had to have many more years with them.

Our time to go is not ours to decide, so whatever time we are given should be treated like the gift that it is. As we, their seven children continue to March Forth to carry on their legacies of love and kindness, we have learned this hard lesson. Still, we all need reminders sometimes to make the most of every day and celebrate occasions small and large. It seems life–and death–have a way of continuing to offer us this lesson, with opportunities presented every day to learn if we simply pay attention to them.

Gail’s birthday was one such opportunity. A large one. I will celebrate my 59th birthday next month and Suzanne will celebrate her 55th birthday in August. We will use those opportunities to celebrate somehow, and we whenever we can, the sisters of The Sister Lode get together to do just that.

Another trip around the sun should always be celebrated. When your next birthday comes around, think of Gail and celebrate in your own special way, because it is indeed a gift that should always be opened.

Thank you to every one of the multitude of Gail’s friends who helped her celebrate, and special thanks to one of our most devoted readers, her friend Cathy.

THE BEEKEEPERS

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As much as I would like to surreptitiously conceal the fact that we didn’t win the annual Neighbor-to-Neighbor Spelling Bee last night, I must acquiesce to this fact. Our temerity was perhaps part of our downfall.

However, as we always do when we get together, we had a simply scintillating time.

pic

Even though they covered our coiffures, our beekeeper hats created a brouhaha, winning us the Best Costume award. Gail, in her good-natured appreciation of all things audacious, bought us these accoutrements to wear (where, ware). We also wore our bright, almost fluorescent tee shirts Gail and her daughter made for us several years back.

My brilliant and beautiful neighbor Jordan joined us once again, rounding out and complementing our team. We have played together as a team before, acting as a buoy for each other. As you can see, her stomach is rounding out as well, with not just one, but “two bees in the bod,” as Gail so aptly stated. She has a pair (pear, pare) of joy bundles on their way. We will keep you apprised of the double–not quadruple–arrival in the next month or so.

While the “Spell-it Sisters” did reign (rain, rein) as champions two years ago, we will be back to try again next year. It is a sacrosanct night (nite, knight) for all of us.

I had the honor of auctioning the live auction items. Gail was the winner of the beautiful, Amish-made barn quilt. All proceeds from this fundraising eventbenefit Neighbor-to-Neighbor in Abilene, Kansas, an incredible community support service that does just that: neighbors helping neighbors.

The evening wrapped up, and I chauffeured Gail and Jordan back to our homes. The aesthetic crescent moon hung low in the western sky, the “fingernail moon” as Gail’s daughters used to call it.

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“Never, ever underestimate the power of having fun.”–Randy Pausch

“Fun is good.” —Dr. Seuss

As you may have noticed, having fun is a priority for the sisters of The Sister Lode. Fun comes in many forms, so whatever yours is, have it. Even when it seems that sadness is overcoming us, we must never forget this.

This past week in our country has been a tough one with so much tragedy in our skies. We must never forget the sacrifices our military has made throughout history and continues to make every day for our country.

One of our brothers is an airline pilot and a nephew is an air traffic controller. Their expertise and bravery allow us to travel the country and the world, and every person in every position in our airline industry and the FAA deserve our respect and gratitude. They put their safety and their sanity on the line every day when they go to work.

Today is Groundhog Day. I will celebrate tonight by watching the movie of the same name for probably the tenth time; it is one of my all-time favorites. If you haven’t watched it, I highly recommend it. If we could have a re-do of our mistakes until we get it right like he did, the world would be a much better place.

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Happy Groundhog Day. Happy day every day. Have fun every day, and hold your loved ones close, not in the periphery.

In loving memory of all who lost their lives in flight this week.

LET IT SNOW–LIKE IT USED TO

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We grew up in the hills of north-central Kansas. Sledding hills, for sure. That was back when we had a handful of blizzards every year like the one we are having today in most of Kansas.

Today’s blizzard signifies the first snowfall of the season, and it has taken us down memory lane, back to those years.

I asked Gail and Suzanne for their recollections, and these are their reports:

From Suzanne: We would sled in the pasture northwest of the farm and slide out onto the pond at the bottom of the hill. Don’t know if we ever really checked the thickness of the ice. Or how we would always get out of school ahead of everyone else because our roads were going to drift shut. I can also remember using bread sacks over our shoes when there weren’t enough boots for everybody. I also remember drifts so high they would touch the clothesline. These amateur snowstorms we have nowadays don’t cut it.

My 24-year-old son just called to discuss the snowstorm. “I don’t remember this much snow since I was in grade school,” he said. Perhaps it has been that long. This is the same son who saved us on New Year’s Day with a new furnace when ours crapped out. Perfect timing to have the HVAC guy as your son, just in time for this blizzard.

Gail didn’t immediately respond to the group text I sent them to ask for input about their snow memories. Turns out she was out shoveling snow, no surprise. “It’s one of my faves,” she said. They didn’t have as much snow in far northwest Kansas as Suzanne and I did here in the middle of Kansas, perhaps just a few inches. She was probably cooking and baking all morning and delivering to shut-ins as well. I asked her if she shoveled everyone’s snow in her town of about 1,100 people, and she replied, “I do tend to go a bit overboard when it comes to shoveling. If there’s snow adjacent to where I’m shoveling I will remove it, time permitting. Got shovel–snow problem!”

Gail recalled these memories from our time on the farm: The snow drifts by the barn were half way up the security light pole. We were out of school for a week because the Rock Hills snowed shut. Dad would have the V blade on the road grader trying to open the roads. It was slow going.

We did indeed live in the Rock Hills. Our road was cut deep through a hill, and the both sides remained, perhaps ten feet up. They have since been leveled down quite a bit, but when the snow started flying, the road through them was sure to drift shut. I remember the excitement at seeing Dad in my classroom doorway at any point in the day before school was dismissed, because that meant we were getting out early. He knew when to call it a day and come get us before it was too late. We lived five miles from town–three on the highway and two on the gravel–and the big hill was a mile from home.

We needed input from our brothers about these hills and the epic snowfalls on the farm, and they delivered, including these pictures, developed in 1978, according to the date stamp on the back:

I think Gail took this picture of Suzanne and me from the window of our second story bedroom, over the porch roof.

The hills in this last picture were our sledding hills.

When the snow cleared enough, our friends would come out to sled with us, knowing they were the perfect sledding hills. Suzanne recalled further: I can also remember when our friends would come out to go sledding, too I can remember Judy and Tammy being there. If you told me today that I had to bundle up in snow clothes and walk as far as we did and stay outside for as long as we did, I would die. I can already feel the hypothermia setting in just thinking about it.

I agree. I did, however, bundle up this afternoon and get out for a bit. My neighborly husband was in his element, clearing our shared driveway.

Mother Nature is quite an artist, effortlessly creating these sculptures in our yard today:

Earlier today, I got a call from my dear friend Amy, who lives in Hawaii. She was taking a walk on the beach, and I could hear the waves crashing in the background. Just to pour a little salt in our wounds, I asked her to send pictures:

I apologize to Amy and to all of you, for some reason, I am not able to crop pictures on this blog. Her arm is normal length, just not in this picture.

The sun tried to poke out a few times while I was out, and I just stepped out again a few minutes ago to see the crescent moon making its appearance. It appears the storm is over, and now the digging out commences. Our roads are mostly impassable; I walked to the mailbox and saw one four-wheel-drive pickup plowing along. Otherwise, our highway was unrecognizable as a highway.

Here is a picture from today, and a few of me from 1978 as well. The Volare station wagon brings back memories, too. And that coat…I loved that coat.

We hope your snow memories are as sweet as ours. Stay warm and safe, everyone. Aloha!

GRATITUDE

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I love Thanksgiving. Except when it’s over, and I go back to my old ways of not celebrating Thanksgiving every day, like I should.

Because we all should make every day Thanksgiving.

I am so grateful for my sisters. I hope every post in this blog spells that out clearly. I don’t know where I would be, or what I would do without them. I pray I never have to find out. At least, not for a long time.

We had the opportunity to gather once again for Thanksgiving. Our annual tradition for many years was to meet at Gail’s house the Saturday after, but now we have moved it to her daughter’s house. It is the same fun celebration, just a different setting. Our new annual Thanksgiving picture at the bottom of the series above is in our new spot in front of her daughter’s fireplace. May there be many more.

We gathered three days ago as well for our uncle’s funeral in Wichita. It was a beautiful tribute to a long and incredible life, and we were sure to make it an occasion to celebrate. There was a time to mourn, and we observed that as well. But, being the social and fun-loving sisters we are, we tried to bring laughter and smiles as well. As we exited the funeral home, we thanked the three funeral directors for their help, services and kindness, and offered them our services as well: “We put the ‘fun’ in funeral,” we told them. If they needed us to liven up any future memorials, we were the ones to call. They laughed and thanked us for our offer.

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I try to do it every day, some days I miss it. I have no excuse, and it throws my day off if I don’t. I should do it more than once each day, but I call it good with once and try to remember what I wrote.

I keep a gratitude journal. Each entry–hopefully daily, as I said–has to list three new things I have never before written. Some days they come easy, other days I have to stare at the wall and dig deep to find even one thing to write. If, however, I sit for a bit, something always comes to me. I may have to use my imagination, but it always comes. Sometimes I have to turn a negative thing into a positive thing when I’d much rather wallow in the negativity, but this adjustment in my perspective always pays off.

I dug back in several old journals to come up with some examples:

*only one cavity at my dental checkup

*finding leftovers in the freezer

*having running water again after a water main break

*I narrowly missed hitting a deer

*the smell of split pea soup in the crock pot, even though my son says it smells like sadness

*windows that keep the north wind out–not always the case in the farmhouse we grew up in

You get the idea. Of course, Gail and Suzanne probably enjoyed the winter wind blowing through the window in our north bedroom on the farm, as much as they like the wind.

I just stepped outside, and my mind was almost blown by the dual miracles of nature I witnessed:

looking to the west, the splendid sunset defies description,

and the full moon rising in the east always takes my breath–and my words–away.

Larger and less fleeting than that for me, is the fact that in just six days, we will experience the shortest night of the year on the winter solstice. Slowly, incrementally, every day will show us about a minute more of daylight after that. I am solar powered, so even this slow increase in sunlight daily will bring me out of the winter blahs. I am so grateful for that.

Now, to add frosting to my cake, the crazy wind that was blowing earlier is gone.

Sorry Gail and Suzanne. I will always love you both, but I will always hate the wind.

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Happy Thanksgiving every day. And happy winter solstice. And happy full moon.

Thank you all, I am grateful for each of you.

ALWAYS AND FOREVER AND NEVER

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Sisterhood can come in many forms. The best part is that if you want, you can form a sisterhood with another woman. Or you can create as many sisters in your hood as you like.

I am so fortunate to have my sisters, Gail and Suzanne. Hands down, I couldn’t have hand-picked better for myself. If they were the only women I had to bond with, that would be an abundance. I am even more fortunate, however, to have bonds with many other women, and some of them are sisterhoods in themselves. Like the one I have with my college friends.

Tracy and I grew up together, and Marilyn and Denise grew up together. The four of us met at Fort Hays State University in Hays, Kansas, in 1984. That’s 40 years ago, and we didn’t fail to notice that big number.

Marilyn was my potluck roommate in the dorm when I arrived, and we all became roommates the next year. She accompanied me on my trip to the Southwest last spring (She Let Herself Go, March 4th, 2024), and I have her to thank for inspiring me to follow in her professional tracks to become a speech therapist.

Marilyn had a big birthday last month, and Tracy’s birthday was last week. We had many reasons to celebrate. We celebrate often, but never often enough. I have featured them before (Friends Forever, June 30, 2019 and several other posts.

They all arrived yesterday–Tracy from Kansas City and Marilyn and Denise from Wichita–to my home yesterday. We hung out for a bit, lunched, shopped in the unique shops in the vibrant downtown of my small city,

then spent the evening at The Farm, a restaurant/brewery/coffee shop/rec center/gathering place that defies all description.

There was an incredibly talented live musician there last night, and the food and drink were delectable, as always. It is a must-go-to in Minneapolis, Kansas, just north of my home.

Tracy, in her never-ending generous spirit, insisted on buying us all a gift for her birthday: matching shirts from The Farm.

We will sport them together at our next gathering, hopefully a road trip.

The 1980’s, if you lived through them and remember them, were a decade of excess. Big hair, big music, big fun. We had our share in college.

In 1986, Tracy and Denise participated in an air band competition. Marilyn and I were in charge of the fan club; we were their biggest groupies. This memory is one that we share often, and last night was no exception. As we pulled out of my driveway on our way to The Farm, in serendipitous Godwink fashion, the Universe gave us a nod through Sirius Radio:

This was the song they performed.

Perhaps a small fraction of you dear readers remember DJ’s, the legendary hangout in Hays, Kansas. The contest was held there. Enjoy the memories. You’re welcome.

Unlike the 80’s, we all lost our steam around 9:00 pm last night. Marilyn and Denise were driving back to Wichita, so it was time to call it a night. It was the end of a beautiful, memorable, laughter-filled day.

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Thanksgiving is upon us again. I try hard to be grateful for the abundance in my life every day of the year, including my abundance of friends. These three are at the top of my list of friends I am thankful for. They are always there, no matter what or where. They were a huge part of the magic and memories of college. While our time together waxed and waned in the busy family years, they were always a phone call away. They were beside me when my parents died. They have known me longer than most other people, with the exception of my sisters. Each of them has had to say goodbye to a beloved sister. I cannot imagine that pain, but loss has a way of bonding people together, and we have let it help us grow closer.

They are always there for me.

Always and Forever.

Happy Thanksgiving to all of you. May you count your friends–and your sisters–among all your other blessings on Thanksgiving and every day of the year. A sisterhood of friends is something to be thankful for.

STUFF

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“I ain’t never seen a hearse with a luggage rack.”–George Strait, “You’ll Be There”

Gail and I were talking on the phone this morning, and the topic switched to our stuff.

“I have so much stuff,” she said. “If something happened to me, there would be so much stuff for someone to deal with. You guys could just come and take what you want.”

We acknowledged that this was a morbid thought, but then, we know morbid. We can talk about it because we know it is reality.

By the way, Suzanne is intentionally left out of this discussion because she has it figured out: she is a minimalist, Gail and I are not. Not by a long shot–but we are aware of it, and that is the best place to start.

I have been in hundreds of homes in my home health career. Some are minimal, most are not. Most are average, some are cluttered, some are hoarded. I also had a short-term gig helping an online estate auction company prepare several estates for auction. Between home health and these estates, I have seen enough to keep me hyper-aware of the issue of stuff.

When our parents died, they had it together for us. They moved off the farm in 2000, and pared down to only the essentials. They moved into a small house in town, so eight years later when they died, we had only these essentials to deal with. I am so grateful for that, as it is a difficult job no matter what, but they made it as easy as possible.

We didn’t grow up with a lot of stuff, there was no need and no extra money for it. We made do with what we had, but now that we are adults and able to decide what to surround ourselves with in our respective homes, Gail and I populate our space with much more stuff than Suzanne does.

My much-more-minimal-than-me husband tore into his closet this morning, getting rid of clothes and shoes he no longer wears. I need to take a cue from him, because I am well aware of my ridiculously large wardrobe. To add to that, I went to Kansas City this weekend, and oops! I accidentally bought some more clothes. I meant only to make a dent in my Christmas shopping, but there were these cute pants, and that sweater, well, it had my name all over it, so those items–plus a few more–found their way home with me.

So, in accordance with the “one in, one out” policy I have tried to follow, I have work to do.

It seems if I just get started, the good feeling of getting rid of stuff grows, and I want to keep going. I just need to start.

It helps me to think about the good I can do with my stuff if I simply donate it. Several places that welcome these treasures, and that make me feel good about purging them include:

*Our local domestic violence shelter. Many of these women–and some men, too–arrive literally with only the clothes on their back.

*The animal shelter welcomes used towels and blankets. (No pillows, please, as dogs will chew them up.)

*The small bottles of hotel toiletries are a godsend to the homeless shelters or the food bank.

*Non-perishable food that has sat in your pantry that has not yet expired is welcomed at the food bank.

*Gail takes her old shower curtains to a friend who sews them into pillowcases for her worn-out pillows, creating water-proof patio cushions.

*When her plants begin to make a jungle in her home, Gail shares the bounty with others.

*We all three take advantage of online selling options, including local Buy-Sell-Trade sites, Facebook Marketplace, eBay and Poshmark. We aren’t magnanimous enough yet to donate all those profits, but maybe someday…

*I read a great suggestion the other day: many people shop for Christmas toys second-hand. However, most of us tend to clean out the toy closet and donate them after Christmas when the new ones come in, but doing it before helps so many people.

*Most of us, Gail and I included, have too many holiday decorations. Taking a hard look at them every year when they come out and deciding of they still mean as much to you as they once did is a good task. Someone else may love them much more than you do.

I don’t have any pictures of our stuff, I’m not ready to share any at this point, and neither is Gail.

We do have an idea to share: in our phone conversation, we are both considering this challenge: at the beginning of the month, on the first, get rid of one thing. On the second, get rid of two things. On the third, three things…You get this idea. This adds up to several hundred things by the end of the month. December first is not far off…

Gail and I tend to be more sentimentally attached to things; we are a bit over-stuffed. But we both want to be more like Suzanne when we grow up.

LUCK OF THE DRAW

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Maybe it is her skill, or perhaps just her vibe. Whatever it is, Gail always seems to walk away from the tables and slot machines with more money than she started with. Suzanne and I, it seems, always walk away with less.

Perhaps it is simply karma: she gives so much, and so much comes back to her. Or maybe it’s because she approaches every table and machine with an easy charm, an I don’t care if I win or lose attitude, because she is there to have fun. Suzanne and I, on the other hand, mean business. Pay up, you stupid machine. You owe me. And, of course, with that kind of pressure, the machines choose to hold on to their cash.

Gail, with her effervescence and aura, draws the other gamers in to her orbit in her natural, unknowing style, while Suzanne and I purposefully give off the leave me alone vibe. It is highly likely that if we had Gail’s gifts, we, too, would walk away winners. Alas, we don’t.

Our semi-annual trip to Cripple Creek, Colorado was extra special this time: Suzanne went along and braved–and won–her altitude issues. The three of us hadn’t gone alone for five years: the legendary Halloween 2019 trip:

Our presence together may not have turned as many heads as that trip did, but we made it memorable nonetheless.

Suzanne and I left a day ahead of Gail and drove first to Canon City, Colorado. We even made our refueling stops fun.

This small touristy mountain city has become one of our favorites, and when there is no snow, it is just one hour from Cripple Creek on the beautiful backroads.

We drove the iconic Skyline Highway.

We even found some Kansas folks at the top to take our picture.

The magnificently beautiful Royal Gorge is in Canon City as well, but since both of us had just visited last summer with our spouses, we chose to wait until another time to take in that natural beauty. If you are visiting that area, however, we strongly recommend both the walk bridge across and/or take the train ride below along the Arkansas River.

Because newer cars–including Suzanne’s–no longer include a standard CD player, we were not able to play John Denver as we try to do on last leg of the trip through the mountains. We grabbed an internet signal while we could, and heard a few bars–better than nothing.

Driving separately from Gail took away from our traveling joys, but we made up for it with our time together.

We lunched with a local friend (she doesn’t like to be included in pictures), shopped, took in the purple mountain majesty,

savored what was left of the beautiful aspens as they prepared to close up shop for the winter,

and took in the natural beauty that envelops you in this beautiful mountain town.

It is a tourist town, but a small one at that, and the locals know and take care of each other. That makes the tragedy that struck just as we arrived even more profound: the Mollie Kathleen gold mine, which is no longer operational but gives tours, lost one of its employees in an accident while tours were being held. All the tourists were eventually rescued after the elevator malfunction, but the sadness of the loss of a well-respected community member permeated this close-knit village of about 1100 people.

We talked about taking the tour…

Our hearts are with the family of the employee who gave his life trying to help the others who were trapped with him. We know what tragedy feels like, and there are no words strong enough.

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The time always passes too quickly, and soon it was time to head east. The dreaded Sunday drive took us most of the day, but home is always the best place to be.

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You may have noticed that the old familiar pictures are back at the beginning of the blog. As mysteriously as the problem arrived, it disappeared. Perhaps it was because I got serious about fixing the problem, contacting my tech-whiz neighbor to ask for advice, even though he didn’t have any to offer. Perhaps it was because I stared it down, mentally amping up my defense against the trials of technology. Nevertheless, it is as if the problem never existed. Either way, I consider it a win for me.

You may also recall that I took a technology splurge and bought the new iPhone 16 as I reported in my last post. I am actually figuring it all out! Adding to that, I tacked on the Apple watch. It was a deal attached to the purchase of the iPhone I couldn’t pass up, so I gave in. With a little help, I am navigating it quite well, and even enjoying all its features.

Technology-0, Kathleen-3.

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Call it luck of the draw or divine favor, but I cannot imagine two better sisters than Gail and Suzanne. If, like Gail’s “luck” at gambling, it is indeed what we make of it, then I’ll take that, too. We make the time and take the time to enjoy each other’s company both in travel and in our respective homes, and I am so grateful that we do. Our parents, we know, are smiling down upon this continued beautiful sisterhood.

The Sister Lode-3, Luck-0.

Our home-away-from-home in Cripple Creek continues to be the beautiful and historic Cripple Creek Hospitality House, the former Teller County Hospital. Its history and beauty are preserved, and the accommodations are deluxe and welcoming. We highly recommend it if you are traveling there.

TRAVEL AND TECHNOLOGY

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If I knew how to disable plug-ins, I may have tried earlier to post. If I even knew what plug-ins are, that would help, too. However, I don’t speak that language, I get easily frustrated when technology doesn’t work for me and I have let inertia and that idea that “I’ve been busy” cloud my brain. (That last one is BS, we all make time for what we want.) Plus, I could have reached out to tech support (again) to figure out exactly what to do about the plug-ins, but I didn’t. I just walked away–for awhile.

Instead, I have set a record gap for time between posts: nine weeks. If not for those people who took a moment at our hometown’s celebration to let me know how much they enjoy reading my blog (you all know who you are, and I thank you from my heart because you keep me posting), I may have let the plug-in situation win.

The annual Tipton Church Picnic, our hometown’s yearly festival.

Nope! I have learned to keep trying, to listen to Gail’s continued rally cry: WE CAN DO IT! And, I am adding get back in touch with tech support to my to-do list.

This also explains the absence of the usual series of Thanksgiving pictures at the beginning of the post; I am not currently able to access them on my website.

Now, given my admitted lack of tech expertise, you may be surprised to learn that I am now the owner of the shiny new iPhone 16. I went into the Verizon store on lucky Friday the 13th, not aware that it had been released that day. I only wanted to replace my iPhone SE, but that would cost $420, and the new 16 was free with my plan, so…technology won. So, if you happen to see me with a confused look on my face as I am trying to figure it all out, any help would be appreciated.

Gail stopped by today with her husband and daughter, Lydia.

They will depart tomorrow to see Gail’s daughter Abby, who lives in Michigan. I was able to visit her myself last month, and it was glorious. Along with my dear friend Shari, we traveled north to see the splendor of northern Michigan, as well as Mackinac Island.

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There are no vehicles allowed on Mackinac Island, only horses and bicycles. The16-minute ferry ride to the island was beautiful. This horse picture is fitting because I feel like a horse’s ass for not posting sooner…

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I would be remiss if I don’t post the most exciting news before I go any further: I have a new grandson!

Baby Beau was born in August to my son Joel and his wife, Meghan. If you are a grandparent, you get it. He is beautiful, and his parents are wonderful, too.

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Just over a year ago, Gail, Suzanne and I were in St. Pete Beach, Florida. Now, our beloved beach has been pummeled by Hurricane Helene. While Gail and Suzanne claim they love the wind, they know this devastation is nothing to take lightly. We are heartbroken for the people, the land and the structures, as well as the spirit of this beautiful mecca. Rebuilding will take time, money and effort, but that is what they do. We hope to go back someday to share the love with them. Our hearts go out to everyone in the eastern United States affected by this monster storm. I will leave it at that because we know from experience that in times of great tragedy, there are no words strong enough to describe the pain.

Suzanne and a friend traveled to northern Florida earlier this summer. As always, Florida is her happy place. She completed another trip around the sun in August, too.

A trip together for the three of us is long overdue, and the wait is almost over. In just eleven days, we will, once again, head west. Colorado always beckons in the fall, and the three of us–as well as Gail’s daughter Lydia, will answer the call of the mountains.

Of course, there will be adventure, mischief and memories made, some of which will be detailed in a post when we return. Some, but not all. We must keep some mystery to ourselves. Until then, thank you, dear readers, for your patience and support. Because I want to be a writer when I grow up, it is important that I keep writing, keep posting; keep trying.

Until then, thank you all. And thank you Gail and Suzanne, for giving me the memories to write from.

Our Florida trip last year. Sending our love to all those affected by Hurricane Helene.

FIELDS OF GOLD

/ middlesisterkathleen / Leave a comment

Hello again! Due to a combination of technical difficulties followed by inertia, I have been silent here. The images of the sisters of The Sister Lode that I normally start each blog with are not loading; I am sure there is a way around it but for now, I am substituting this beautiful picture from my trip to our family farm last month. Obviously, harvest is long over; I wrote this upon my return but had difficulty with all the images. So, here I am posting weeks later, but the message is still as strong as it was last month.

Thank you for still following after my too-long absence!

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A farmer lives, breathes and all waits all year for this: harvest.

In Old English, it was haerfest; the Dutch called it herfst, and the German word is Herbst. Today’s farmer knows it simply as payday. Or, more accurately, pay week, pay-two weeks, or, depending upon the weather, it may stretch out to be called pay month.

This year, on our family’s farm, our brothers had about a week of harvesting the annual cash crop: wheat. It is typically annual, except for years like last year, when it didn’t happen. The severe drought in north-central Kansas didn’t allow the crop to mature, so there was no harvest last year. Mercifully, there was crop insurance. Today’s farmer typically carries this policy just as surely as anyone else carries health or auto insurance. And, just like any insurance, the farmer doesn’t want to use it, but any insurance pays out only when something unfavorable happens.

I bragged in earlier posts that I had only missed one harvest on our family farm in all my years. I was away for a year in 1990, and didn’t make it. Since then, unfortunately, I missed the last two harvests before last year; I simply couldn’t get away on a day they were cutting. If I recall correctly, they fought rain throughout harvest, making it difficult to get in the field, and hard to plan a day for me to go. I did get some redemption by going to the fall milo harvest, but wheat harvest cannot be paralleled.

Last Sunday, I made it to the harvest field. Gail and Suzanne were not able to join me, but we have made the trip in previous years.

I have made it clear that my scope of farm work experience growing up on the farm was mostly in the house helping Mom, but Gail was the Swiss Army Knife who could do any task placed before her, and even some that weren’t. She cooked, cleaned, diapered and cared for her younger siblings, drove the tractor, truck and combine, worked livestock, pretty much anything that needed to be done, whether or not she was told to. Most likely, this is where she learned to spin–and keep spinning–all those plates she keeps in the air now.

Suzanne was mostly indoors like me, but we had some outdoor duties as well: mowing, gardening, trash duties, and taking care of the chickens–my least favorite.

Returning to the farm for harvest ignites only the best of memories from my farm-girl days. Perhaps it is the heat–it was 100 degrees-plus last Sunday (I love the heat), the golden beauty of the fields, the climactic excitement of harvest, or the memories of the “after harvest” hopes that I may be treated to whatever it was I had begged Mom and Dad to buy me.

Greater than all of those, I think is the sense of unity among the farm community; the shared bond among the farmers of The Wheat State that this is our time of the year to share our gifts with the world.

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I was honored to read the Ecclesiastes 3 passage at the recent funeral of my beloved father-in-law, who led a long, fruitful and blessed life. He was a devoted husband, father, grandfather/great grandfather. He grew up on a farm and worked there in his younger years, but farming was not his livelihood. He knew when it was time to work and when it was time to play as a man who worked hard as a builder of roads and bridges and also as a Korean War Veteran. He lived through all those times and everything in between.

There is also a time to be born, and there was a new baby boy born in our extended family last week. The Great Circle of Life is a wondrous thing.

Indeed, there is a time to mourn and a time to dance, just as there is a time to plant and a time to harvest. Last week, it was time to harvest.

There is something so magical, something so beyond words that I feel when I am in the harvest field. While I am no longer a farm-girl in my day-to-day life, this heritage will never leave me, will never let me forget where I came from and what the farmer must endure to bring the fruits of his labor to harvest. Sharing this time with my brothers and their families is an unparalleled joy.

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The drought persists for much of Kansas, including our family farm. As I wrote this morning, however, they let me know via text that they had received half an inch of rain. Anything is a gift, but they are still hoping for much more.

My brother joked with the guys at the elevator, “Remember that biblical flood when it rained for 40 days and 40 nights? We got 30 hundredths out of that.” Apparently, there is also a time for rain and a time for drought, but we all hope and pray the drought ends soon. It is crucial for the crops and livestock.

Next time you enjoy a steak or a burger with a bun, or any kind of beef, or perhaps a sandwich with delicious, soft bread or maybe a pizza with a flour crust, even a cake or a doughnut, remember these fruits of the earth are brought to you courtesy of the American Farmer.

It is always the time to be grateful.