Author: middlesisterkathleen

BACK TO THE BEACH

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I’m not sure where to start.

Perhaps with the deliriousness all three of us felt after waking up at four a.m. to catch our 6:30 flight to begin our trip.

Or maybe the shout-out on this flight from the captain to the three sisters of another Southwest Airlines captain–our brother David. Of course, we milked it with our hands raised high and whoop-whooping to be sure to be recognized. Pretty sure no one else cared. This was the only flight of the four when we got to sit together.

Maybe it is Gail’s unique way of making new friends on such a trip: when two gentlemen walked by our shared patio in our condo en route to theirs, casually asking, “hey, what’s going on?” while we sat visiting with a delightful group of ladies from Indiana in another condo, Gail replied: “None of your f****** business!” Of course, this immediately made them want to join the group. She laughed, said she was only joking, and they sat to visit as well.

Maybe it is Gail’s way of taking the reins, no matter what the situation.

Captain Ron played right along, in control the entire time. He is the son of her daughter Abby’s boyfriend, so we had that connection. He left northern Michigan where Abby and his dad live for warmer weather. He lives in Fort Myers and captains his boat in the bay and the Gulf there, a short jaunt south of St. Pete, where we stayed. He took us on an unforgettable sunset cruise.

He knew just how to coax the playful dolphins out of the water in the wake behind his boat, and we were treated to this magnificent sight:

Or maybe it’s Suzanne’s dramatic/comedic streak:

The drive was beautiful as well.

Maybe it was Suzanne and Gail’s success with talking me into parasailing for my first time, their second–they did it seven years ago, but I was too chicken.

Maybe all the good food and drink,

Or maybe it is simply the time together at this paradise.

I mentioned in our last post that some locals we met there seven years ago just might remember us. There was at least one who did. This shouldn’t surprise you. The rest probably weren’t working when we happened to be in their restaurants or places of business where we met them last time. Next time we go back, chances are the people we met this time will remember us–especially Gail.

We have vowed not to wait seven years again, not that that much time would dull their memories of us.

Now, being Kansas girls, we know about hot weather. Any kind of weather, really, except hurricanes. Gail and Suzanne still long to have the opportunity to have a hurricane party, but it was not meant to be. We did, however, see some remnants of Hurricane Ian from last year in Fort Myers.

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I hadn’t flown in six years, and my fear of flying didn’t come roaring back this time. Aside from squeezing Gail and Suzanne’s hands as I sat between them on our first take-off, I felt pretty brave.

Between flying in the airplane and parasailing, I’m feeling brave enough to accept the challenge I have been offered this week: a free ride in a stunt plane. I’ll fill you in on that later if I actually have the guts to see that one through.

After all the fun we had, I actually have a fear of not flying now. I am ready to go back, and Gail and Suzanne are too. I am ready for more gallivanting by land or by air, just take me there–especially with my sisters.

THE SEVEN YEAR ITCH

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“Everything good, everything magical happens between the months of June and August.

–Jenny Han

“If I had my way, I’d remove January from the calendar altogether and have an extra July instead.

—Roald Dahl

Ah, summer. If I had my way, it would never end. Call me crazy, but I relish the 100 degree-plus days of Kansas summers. It is a time to rekindle that sense of freedom we all felt when we had the summers off from school.

While I haven’t been back to school in exactly thirty years this fall, and my boys haven’t been on a back-to-school routine for five years, the end of summer still feels to me like I have lost that feeling of freedom. I suppose that feeling will never quite go away.

September First, although it may still be 100 degrees-plus, feels like the official end of summer for me. I always feel a little blue on this day, but this year, there was another reason to feel sad. Jimmy Buffett, the immortal, lovable beach musician, passed away that day. Jimmy Buffett, the icon who personified the endless summer, died on September First.

May we all keep summer alive in his honor. As I write, it’s almost five-o’-clock…but as we already know from Jimmy, “It’s five-o’-clock somewhere.”

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

Gail, Suzanne and I each had our own adventures this summer. Suzanne and her husband went to South Dakota, Branson and Colorado.

Gail’s entire family had a grand vacation in Big Sky Country.

I spent a few days in Oklahoma City at the National Auctioneer’s Convention.

On the way home, I got to spend the evening with my dear college friends–one of them has been a friend since kindergarten.

My husband and I made a few trips to Des Moines to see family, but I couldn’t talk him into this detour. Good thing I went there several years ago with a friend.

That is a girl thing, I know. My friend who accompanied me there also joined me on a trip to the beautiful American Southwest. We spent five days and nights in the mountains near Taos, New Mexico.

I will never tire of this view of Red River, New Mexico.

In honor of our mom and her favorite saint, Saint Francis, who is now our favorite saint as well, we visited the historic San Francisco de Asis Church in Rancho de Taos. Her favorite flower, the sunflower, was abundant there as well, just as it was in Kansas.

Speaking of our dear mother, she always told us to always have something to look forward to. That tidbit has helped me through many dark days; it always help me keep hope alive for better days ahead.

And, if you keep that hope and do the work, they always come.

Which is why Gail, Suzanne and I will be reaching cruising altitude Tuesday morning before most of you are out of bed. We kept the hope, did the work and will be returning to our beloved St. Pete Beach in Florida until Sunday.

As if all the gallivanting I mentioned above wasn’t enough (it’s not), together, we are taking the epic trip of an endless summer.

It has been seven years since the three of us took a beach trip together. It is time. It is past time. The maiden post on this blog, aptly titled The Sister Lode, was published on June 16th, 2017. Six years ago, 190 posts ago. It details our first beach trip to St. Pete Beach. You may want to go back for a refresher course on why we are still blogging, adventuring, gallivanting, laughing, sister-ing and peace-ing. It’s what we do.

And if the same bartenders, hosts and security personnel are working our favorite joints there, they will very likely remember Gail, even though it has been seven years. That’s all I’m going to say about that. If you know Gail, I’m sure you can imagine the stories. If you don’t know Gail, imagine them anyway, because they’re probably not far from the truth.

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The end of summer in Kansas has our state flower showing off again; it never fails to do so every year.

We are Kansas girls. We always will be at heart, no matter where we travel to. The Sunflower State is our home, but the beach is once again calling and we must go. The Seven-Year-Itch needs to be scratched, and we are going to do just that. The endless summer will live on for us in the heat and humidity of the Sunshine State.

As always, we won’t tell all, but we will post what we want you to know in two weeks. Stay tuned.

“If there’s a heaven for me, I’m sure it has a beach attached.” –Jimmy Buffett

GRANDMA SUZANNE AND COLONEL KATHLEEN

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“You must do the thing you think you cannot do.” –Eleanor Roosevelt

I’d heard that voice before. It was the lion tamer in my head, ready with its whip and chair.

As I sat behind the other auctioneer waiting for my turn, it piped in again.

“What do you think you are doing? This is your hometown, you know. These people have known you longer than anyone, and you are getting ready to humiliate yourself in front of several hundred of them. I told you a long time ago to get back in your cage, and you didn’t listen. Now, look what you’ve gone and done. You have no choice but to get up and try to pull this off. You will likely fall on your face, but you were warned. Yes, you’ve done this enough times to know what you are doing, but this crowd is different. These are your people from long ago, so good luck.”

Once again, I told that voice to shut up. I didn’t completely doubt it, but I couldn’t let it win. I had been professionally trained, volunteered for this, signed up willingly, gave my word, told everyone I would, and now it seemed there was no way out of taking my turn calling bids at my hometown’s annual church picnic auction, a fundraiser that supports the private Catholic school I graduated from so many years ago.

I wanted to help, but I also wanted to run away. I knew I had to go through with it, and I did. And I didn’t fall on my face, at least, I don’t think I did. I am a novice with a long way to go before I sound like the professionals who have been doing it for years–if I ever do. But, I think I did okay. Once again, I was “Colonel Kathleen,” the title used by auctioneers.

Perhaps it is because the fine folks from my hometown are kind-hearted, or maybe I really did do okay up there behind the mic, but I survived my turn calling bids, I was warmly received and the show went on. I faced that fear, and made it through the “baptism by fire,” as a fellow alumni friend called it.

I did the thing I thought I couldn’t do.

*********

The celebration is a much-anticipated, locally famous community-wide effort that fosters the ever-present, strong sense of community in our small hometown.

The community continues to support a small grocery store with a big reputation for “Tipton Sausage.” It was recently purchased by a young couple with family ties here, feeding the mouths and the souls of area residents. Everyone is thrilled to support this legacy by supporting the new owners. Gail stocked up on this famous sausage this weekend.

The annual celebration includes a train ride around town. I didn’t get to take the tour on it this year but Gail did. She captured its reflection as it ferried the riders down Main Street.

If you have never been to Tipton, Kansas, I hope you someday will get the chance to take your own tour around town. You cannot fail to notice the pride that the residents have in their small town, there is nary an unkempt house or yard to be seen. Everyone takes care of their own space to continue to present and preserve a beautiful community.

Our annual visit last weekend also consisted of a visit to the cemetery. We normally take a burger and a beer to Mom and Dad, but the burger line was too long, and the storm was brewing, so it was only a beer this year. I know they understood.

The storm did indeed continue to brew. Suzanne and I headed home with our families in tow and stayed just ahead of it. Unfortunately, the storm did shut down the celebration, but only until it passed. The folks in our hometown are resilient; they just keep going. It’s what they have always done. The auction typically continues until late in the evening, and since it was already simulcasted online, the remaining items are being sold online, instead of the live/online combination. The burger and beer stands were in business throughout, as I understand from Gail and other family members.

Another church picnic is in the books; thank you to our hometown for continuing this legacy. Thanks especially to all our hometown readers. There are two–B.G and S.L–who gave me the nicest compliments on this blog at the picnic. You both made me realize I can share both joy and pain with my writing. I believe that joy multiplies when shared, and pain is divided when shared. My goal is to do both.

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I have saved the most exciting news for last: Suzanne is now a grandma! Jasper Ellis Miller was born to her daughter at the end of July, on the same day I gave birth 23 years ago. Mother, baby and grandma are all doing fine, and Suzanne has now joined the ranks of grandma with Gail and me.

Welcome, Jasper! Congratulations, Suzanne!

Thank you Tipton, Kansas!

THIRTY-NINE YEARS

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I must make it abundantly clear that there are no other two women who could ever fill the space in my heart that my two sisters occupy. However, there is another pair of sisters that have a space in there that even my sisters cannot fill.

In the summer of 1984 after I graduated high school, I began “babysitting” Tana and Amy. They spent the summers on the farm–close to our farm–with their dad, and the rest of the year with their mom in Arizona.

It was a rocky start, they tell me. They were determined to run me off, just as they had done to the others before me. It didn’t help that I didn’t like their cat, Cinnamon.

Fast forward 39 years later, and we continue to choose to spend time together. It appears I made the cut, because I was invited back for about five more summers, even when they didn’t need me. Their dad was a busy farmer, and realized we were a good fit, so it remained my summer job for those years. I am so grateful they decided to keep me.

They were even a part of my wedding.

Now, every year for the July 4th week, they visit with their daughters. Husbands and one son have also been in the mix, but not this year.

Kansas still feels like home to them, no matter how many years they have lived in Arizona.

As we have done every year since 1984, we enjoy jigsaw puzzles. We completed five this year, with the help of their daughters:

We swam in our backyard above-ground redneck pool,

enjoyed fireworks,

visited nearby Manhattan where their mother grew up, and where Tana attended college,

visited a local brewery,

and a local saloon.

We ate A LOT of good food, and maybe even threw back a few beers.

In summary, we hung out and enjoyed each other’s company, as we always do. As an added bonus, they are thrilled that my husband and I are now cat people.

If we are lucky, we will have another 39 years together. For now, however, the memories of another July 4th week are in the books, and we know how fortunate we are to keep this gig going so long.

There is always room for more sister love in The Sister Lode.

THE GAIL GETAWAY

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Just over one year ago, I posted “The Gail Experience.” (June 12th, 2022.) I traveled to Gail’s house with a friend who had never been here before. For her, then, it was a new experience. I have been here more times than have I counted, and while it is not new, it never fails to stir my soul and refresh my spirit.

On Wednesday of this week, I once again arrived at Gail’s house. As a self-employed speech therapist/writer/auctioneer, I have considerable latitude in my scheduling, and I took advantage of that this week. I wish Suzanne could have absconded as well, but it wasn’t meant to be. I took off after Wednesday morning’s tasks, and arrived here just in time to greet Gail as she finished her workday. Her workdays are typically much longer than mine, what with her two full-time jobs and several side gigs, but she always makes time for family, fun, food and festivities, all of which we enjoyed.

Gail’s daughter Lydia (center) joined us for pizza Thursday evening and our friends Mary and Cin-Cin (left) were able to meet us as well on the patio at Legends Bar and Grill. Managing this establishment is one of her undertakings. This is, of course, on top of her other full-time job. (Mary and Cin-Cin were the two dear friends who accompanied me to the top of Pike’s Peak on March 4th (Closer to Heaven, March 5th, 2023).

While I did work at a pizza place in college, and I waited tables about 30 years ago, it had been that long since I had worked in a restaurant. Gail and Lydia were scheduled for Saturday lunch, so I lent them a hand. I mostly helped Gail in the kitchen, but I even took a few orders and delivered a few meals. I was a little rusty and a bit slower than before, but I hadn’t forgotten how to do any of it.

After pizza Thursday evening, we joined “Buzzy,” the almost-90-year-old local legend on his porch for “Thirsty Thursday,” his weekly gathering when the weather allows. Because the night before was Flag Day, we also gathered on his porch Wednesday evening for yet another reason to celebrate. We should all take lessons from Buzzy on how to continue to celebrate occasions large and small, no matter our age.

His eyes are usually much brighter than this picture shows, but it was the only one we took…

Recall that learning to knit was something I checked off my bucket list in January. However, I have struggled to remember the stitches, and frustration led me to chuck it and tuck it away for awhile. I brought it along, thinking surely one of Gail’s friends would be able to help me. Cin-Cin indeed is a knitter, and try as she might, I once again tucked it away. I realize we look like the two old ladies that we are, knitting with our laps covered with blankets, but we had just come in from the cool evening and retreated to Camp Gail, the spot our six annual pictures at the beginning of each post are taken in while we are there for Thanksgiving.

It was indeed a getaway. I read, relaxed, retreated and revived my spirit. This is all easy to do at Gail’s house. Visiting with my sister and her friends, who are now my friends, is good for my soul.

I also did some writing. As I began this blog on Friday, June 16th, that date was swimming around in my head as something important to remember. Then I did remember: the maiden post of The Sister Lode, titled simply The Sister Lode (June 16th, 2017), was posted six years ago on this date. Now, 187 posts later, I am celebrating this small, but significant anniversary. Thank you to each and every reader who has read any or all of my posts.

Today, June 18th, is Father’s Day. I returned home to celebrate with my husband, who blessed me with our sons. Of course, on Father’s Day, we remember our Dad. Most of our memories of Father’s Day with him were in the wheat field. This year, our brothers report that harvest will be minimal due to very little rain in the crucial earlier months. It has not yet commenced, but I am hoping for my annual trip to the harvest field.

This is my son with Dad in the combine when he was about five. While I look very much like my mother, my firstborn son bears a striking resemblance to my dad in his younger pictures.

My “Gail Getaway” was every bit as relaxing as I’d hoped. Just now, as I am typing, a friend who knows Gail sent me a text. “I hope you had a good ‘Gail-away.’ Indeed I did. Life is always good at Gail’s house.

This post is dedicated to all fathers, but especially to anyone who has recently lost their father and is struggling mightily ,and to those fathers who have lost their children. Our hearts break for you.

MEMORIAL DAYS, MONTHS AND YEARS

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It’s The Great Equalizer.

In The Great Before, the footing is never equal. In the After, however, the playing field is leveled. You have learned a new, foreign and undesirable language. You not only understand, but now you speak it, too. You’ve got nothing on anyone else in the club; you get each other and you are all in this together.

And none of us want to be this kind of bilingual, but here we are.

Welcome.

Welcome to Life after Losing a Loved One/Loved Ones. You are in good company. We have found plenty of other fine folks in this club.

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I have a friend who lost her son in combat in Afghanistan. She wants me to do what I can to make it clear to anyone who celebrates Memorial Day that honoring anyone who has ever served this country is always a noble idea, but Memorial Day is specifically to honor those who gave their lives in service, and Veterans Day in November is to honor those who sacrificed as a veteran, but are still with us. Of course, it is also a day to remember our loved ones who have passed, whether or not they served.

Gail, Suzanne and I do not have any military members in our family, living or passed away. But we recognize that we have the gift of freedom thanks to them, and for that, every day is Thanksgiving Day and Independence Day.

Thank you every day to our veterans, active-duty military, National Guard and Reserves.

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I recall a conversation with Suzanne in The Great Before. We spoke of how, on that dreadful day when we would have to bury the first one of our parents, we would not be able to leave the cemetery. They would have to forcibly remove us.

As it turned out, we were all ready to walk away after we buried both of them on that cold March day fifteen years ago. We were tired and hungry, and there was a lot of good food waiting for us at the Knights of Columbus Hall. We left the cemetery voluntarily, and made up for four days of not eating.

Two of our four brothers live near our hometown, and they, along with their wives, are wonderful stewards of our parents’ gravesites. They maintain and decorate them, and for this, we remain eternally grateful.

When I visit them, or our hometown throughout the year, I typically stop at the cemetery and say hello. Mom and Dad are not there, I know, but paying respects to this small piece of earth that houses their earthly bodies is what my heart tells me to do, so I do it.

But I can still walk away as easily as I did after the funeral.

When Gail, Suzanne and I are in town for our hometown’s annual celebration, we stroll down a few blocks and take them a burger and a beer, the traditional fare served there. We take our brothers along, or anyone else who wants to join us. We make it as fun as anyone can.

Perhaps you still reside in The Great Before, and have not yet had to bury a loved one, and the thought of ‘fun’ is incomprehensible at a time like this. Let me just say, at the risk of sounding cold and callous, that it was laughter that helped us survive those early days after our loss.

Before and after the funeral, we made jokes, and we laughed. We survived on faith, family, friends, food and fun.

We put the ‘fun’ in ‘funeral.’

***********

My heart breaks for you if you are still in the early days, weeks and months of grief. This new world you inhabit is likely cold and dark, and you may not see any hope for light again.

We’ve been there, and we are here to tell you that if you do the work, then you are going to be okay. This will not be the old okay that you want so badly to have back, and you don’t yet know what the new okay will look, feel or smell like, but you will be okay. Give it time and let grief get through you and not try to detour it around you. Know that you will never get over it–you shouldn’t, because you loved them so much. Let your faith, family and friends carry you when you can’t carry yourself and remember that loss and grief are a natural part of life and love.

You are going to be okay. Welcome to The After. In an entirely new way, it can still be Great.

In memory of every soldier who gave their lives in their service to America.

PLEASE BE NICE

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Happy Easter to you from the sisters of The Sister Lode!

This day is the day of hope and joy for all Christians. There are few words that can properly pay it the due it deserves, and I do not feel qualified to attempt to do that.

I will, however, offer the most basic advice I have to pay homage to Christianity in general:

My son and I took a trip to our family farm on Friday, and this was in a small town along the way.

I can think of no better way to summarize our most basic job as humans attempting to be good Christians–please be nice.

It should be noted that every major world religion has an element in its doctrine emphasizing the importance of kindness to others. Being nice, then, is that important. It’s the universal thing to do.

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My husband and I hosted both sides of our families at our home today. Gail and her husband arrived yesterday, and Suzanne and her husband joined us for dinner and a fun evening last night. The weather was perfect, and we took advantage of it.

Gail and Suzanne challenged each other to several cornhole games; I am not a joiner in this game like they are. Clearly, they enjoyed themselves.

It should be duly noted that sometimes, it is okay to not be nice. Like when you are playing cornhole with your sister, and you want to throw one of the beanbags at her.

It is important to know when it is okay to do things such as this, and when it is not. As sisters, we don’t seem to have a problem understanding this.

Happy Easter to you, and when it matters–which is most of the time, please be nice.

CLOSER TO HEAVEN

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The first lyrics I heard today on my iPod as I took off for my walk/run–it’s more of a walk than a run in high altitudes–were hard times come and hard times go.

Simple, yet profoundly true.

Once again, Gail, Suzanne and I Marched Forth today, for the fifteenth time. It has been that long since we said goodbye to our parents. I’m not sure how that much time slipped away, but it did. Time, however, as most of us know, is a healing balm. It has been for us, too.

Once again, without Suzanne, Gail and I Marched Forth as we went west into the beautiful splendor of the Rocky Mountains to celebrate their lives, not their deaths. Suzanne gives us her blessing to go, but it is never the same without her. It has been almost seven years since our epic beach trip that was chronicled in the first installation of this blog, and we all know it is time again for another one soon. Stay tuned.

We were welcomed by our favorite innkeepers in grand style, as usual.

I’m pretty sure it comes down between our visits, but it was on the wall in our room when we arrived.

Bonnie and Judy joined us on this trip again, as they typically do when it is just Gail and I.

I found Bonnie and Judy at a garage sale. I knew the sale hostess, and she said they were sisters as well. If you look close at their faces, and use your imagination a bit, you can see younger versions of Gail and me. These statuettes are dated 1953 on the back.

Gail’s friends Margaret, Mary and Cin-Cin joined us too, just as they did two years ago. They bring guaranteed fun along each time, and this time was no different.

I have long wanted to return to the top of Pikes Peak via Cog Train on one of our trips, but since it reopened only last year after six years of repair and renovation, we hadn’t yet made it. I decided it was time again, and Mary, Cin-Cin and I made the trip. Gail and Margaret opted to stay back and enjoy the day in Cripple Creek.

It felt right to get as close as possible to Heaven today, March Fourth.

We boarded the 1:21pm train at the station. It was reported that Mom and Dad left us “about 1:30,” so it was the perfect time to begin our ascent as well.

The views were indescribable on the nine-mile trip as it climbed slowly at about eight mph. From the view below, the conductor told us the Kansas border was below those far clouds.

As I sat facing Mary and Cin-Cin looking backwards down the mountain out the window as we moved on forward, I decided it was time to break out the Dove chocolates I brought along, one for each of us. I doled out theirs, and opened mine.

Here’s your sign.

After about an hour of magnificent views, we arrived at the top. It was fifteen degrees, 25-30 mph winds with blowing snow. It was frigid cold, but incredible.

At 14,115 feet altitude, this was as close to Heaven as I would get on this earth today, this bittersweet-turned-sweet-bitter day. This filled me up in a way I couldn’t have imagined that I would ever feel again 15 years ago today. I felt whole. I wanted to stay and savor it, but a moment was all I needed. They were there.

Lest you failed to notice the split-pea-soup-green coat I am wearing, let me draw your attention to it and explain its significance.

A dear friend lost her older sister in Colorado on March 5th, the year after our parents died. She had a collection of vintage coats, and my friend bequeathed this one to me. I wanted to honor her sister as well today. I’m pretty sure she was there, too.

It was time to leave the summit, and head back down the mountain for another beautiful hour of mountain scenery.

***********

We talked, laughed, ate, drank coffee and other libations, shopped, gambled, puzzled and savored each other’s company. Time passed too quickly as it always does, and Sunday morning arrived too soon, with its inevitable checkout, and return home.

Hard times do come and they do go, but so too, do the good times. The memories, however, are always there for the reverie, and if you do it right, they appreciate in value over time. I do agree with my Dove chocolate wrapper, but this kind of backward-looking is necessary to savor these good times. Just be sure to live life forward.

And whatever your hard times are, be sure to March Forth.

In loving memory of Mom and Dad, “Liz and Ed,” and T.E. They are always with us, no matter what the altitude.

NINETY YEARS

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Twelve years ago, as I was pondering my upcoming 45th birthday–it felt big back then–I realized that if I was lucky, I was at halftime. If I lived to 90 years, I would be defying the odds.

Three years ago, we celebrated Gail’s 60th birthday (Dance Like Gail’s Watching, February 23, 2020). It was a big one, and on Tuesday, she will have completed yet another trip around the sun. She will get the birthday due she deserves, but her birthday is a bit overshadowed this year.

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Gail, Suzanne and I come from a long line of strong women. Our mother, though quiet, possessed a strength that was fierce yet soft, powerful yet gentle. We never knew her mother; she died when Mom was eight, just as our dad’s mother did. Dad’s father didn’t remarry, but Mom’s did. When Mom was a teenager, he married “Granny,” the only grandmother we ever knew. She was an incredible woman as well.

Mom’s full sister, Jeanne, was two years older than her. Mom had two more younger sisters after her dad remarried, Reitha and Sharon.

When Jeanne was 18 months old, she was diagnosed with retinoblastoma–cancer in both retinas. This was in the 1930’s, and treatment was limited. She had both eyes removed, but it didn’t stop her from living a full, robust life.

She attended Kansas School for the Blind in Kansas City, and went on to marry and have two children. She was a medical transcriptionist for the Veterans Administration Hospital in Wichita, and had a full social life. She was a maestro on the organ, playing beautifully at my wedding, and often in her church. In 2006, she died at age 71. Mom died two years later at the same age.

Jeanne and Mom at my wedding shower. She is “looking” at a gift. She often used that word.

Don, her husband, is blind as well. He, too, is an amazing human being, and keeps going strong. On Wednesday of this week, he will turn 90 years old. He retired from a long career at Beech Aircraft in Wichita, but has kept his mind very busy since then. He has an insatiable appetite for information, and can cite current news, world events, historical and biographical information. He listens to news on the radio and television, listens to recorded books and newspapers, and loves to engage in conversation. He has an astonishing and sometimes mystifying sense of local, state and national geography. He lives alone in his home of many years, and has some help weekly with appointments, shopping and such. Our aunt Sharon often takes him on day trips around the state to “see” the sights; he often uses that word. He beat severe Covid in its early days–he spent a week in the hospital— and has conquered many other physical setbacks that may have sidelined a less resilient person. He has outlived his wife and both of his sons.

He “sees” more than most of us do.

This afternoon, Gail, Suzanne and I, along with two of our four brothers and many members of our extended families, gathered at Reitha’s home with her family in Wichita. Sharon lives in Wichita as well, and was there with her family.

It was a grand celebration for an amazing man.

Our sister-in-law Joni “showing” him the candles. Gail’s arm is helping too.

February in Kansas could be a beast, or it could be a perfectly beautiful, sunny, calm, 63-degree day. Today was the latter. It was one of the best gifts any of us could ask for.

There was another gift in hiding for me today.

I often feel a strong sense that Mom and Dad are still with us, and today was no different. I have written about the “Dimes From Heaven” they often send us; they saved dimes in a bank, and they frequently place dimes in our paths, sometimes in ways that cannot be explained. Today, as I entered Reitha’s house through the garage, there was a dime wedged in the crack in the concrete. I showed it to her, reminded her of this sign, and she insisted I keep it. Indeed, they were there with us.

Gail will celebrate her 63rd birthday in a relatively quiet fashion on Tuesday, and Don will turn 90 on Wednesday. Don was the star today, but we will celebrate Gail’s birthday in two weeks in our annual “March Forth” trip to Colorado. Stay tuned.

I often wish I had Gail’s indomitable attitude; nothing gets her down for long. I am continually amazed at Don’s curiosity and resilience; he always bounces back, and is always thirsty for more knowledge. Both of them are incredibly strong in their own ways. Perhaps it is the Pisces in both her and Don, as they are known to be boundless, loyal and can relate to most people. I wish I could “see” the world like both of them do.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY DON AND GAIL!

VICTORY AT LAST

/ middlesisterkathleen / 2 Comments

In 1976, in the fourth grade, I took second place in the Mitchell County, Kansas, spelling bee. I never placed again, and apparently, I never got over it.

Over 15 years ago, when I worked at our local hospital, I had a dream that I won the “All Hospital Spelling Bee.” My winning words were “insufferable,” followed by a patient’s long and difficult last name, as if HIPAA would allow.

Last night, February 4th, 2023, Gail, Suzanne and I, along with my neighbor Jordan–two-time Ottawa County Kansas Spelling Bee winner–claimed first prize in the Neighbor-to-Neighbor Spelling Bee in my beloved Abilene. Our fifth team member, my delightful daughter-in-law, Meghan, was not able to join us. We had to soldier on without her. Last year, we placed second. Obviously, it was time.

Last year’s picture, same shirts this year.

This year, The Spell-It Sisters were the champions.

FINALLY.

The words delivered to us by the emcee started out easily enough. Preferred. Gherkins. Easy peasy. Round four was a series of homonyms: three different words with three different spellings, but all sounding alike. Ours were road-rode-rowed. Thank God we weren’t given carrot-caret-karat. We may have struggled with that one.

The next round was a Shakespearean word, in keeping with the theme of the evening. Ophelia was a good one for us, but Calpurnia might have done us in.

We were grateful for our German upbringing and familiarity with its language patterns, because glockenspiel and blitzkrieg were handed to us as well. The French word discotheque might have taken out another team, but we were prepared, and aced it. We nailed debutante, too. Our high school Latin served us well with maraschino.

As the rounds continued, most of the other 14 teams struggled more than we did, until there were just two. We could have handled Czechoslovakia in the geography round, but the other team couldn’t. Perhaps they could have handled Peloponnese, but we couldn’t. So, after each of us struck out in that round, we were on equal ground again.

Wildebeest nailed us, but so did cetacean for the other team. Equal footing again.

We were down, but not out. The Sisters don’t ever stay down for long, and last night was no exception. Plus, we had Jordan, the grade school spelling champ on our side.

We sailed on through syllogism, aborigine, diphtheria, and sealed the deal with pernicious.

We were the champions.

In our post-victory haze, we forgot to get a group shot. The action pictures will have to suffice. Jordan took the Sister pic at the beginning of the night, and then we got too wrapped up in our spelling to remember much else. The evening flew-flu–flue by; it was indeed a privilege to be part of such an awesome group of people raising funds for this local, excellent charity.

Above all, we tried to keep a sense of camaraderie with the other teams, lest we seemed sanctimonious after our win. We certainly didn’t want to become unctuous toward them.

Once again, the Sisters of The Sister Lode created another evening of memories. It was an wonderful night-nite-knight.