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GIRL POWER

/ middlesisterkathleen / 6 Comments

I’m pretty sure I know why my house shook Friday night. Sure, technically, it was an earthquake. A 4.0 on the Richter Scale, with the epicenter about three miles from my house, according to official seismology reports. This is caused by the tectonic plates shifting under the ground, causing the shaking, rattling and a few things rolling in my house .

At almost the same time one week before that last Friday night, there was a smaller one–a 3.4 on the Richter Scale. According to online sources, there typically is no damage to be expected under 5.0. Whew. However, I still feel a bit scarred from the shock of it all.

Imagine the loudest, most powerful thunder clap directly above your house, and how it causes the windows to rattle, and the feeling that the walls are shaking. Take that times five, and that’s what it felt like to me two nights ago. I was home alone, so my husband cannot corroborate, but my neighbors gave similar descriptions.

Now, the scientific explanation appears to be the Humboldt fault line east of my home, which has been known to cause even larger earthquakes in this part of Kansas, but I don’t recall anything stronger than what I felt Friday at 6:18 p.m.

I believe in science; I am a speech scientist by definition. I believe in professionally studied bodies of knowledge. However, I would like to offer a non-scientific cause for Friday night’s quake: Gail went home from work not feeling well, and the earth was knocked off its axis. Gail is never sick. And it happened on the same day. She had to drop at least a few of those plates she continually keeps spinning, and this caused the tectonic plates under the earth to shift, thus causing the earthquake.

Coincidence? I think not.

Knowing Gail like I do, I’m sticking with my own explanation. And, if you know Gail, you have to give it at least some consideration. And, just like after the earthquake, Gail was back to normal in no time.

Typically, when I write a blog post and I write anything about my sisters–which is most posts, I run it by them before I post it. This one, however, is news to Gail. I didn’t ask for her permission, because she would be too humble to give it.

Gail is my big sister, and one of the biggest pillars of strength I lean upon. She has been a long-time collector of all things Rosie the Riveter, which spurred me to do the same. I even dressed as Rosie on Halloween just 12 days ago.

Our mother possessed a quiet strength, a powerful grace that silently lifted up everyone around her. Gail, however, is not so silent. She uses her body and her voice to make things happen, and to show others that they can, too.

Suzanne, my younger sister, possesses a fierce breed of will to get through tough times and to create laughter in the easier times. Sometimes, she even makes people laugh in the darkest of times, and this, too, is a gift. I look up to her for her strength, even though she is four years younger than me.

Gail, as the appointed matriarch of the family since Mom’s passing, has carried this torch and kept it burning bright. She continues to offer her inspiration not only to her little sisters, but to anyone around her who needs it.

Need strength? Just take some from Gail; she’ll make more. Need inspiration or insight? Same. She possesses an inexhaustible supply.

Which, I know, is where I got an extra-large, heaping portion of all three above to step out of my comfort zone and enter a 90% male-dominated field. I can do it, I had to say to my self many times. I tried to talk Gail into joining me; we would make a great auctioneer duo. I haven’t given up on her yet.

Gail belongs to an elite club of other inspirational women, many of whom I have had the pleasure of meeting in this field.

I told you several posts ago in September that I may have the opportunity to take a stunt plane ride that week. It didn’t pan out, but the president of the U.S. National Aerobatic Association–stunt pilots–promised it to me next year when I call bids for the auction at their national convention held in my small city each year.

My auctioneer mentor, Curt, helped me with that auction, and saw a great “Girl Power” photo op for me with the considerable number of female stunt pilots in attendance.

On Monday and Tuesday of this week, I had the opportunity to go to nearby Kansas City for the Women’s Summit of the National Auction Association, a meeting of brilliant female minds and indomitable spirits of women in the auction industry from all over the country.

Not coincidentally–just like Gail’s illness, I received a gift from Gwenna, a fellow thrifting friend this week. She knows what I love–she brought me this hand-painted work of art from a local thrift shop.

And, finally, after several years of waiting for a good time to make sure the round table in my basement would be open for at least a week, I started and finished this puzzle, a gift from Gail.

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I believe that women lifting up other women–whether it is one-to-one or a large group lifting each other up, or in the case of the stunt pilots who inspire others by physically lifting themselves up, is always a beautiful thing.

I am so fortunate to have so many Rosies in my life–especially Gail and Suzanne. I hope you have at least one Rosie to lift you up, and that you share your Rosie-ness with other women in your life who will benefit from your strength.

WE CAN DO IT!

YELLOW AND ORANGE, RED AND GREEN, BLACK AND WHITE

/ middlesisterkathleen / 4 Comments

Once again, Mother Nature has been showing off with her splendid fall colors.

She’s not fooling me though; I’m not falling for it. She’s pulled this trick on me for the last 56 years, and she’s at it again. Oh, sure, she makes it so gorgeous outside, what with the brilliant autumn hues on the trees, all the oranges and yellows, still some greens, even some reds. When she feels really smug, she throws in full sun and little to no wind. Soon, however, she will turn all the leaves brown, they will leave the trees bare, and the sky will be mostly gray for too long.

I’m on to her, and I’m not happy about her little trick. She woos us all with the beauty, sucks us all in with the splendor and then boom! It’s cold, windy and snowy again–just as it has been this weekend.

It is almost November in Kansas, however, so this should be nothing new to me. Still, every year it gets a little harder for me to let go of my beloved summer, because my favorite kind of weather is Florida.

As it does every fall, however, Colorado beckons us with its own breed of fall splendor with the aspens and their golden performance. Unfortunately, as with most trips west, Suzanne stayed behind to avoid the altitude sickness that typically plagues her. Plus, we had returned from our epic Florida trip just a few weeks before that (see previous post), and I just about stayed home myself. But, um, it’s Colorado. It was time to go west, even though we had just been east.

So, Gail and I went with our special guest: her daughter Lydia. She came along last year and remembered too well how much fun it is, so she joined us again. She is a delightful travel companion.

Our favorite mountain town destination welcomed us warmly once again. And, as is typically the case, none of us came home with extra money. However, we sure had fun trying. The aspens were a bit past their prime splendor, but they were still breathtakingly beautiful.

As they typically do when Gail and I travel together, Bonnie and Judy came along, too.

Returning home, the fall colors reminded me that there is a special part of fall that I love to partake of: milo harvest on the farm.

I typically visit during the wheat harvest, but Mother Nature, being the temperamental and scheming weather goddess she is, denied the wheat the moisture it needed throughout most of the growing season. Sadly, there was no wheat harvest last summer. Mercifully, however, there was an insurance check for most farmers who were affected by the drought, my brothers included.

The milo harvest has its own offerings, even when the drought kept the crop from reaching its full potential. I had the pleasure of riding in the combine with my nephew,

and taking the big rig to the elevator with the trailer full of grain with my brother.

The sun was shining, and the leaves were as beautifully aglow as they could possibly be. I stopped to take pictures along the way, and I even cruised Main Street in our hometown on my way home.

In north-central Kansas where our family farm is, and throughout most of the Midwest, the reds and greens take on another significance as well: most of the combines and tractors are either red or green. If, like ours, they are red, then they are indeed the best choice. Green, in the history of our family farm, has been the inferior color. If you have a farm background, then you know this is the age-old good-natured disagreement. You may beg to differ, so go ahead and differ. We are holding firm to the red.

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Black and white are two more colors I need to mention as well: Halloween is next week, and there are a few iconic pictures I’d like to re-post from our Colorado trip four years ago on Halloween:

Speaking of black and white, we took in some local culture in Cripple Creek we hadn’t yet seen–we visited the Teller County Jail Museum.

Lydia, with her millenial wisdom, was able once again to deejay our ritual song as we drive through the Rocky Mountains on our way there, just as she did last year. No CD player? No problem! No signal? No problem! She made it work.

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There isn’t much reality in our crazy world that is truly black and white, but in the The Sister Lode, we’d like to offer these truths–as we see them:

* Cripple Creek, and every other gambling town is not built on winners, so don’t ever plan on walking away with money from any casino. It’s a bonus if you do.

* Traveling, if you have any desire to do so, should be a priority. There is so much to see out there, so many places to go. Take your sisters along, if possible.

*Mother Nature, after her worst tirades, returns to Mother Nurture. The sun always shines again, and eventually it does rain again.

*Consider that your black and white may be someone else’s gray, and we respect your choice if it is green and not our beloved red.

*Leaving your leftovers outside in a soft-side cooler overnight in the mountains is never a good idea.

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Happy Halloween from the Sisters of The Sister Lode–and Lydia too.

BACK TO THE BEACH

/ middlesisterkathleen / 3 Comments

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.

*********

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

/ middlesisterkathleen / 6 Comments

“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.”

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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

/ middlesisterkathleen / 2 Comments

“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.

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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

/ middlesisterkathleen / Leave a comment

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

/ middlesisterkathleen / 4 Comments

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.’

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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

/ middlesisterkathleen / 2 Comments

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

/ middlesisterkathleen / 9 Comments

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.

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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.