sisterhood

LOLA, JOHN AND THE SISTER LODE

/ middlesisterkathleen / 1 Comment

Every day should be celebrated as Thanksgiving. And Christmas. And Independence Day, maybe even Groundhog Day. Quite simply, every day should be a celebration.

With Gail, as you may have deduced by now, every day is a celebration.

After two years at her daughter’s house in Wichita, scheduling conflicts determined that Thanksgiving would be held once again at Gail’s house, as they had for many years prior. It matters not where we gather, just that we do gather with family.

Over the interstate and through the cold, to Gail’s house we did go. The weather kept some loved ones back, but they were with us in spirit. I rode with Suzanne and her husband, making the journey almost as much fun as the celebration. On the way, we stopped to partake of Black Friday shopping in Hays, Kansas, which was a new experience for me. After spending six of the best years of my life there in college, it is always a nostalgic trip back. The town is bigger now, but the mall is smaller–in my mind. It seems those places can shrink with age. Perhaps a mall of any size to a starry-eyed college student from a town of 300, was a behemoth. I don’t normally do the Black Friday thing except online, which we had fun doing in the car, as our favorite puzzle maker had a sale that couldn’t be missed. We should both be set for some time with puzzles after that order. We were good girls this year, Santa would see it the same way so we just did a little of his work.

Arriving in Atwood at Gail’s house in late afternoon left us a little time before we had to load up and head downtown to the annual Christmas parade. We couldn’t be late, we were part of the lineup. Spectating at a parade is its own thrill, but riding in the back of Lola–Gail’s 1974 Chevrolet Nova she bought for herself as a 60th birthday gift almost six years ago–with my sisters Gail and Suzanne, and John, the son of the original owner (Lola) at the wheel, was a new thrill for me. I think we enjoyed it more than the kids who picked up the candy we threw out. Suzanne’s husband got to ride shotgun.

Gail’s stepson, Tyler, was an elf extraordinaire.

The small-town spirit of Christmas was felt in full force; an energy that cannot be duplicated by anything else.

Saturday morning brought the anticipation of the feast, with the preparation being another kind of unique energy. Everyone brings something, and the big stuff is created in Gail’s kitchen.

Gail’s dressing—Mom’s recipe–is second to none, but we all had a hand in making it.

Every year, a secret ingredient is added, leaving the guests to try to figure out what it is this year. No one guessed the acini de pepe pasta that was left over from the salad; it baked in quite nicely.

The feast was the usual fare, but there is never anything usual about our gatherings, especially at Gail’s house. There were prizes drawn for those who remembered to bring their personalized, laminated “Turkey Club” cards issued years ago, but in the end, everyone got a prize. Gail is generous like that. Our choices ranged from her homemade salsa, canned zucchini relish, Pampered Chef utensils (from one of her several side gigs), an Amazon gift card, summer sausage and a few other goodies. Gail does nothing halfway, especially when it comes to giving.

When a decoration was noted to be broken as she took it out of the box this year, she added the accessory to make it a story of its own. She had to order a box of four from Amazon, so, if for some reason you need a small accessory such as this one, she has three left. Let us know.

Bonus points for finding it in five seconds or less.

We dined, dined some more, had dessert, talked, laughed, reminisced and knew we had to make it back over the interstate and through the cold to get home, so we wrapped it up and bid adieu until next time. The 3.25 hour trip was a breeze being chauffeured by Suzanne’s husband, as well as the good company they provided. Thousands of other travelers lit up Interstate 70, adding to the holiday spirit on Thanksgiving Saturday, one of the top road travel days of the year.

I listened to a podcast this morning about gratitude. Not just the surface stuff, but the nitty gritty, small things that comprise most of our days. We all know there is so much sadness in the world and in many of our own lives, so finding the smallest of things to be thankful for can truly make all the difference.

Today, for example, I noticed the jade plant I just repotted is sprouting a new leaf, when I thought perhaps I had killed it in the move. I was grateful. One of my favorite comedians has a new show out. I found another book I was looking for in the thrift store in Hays. I am first on the cancellation list at my dentist’s office to get the root canal I need to fix my tooth earlier than my appointment on Thursday.

Sometimes it takes a little digging, but there are always small things that we can give big thanks for.

We found this picture from Thanksgiving 2008 at Gail’s house. It was the first Thanksgiving after our parents died, and I was taken back to the bittersweet gratitude we all felt that day. We have come so far.

I am so thankful for my sisters, and we are so thankful for you, dear readers.

LESS IS MORE, MORE IS LESS

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I woke up from a glorious Sunday afternoon nap a bit ago, knowing that it has been far too long since I checked in with all you dear readers. I had an idea in mind for a blog, but decided to send a text to Gail and Suzanne first to see if their ideas might be better than mine.

At almost the precise second I sent it, Suzanne sent this picture to me in a text, stating the obvious: “Isn’t this already a mess?”

That was my sign to proceed with the post idea that has been rolling around in my mind for two months: the garage sale Gail and I had at her daughter’s house.

On September 18th, 19th and 20th, I went to Gail’s house in Atwood, Kansas, to partake of the annual Highway 36 Kansas Treasure Hunt, whereby the cities all along U.S. Highway 36 hosted garage sales for the entire weekend.

Treasure hunters from Kansas and all surrounding states flock to this mecca, so I wanted to give it a shot myself. Suzanne wasn’t able to join us, but she did send some stuff along with me. I’m not sure where she found stuff she could let go of, because she already subsists with so little, but she did manage to find an armful of stuff I took along. I think I brought back $16 for her, which is $16 she didn’t have before, so that was a win for her. I came home with $114 in my pocket, and I’m pretty sure Gail at least tripled that amount.

Better than that, though, was the fact that I got rid of a lot of stuff. Stuff that is perhaps living a new, more exciting life in someone else’s home. Now, to the unaided eye–like my husband’s, it is not obvious that I did indeed let some things go, but I guess that’s the most important place to start. And, important also is the fact that while there were multiple other garage sales going on in Atwood, and I stopped at most of them, I didn’t bring anything back from them. I did, however, bring a few of Gail’s goodies home with me, but I beg to differ that those don’t count since she is my sister, and they are mementos of her.

For many years (several decades?), I have stared at the large totes in the storage room in my basement that I knew were loaded with old cards, letters and other papers. I’ll deal with those when I get old, I would tell myself. Apparently, I have decided that I am old, because I am dealing with them now.

This is my pool table in the basement, next to the storage room. I am perusing, sorting and enjoying most of the written treasures I am finding. Most are going into the recycle/shred pile, but I have found some keepsakes in written form from as far back as college (40-plus years). Letters from friends, pictures and cards are being sorted to share back with their original givers, some which I already have. It is a great walk down memory lane, and sure to bring a few laughs. These piles are for various people, as well as the shred/recycle piles.

It feels good to wrap this task up, and to hold on to a few that bring back warm memories. Our mom’s beautiful handwriting is a treasure always, and I have several from her I am holding dear.

Back to Gail. An antique collector/shop owner from eastern Colorado rolled up to Gail’s with her husband and a trailer, and found a few goodies of Gail’s she couldn’t resist.

“If you like that,” Gail said, “I’ve got more like them at my house, and probably some other things you would like.” So, since it was the end of the day and only four blocks over, Gail took Rebecca and her husband to her house, and parted with a considerable pile of antiques Rebecca wanted. In short order, Gail had them on her back patio with a cold beer, because that’s how Gail rolls.

Several weeks ago, I stopped at a thrift store, knowing there were treasures in there for me. There were several really good ones, as well as one with Suzanne’s name all over it: a t-shirt from our beloved Cripple Creek, Colorado. Her size, her style. I was so excited to give it to her; I knew she was home so I stopped by. I showed her my goodies–including a Jim Shore piece, something we are always on the lookout for, then presented her with her shirt. She laughed. Not just a laugh, but a full-on howl, with her head thrown back and all.

“I donated that! she said. I should have known.

In my ongoing quest to at least try to get rid of stuff, I find some particular challenges: books, knick-knacks and jewelry, not to mention clothes. (Isn’t that pretty much everything?) Books, for me, represent a place I visited, another world I was fortunate to explore. I put them on a shelf or a stack in view, because just seeing them reminds me of that journey. If it wasn’t a memorable one, I will pass it on.

Speaking of journeys, when I take an actual trip, I like to buy a piece of jewelry (and probably a coffee cup, maybe a shirt) to commemorate the trip. These things, and they are just “things,” remind me of the fun I had, which helps to keep that good memory alive. And that’s worth it to me. That doesn’t solve the “stuff” problem, but if it brings me joy, then so be it.

I went to a terrific garage sale yesterday and closed out the end of the season. Of course, this too negates the “getting rid of stuff” plan, but I am happy to give life to those things that beckon me when someone else is casting them off. I did come home and put a few things in the “out” box…I swear I did!

In the hundreds of homes I have been in during my home health therapy career, and the short-term gig when I helped with online estate sales, I am continuously reminded that too much stuff is not good for anyone. Our parents moved off the farm in 2000, taking with them only the essentials to their new home in town. Eight years later, this was such a gift to us when we were left with their house to empty. When our times come, Suzanne’s family will have a much easier task than Gail’s and mine in the getting rid of stuff chore. And I know it is a chore.

As the talented (and sexy) country star George Strait sings, “I ain’t never seen a hearse with a luggage rack.” We all know we can’t take it with us. Most of us–except Suzanne–have a lot of work to do while we are still here.

I dug up some old garage sale pictures from blogs past. Suzanne and I are attempting to ride a hoverboard.

SUZANNE’S ISLAND

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Perhaps it was the company of her beloved sisters. Maybe it was the natural beauty of Mackinac Island. More likely, it was Suzanne’s favorite excursion on our Michigan trip last week because it is the closest she will come to ever realizing her fantasy of going to Gilligan’s Island.

I’m not making this up. She swears she would thrive in that environment. Perhaps she would, but we are so glad she is with us here, safe on our shores, accounted for every day by her husband, her work and our daily morning check-in ritual when each of us finishes Wordle.

We left after work on Monday, August 18th and headed east. As we’d hoped, we made it to Chillicothe, Missouri before we hung it up for the night. Chillicothe, as Gail wants us all to know from her research, is the home of sliced bread. Those fun facts make life a little more interesting, and I really appreciate that she gets excited about such things.

We checked in late and took off early, hummed along nicely along US Highway 36 East. Until we didn’t.

At 9:37 a.m., the flashing lights behind us sank our collective spirit. Gail pulled over, and Missouri State Highway Patrolman Dunn greeted Gail at her door. Apparently, Gail was going only 5 mph over the speed limit, but it appears she was hanging out in the passing lane a bit too long. So, after producing her information, he returned to his vehicle, while we joined hands and sent up a Hail Mary to Mom and Dad. After a long few minutes of waiting, Patrolman Dunn came back to Gail’s door.

“When you girls passed me, I could see you were having a lot of fun. I didn’t want to ruin your day by giving you a ticket, so I’ll just give you a warning.”

Clearly, as evidenced by Patrolman Dunn’s observations, we have road-trip fun down to a well-honed science. Apparently, our fun-loving aura travels through space as quickly as Gail was driving.

Thank you Patrolman Dunn.

And we were off again, until we weren’t. We stopped in Springfield, Illinois for lunch, and it became apparent that one of us needed a visit to Urgent Care. We won’t say which one or what for, but once again, antibiotics saved the day as the wonder drug they are. At least, we got to have lunch at one of Suzanne’s favorite places there.

Three hours later, we were off again. Other than the eight-lane traffic we slogged through around the southern tip of Lake Michigan, which is also the Chicago outskirts at rush hour with Suzanne expertly at the helm, we hummed along nicely, arriving around one a.m. We lost an hour to the time change near Chicago to Eastern Standard Time.

I am normally tucked in by 9:30 and in a deep sleep before 10:00 (according to my sleep tracker), so this was a bit of a stretch for me, as well as a recent personal record for staying up late. But I persevered, and slept like a log after a long day in the car.

Gail’s free-spirited and fun-loving daughter Abby lives in northern Michigan with her husband and two sons. It was so good to hang out with all of them.

My friend Shari and I visited her last year, but there’s never enough time with her. So, I was thrilled when Gail planned a trip there and asked Suzanne and me to go along. Suzanne had never been to Michigan, and was amazed by the natural beauty, as we all were.

We spent our first full day traveling to and around Mackinac Island. The ferry departs from Mackinaw City–both are pronounced Mackinaw–and after about 16 minutes on the waves, we arrived. Of course, we made the most of those 32 minutes:

Gail got into a bit of trouble from the skipper for her imitation of Rose from The Titanic movie, but it was worth the laughs, and no harm was done.

Mackinac Island is noted for its lack of automobiles. Except for a few emergency vehicles, transportation takes place on foot, on a bike or by horse. In 1898, a vehicle ban was enacted to protect the horses that were frightened by the noises and exhaust. The ban has been kept to allow the island to keep its unique charm and quiet atmosphere.

To honor Mom and Dad, who loved to visit Catholic churches, we stopped at St. Ann’s Church and lit a candle for them.

We strolled around the island, enjoying the unique sights, friendly people and quaint shops after a lunch at The Great Turtle, served by our fabulous waitress, Ashley. She filled us in on the ins and outs of the island, enhancing our experience with information only locals would know.

Native Americans noted the similarity of the island’s shape to a turtle, thus naming it “Mitchimakinak,” which means “big turtle.” French explorers kept this name, with the British shortening it to “Mackinac.” It’s perimeter is 8.2 miles, with the commercial and residential development concentrated on the southeastern tip.

On Wednesdays, we wear yellow shorts. Apparently, we forgot to tell Suzanne.

On our way home, we took the five-mile Mackinac bridge. It is the longest suspension bridge between anchorages in the Western Hemisphere.

Sunset on Lake Michigan

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Our remaining two days were filled with other local attractions, including “Skybridge Michigan,” a 118-foot suspension walk bridge. After a ride up on the ski lift, we took the long stroll, then back across.

Shopping was a must as well. Gail was excited to go to her favorite spice store, and I’m sure they were happy to see her again.

Perhaps the simplest pleasure was the treasure hunt for Petoskey stones. Abby is a stone hunter extraordinaire, as are her boys and they turned us on to this hobby of theirs. These fossilized corals are concentrated near Petoskey, on the shores of Lake Michigan, just up the road from Abby’s small town. When you see the distinct hexagonal shape, you know you hit the jackpot. We found several small ones that, after I follow Abby’s polishing instructions, will become even more beautiful.

Souvenirs with this rock print abound, and I came home with a necklace and earrings with these stones, as well as a vase, journal and this challenging puzzle:

And speaking of puzzles, we completed two 300-piece puzzles Suzanne brought and one 500-piece puzzle of northwest Michigan from Abby. She is a puzzler, just like Suzanne and me. Another simple pleasure.

Multiple lakes dot the area, including Torch Lake, which, even though it is hard to tell in this picture, has a beautiful turquoise color. We didn’t wade long after the water moccasin snaked it’s way to shore near us. It’s head is entering this picture on the right.

Time flew as it usually does, especially on vacation. We set our sights on making the trip home in one day, hoping and praying for no hang-ups. There were none. The weather was perfect, as it was all the way there. We departed at 8:30 a.m. Saturday and arrived back in Salina around 12:30 a.m. Sunday. It seemed longer going home as it always does, but we made our own fun, including enjoying our road trip snacks, including:

*Chex Mix, a home-made gift from Suzanne’s co-worker (thanks Steve G!)

*mixed nuts

*celery, sliced peppers and cucumbers

*bagels and cream cheese

*prunes (no explanation needed while traveling)

*chocolates

*apples

*cookies

We had Gail’s homemade salsa with chips that we intended to eat on the way, but decided to enjoy it instead when we got there. Good thinking. And, more good thinking, says Suzanne, was the fact that Gail had an ice cream cone one morning while we were out.

On the way home, Suzanne turned around and saw me sleeping in the back seat. She said she had this flashback: (Only Suzanne would think of this…)

Gail spent the night at my house, even though she said she could probably make the 3.25 hour trip home, getting her there around 3 a.m. I’m sure she could have, but I’m glad she stayed.

Another trip in the books, and the memories grow more fond with time. There will be more to come, hopefully including another Colorado trip in a few months.

Petoskey means “where the light shines through the clouds.” Until we make more memories, these will shine bright through the clouds that have been hanging around here for about ten days, it seems.

Kansas and Michigan together are a perfect combination.

THE SISTER’S GUIDE TO AGING: PART TWO

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“Aging ain’t for old people.”–B., my 93-year-old home health patient.

In honor of Suzanne completing another trip around the sun yesterday, we decided it was time to once again offer our readers our sage advice on aging. But first, let’s continue the celebration for Suzanne.

She offered this picture from a much earlier birthday with our younger brother Ryan:

Suzanne hit the double-nickel yesterday. Smack in the middle of her decade, just like Gail is in the middle of hers at 65. She spent the day with her husband, and I had the honor of taking her to dinner and spending the evening with her. As always, her company is a sheer delight.

Gail and I will have an extended celebration for her next week, as we are preparing to head northeast tomorrow after work, as in, to Michigan to visit Gail’s daughter Abby–the “Dimes From Heaven” niece. It is time for us take another sister’s trip, and it is time for us to visit Abby–likely overdue.

But first, back to the topic at hand.

There was a 109-year old woman who lived near our hometown who recently passed away after her long life. She reported that the secret to her long life was to avoid other people. While that goes against most research and observations, it must be taken into consideration because apparently, it worked for her.

On March 18th, 2018, I posted “The Sister’s Guide to Middle-Aging.” Since we have aged seven years since then, our perspective has only grown richer, and we are ripe with more advice. When I asked Gail and Suzanne by text for their input on this topic, this is what I got:

Suzanne also offered this insider fashion tip: “Don’t dress in a way that’s in style, dress with style. There’s a big difference. My current style looks like I’m homeless, but it’s very low maintenance and inexpensive. Plus, it makes people wonder, ‘Is she a 12-year-old headed to gym class or a nursing home escapee?’ Sweatpants and T-shirts are a clever disguise.“

Thank you, Suzanne, for that indispensable information.

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

When I meet a patient or their family member who seems to be aging very well, I usually make a point to ask them what their secrets are. By and large, the answers boil down to two things: keep your body moving and keep your mind moving.

My 102-year-old patient would add that we should all have as much fun as we can as long as we are able. I wholly agree with her. She is always excited to hear that I am gallivanting yet somewhere else again, and I quoted her in regards to that: “As long as you have your health and the money to go, just go! Go and have fun in all those places you want to go to.”

In my last post, I extolled the virtues of having fun. I am convinced it matters, and apparently, she is, too. She has lived her life as a testament to that as much as she possibly can, and continues to plan monthly parties for her friends and family in her home.

Gail replied immediately after I sent the text out this morning: “Have fun, don’t worry. Don’t stress.” I’m sensing a theme here…

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

The Sisters of The Sister Lode will spend this week in Michigan with Gail’s daughter Abby. I was there last summer, and I am so excited to go back. We don’t get to see her enough, and remaining connected to our loved ones is the secret to healthy and happy aging I would like to share. Despite my strong desire at times to be alone, and to follow the advice of the 109 year-old, I know we all need each other.

What happens in the car on our 14-hour road trip tomorrow and Tuesday will stay in the car, but we can tell you this for sure: we will have fun like we always do, and even more fun connecting with Abby when we get there. And we may come back a bit younger as well.

“This is my preferred photo in all my 55 years. My hair looks amazing!”

Happy 55 Suzanne!

FERRIS WHEEL FUN

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“Fun is good.” —Dr. Seuss

When we were kids, the edge of the world was just beyond Wichita, Kansas. At least for me, it was. That was as far as any of us ever were able to venture as kids.

Our grandparents–Mom’s parents–and several aunts and uncles lived there. Mom spent her high school years there, and came to the farm after she married Dad, the result of a blind date.

Wichita was the big city, the big time and big fun. Visiting there from our farm was a treat beyond compare, and I would marvel at how my dad could leave our farm and drive all the way to our grandparent’s driveway there without a map. How did he do that? He was such a brilliant navigator.

Not far from their home in the neighborhood known as College Hill was the Wichita equivalent to Disneyland. Except that we really had no idea what Disneyland was. Oh, sure, Suzanne still jokes that Mom and Dad took her–and only her–to Disneyland, but I see through that now.

Joyland was an amusement park located at 2801 South Hillside. It opened in 1949 and closed in 2006. I took my boys there once shortly before it closed. They, too, have memories of Joyland, but not as rich and varied as mine.

For us, as farm kids, this off-the-farm fun was as good as it got.

When they closed, several of their rides were sold and given new life, including the ferris wheel. Its new home is just down the road from Suzanne and me in Minneapolis, Kansas.

You may recall from previous posts that Suzanne has a thing for ferris wheels. If she is anywhere near one, she will be sure to take a ride. She rode one in Scheel’s Store in Colorado Springs recently when she and her husband were traveling through there.

We had yet to take a spin on the old Joyland ferris wheel, so I told her we need to be sure to ride it during the Ottawa County fair last week.

And we did. Our husbands even went along.

It was a Joyand all it’s own. Reliving the memories and making new ones was priceless. And, it was fun. Plain, simple fun. Something most of us don’t allow ourselves enough of.

I found pictures of the dilapidated remains of Joyland online. It was heartbreaking, and I don’t recommend it, but if you have childhood memories of Joyland, and you want your heart broken too, feel free to find them in the auction company’s listing online.

I remember this walkbridge, it’s the only picture I could find that elicits a colorful and warm memory from Joyland.

Because the sisters of The Sister Lode can’t always be together to have fun, there are times we must soldier on without one of us. Gail was in Wichita celebrating her grandson’s birthday this weekend, so she was not here to enjoy the ferris wheel, or to be our teammate in another spelling bee.

The Salina Public Library hosted their first adult spelling bee last night. Suzanne and I, along with Jordan–my neighbor who has been on our team for the other bees, and my other neighbor Angie comprised our team. It was a bracketed tournament style bee with single elimination. I didn’t get any pictures this time and it didn’t take much to eliminate us.

Tell me, before you look it up, how do you spell the ice cream with the three flavor stripes of vanilla, chocolate and strawberry? All four of us were wrong.

But, the most important thing was that it was indeed fun. There was a friendly spirit of competition among the eleven teams: cheering, well-wishing and laughter. Just not sure if I will ever be able to eat neapolitan ice cream again.

I have been devouring books this summer, a favorite fun thing for me year round. One of my most recent was this:

It made me think and dig a little deeper into how much fun I may or may not be having. I have since determined it’s not enough.

I was in the car the other day with a friend and we drove past a cemetery. She asked me what I would like my tombstone to read, and without hesitation, I answered: She had fun.

We hope you are having enough fun in your life. If you’re not, get out there and find your own ferris wheel fun, or spelling bee fun, or whatever it might be. Life is meant to include fun, but it doesn’t often come knocking.

Price, Catherine. (2021). The Power of Fun. The Dial Press

Following is a montage of the Sisters of The Sister Lode having fun…

Now get out there and have some fun!

POOL WEATHER

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***********

It’s all fun and games until someone gets water squirted in their ears…or in their eyes…or gets dunked or thrown in the pool, but even after all that, we continued to make it fun. It’s what we do.

Gail and her family traveled to Wichita to see her daughter, Kate, and her family this weekend.

“You two should come down,” she said to Suzanne and me. “We could have a pool party.”

It took us the better part of a few seconds to decide to accept her offer. The weather was perfect–except for the wind, of course–and the company, as always, was delightful.

We battled the strong south wind all the way there, while Gail waited patiently for our arrival.

So the fun–and the memories–began.

Our mom, who didn’t know how to swim, insisted that all seven of her children take swimming lessons. She wanted us to be safe in, and enjoy the water because she couldn’t. We are so grateful that she did. We reminisced about the early June mornings in the cool temperatures, shivering in the water in the Osborne swimming pool. We practiced the simple kicking techniques for old times sake, put our faces in and out of the water, turned our heads, blew bubbles and practiced all the strokes. Then we moved on to the advanced tricks.

Gail showed off her perfected cannonball,

And Suzanne can still do a perfect swan dive:

She attempted the Nestea plunge–without the glass of tea in her hand, of course.

I didn’t have any fancy tricks, I was busy focusing on survival:

The hot sun made for a great pool day, and the backyard trees helped block the wind. The day was sheer fun, followed by Kate’s delicious dinner in the evening. Then, as all good things must do, the party came to an end. Suzanne and I hit the road with the wind at our back, sailing easily down the highway home.

It’s always fun to spend time with my sisters, but it’s a bigger bonus to spend time with their children and their families. Kate was a gracious hostess–as always, and so much fun to hang out with.

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

I love the hot weather. Call me crazy, but 100-plus temperatures are my favorite. If I hadn’t got sunburned yesterday, I’d be back out there today. The wind, however, as I have made clear many times, is usually a deal-breaker for me. Gail and Suzanne continue to love the wind. I will never understand.

I will add that this weekend’s wind is more tolerable for me because I know it is a blessing for the farmers who are trying to get into the wheat fields after the big rains we have had lately. The heat and wind are drying out the wheat to bring on the harvest. We did see a few combines rolling along the interstate yesterday; they would most likely be done cutting by late June if it were a “normal” weather year.

Our brothers have been harvesting for a few days; they had less rain than southern Kansas lately. I look forward to a day in the harvest field with them soon, I try not to miss this annual farm-girl highlight.

Knowing Gail and Suzanne love the wind, I asked them to offer more specifics about their favorite weather, and this is what I got:

I will give them that. Storms remind me of the divine and infinite wisdom and wonder of our universe, that higher power that put us together in the same family as sisters, just in a different mode.

I’ll take that kind of weather any day of the year.

CHERRY PICKERS

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“Life is a bowl of cherries.”

Once again, it’s cherry-picking time in Kansas.

Every June, the “pie cherries,” as we call them, are red, ripe and ready to pick. And pit. And make pies with. And/or freeze, but especially to enjoy.

Gail, Suzanne and I, like most people, love a good cherry pie, cherry crisp, cherry cobbler or any other baked cherry treat. However, we haven’t always enjoyed the process it takes to get there.

On the farm, we had two cherry trees. We each have our own memories about cherry-picking time, perhaps not altogether good ones. I recall Mom calling us at an ungodly early hour of the morning in June–7 a.m. is ungodly when you are a kid on summer break–to get up and pick cherries. I remember groaning, half asleep, “No, Mom…we can do it later.” To which she would reply, “No, it will be too hot later. We need to do it now.“

Suzanne agreed that, at about eight years of age, this seemed ridiculous. She sees the logic now. So do I. I’m pretty sure that Gail, with her work ethic already in place likely at birth, never questioned Mom’s logic.

Gail remembers getting up at 6 a.m. She may–or may not–have embellished her memory of the time, but perhaps Mom got her up earlier than us. You know, because she was older…or maybe because she stayed out too late the night before and was being punished…not sure.

Suzanne recalled a couple from town appearing early in the morning to pick cherries. Perhaps they had permission, but we didn’t care because that meant less for us to pick.

I remember climbing the trees to pick cherries. Now, I still love a good tree climb at almost 60, but our tree does not lend itself to climbing. The cherries were too far out on the branches.

As much as I loathed the job as a kid, I couldn’t wait to have my own cherry tree in my own backyard to pick my own cherries. My arborist husband planted one about 15 years ago, and it produced within three years. This year, however, the bumper crop is the biggest one yet.

If you know him, then you know he is the king of improvising/inventing solutions/MacGuyvering. He uses the paint bucket on his ladder to collect the cherries. This hands-free method makes it much easier.

Picking cherries is sometimes a neighborhood event. My neighbor brought her daughter, Eva, down this morning to pick cherries. She was mostly interested in climbing the ladder and feeling the cherries, but both are rich learning and sensory experiences.

Aside from an outing with a friend and writing this post, my day has consisted mostly of pitting cherries. I have enough for three pies in the freezer, with more added to the large red tub above to pit, hopefully before the day is out. A dear friend gave me a cherry pitter a few years ago as a gift, but I find joy in the old fashioned way: one at a time with a paring knife. And, sitting on the front porch instead of standing at the kitchen sink seems to add to the joy.

Funny how those tasks we dreaded as kids now bring joy. When we were at home and there was no choice, it wasn’t so much fun. Now, as Gail and Suzanne recall, too, I’m still getting cherry stains on my shirt and my hands are sticky. However, it is now a nostalgic event for me.

I invited Gail and Suzanne out to pick cherries as well, but so far, no response. If you live near me, please feel free to come and pick cherries. Just be sure to bring a ladder taller than the one in the picture, because we will likely have picked to that point. Perhaps a real, mechanical cherry-picker–also known as a boom lift, according to my husband–would do the job. That’s likely how it got its name.

I made a cherry crisp after yesterday’s harvest. It wasn’t as crispy as I’d hoped, but apparently my family thought it was tasty. It was easier than a pie; those will come later.

The phrase, Life is a bowl of cherries originated in 1931 in a song by the same name, sung by Ethel Merman and Ray Henderson. It is often used in reverse, in a sarcastic tone to suggest that perhaps life can be tough sometimes. Or, as one of Mom’s favorite artists, Mary Engelbreit illustrated, sometimes Life is just a chair of bowlies.

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May your life be a bowl of cherries. And if you show up in my backyard tomorrow morning at 6–or 7, if you are like Gail–with a tall ladder or a cherry picker, I will welcome you to all the cherries you wish to pick. And then you, too, can enjoy the glory of pitting them all day.

MAY THE FOURTH BE WITH YOU

/ middlesisterkathleen / Leave a comment

Yippee! It’s the speech therapist’s favorite day of the year! May the fourth be with you! May the fourth! Hahahahaha! Hardeeharhar!

Stupid joke, I know, but I love it. As a speech therapist, it is simply so funny. Perhaps, because most of you reading this are not speech therapists, it is not funny to you, but it is so funny to me. So, thank you for tolerating my sense of humor.

Let’s do a deeper dig.

I am not a Star Wars fan, but not against it, either. “May The Force Be With You” is the well-wish given in that movie series, representing the mystical power that binds all living things for the good of all.

It may represent God for some people, or the Universe for others, or simply, “The Force.”

However you wish to view it, our hope is that The Force–and The Fourth–are always with you.

Today, May 4th, 2025, marks 206 months since our parents passed. Rarely do I fail to notice it is the fourth again; that day of the month has occupied a dark square on the calendar since March 2008, but mercifully, it becomes less dark with each passing month.

I much prefer to focus on this date, this light-hearted fourth-of-the-month.

Topping this fourth, however, is the fourth just two months from today. When most people speak of “The Fourth,” they are referring to the Fourth of July. Along with Thanksgiving, this holiday is in my top two. I celebrate with my dear friends from Arizona every year, and in just 8 and 1/2 weeks, they will be back.

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As I typically do before I write a blog, I send a text to Gail and Suzanne, asking for their input. I did this morning, and this is what came back:

And there you have it. If you know Gail and/or Suzanne, no further explanation is necessary–or possible.

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May the Fourth be with you today, and May The Force Be With You every day of every year. Happy Fourth from the Sisters of The Sister Lode.

DIMES FROM HEAVEN

/ middlesisterkathleen / Leave a comment

This morning, just before I started writing this post, I was reading an article on faith. The author asserted that there are only two ways of looking at existence: either everything is a coincidence, or nothing is. This seemed like a perfect introduction to this post and to be fair, I respect whichever side you believe.

Gail, Suzanne and I remember vividly that Mom and Dad always had a bank on the kitchen windowsill where they saved dimes. This started out as a vintage metal Co-op can/bank, and evolved into a Tootsie Roll Bank, the foot-long cardboard ones that the Knights of Columbus used in their Tootsie Roll drives after Mass to collect money for individuals with intellectual disabilities. Dad was an active member, and we often ended up with the bank after the drive ended each year.

This is similar to the bank they had, Gail found it at an auction. We are not sure where the original one is. None of us have a Tootsie Roll bank, but this online image represents theirs.

In their honor, both Gail and I now have our own dime banks. This is hers, and she uses the savings for gambling money on our Colorado trips, she reports:

I actually have two, my first one is a very plain coffee cup. When I fill it up with dimes from change, I spend it on (another) piece of jewelry (that I don’t need). None of us could remember what Mom and Dad spent their dimes on.

My second one, however, is a special sort of dime bank. It sits next to their picture for a good reason. Before I explain why, however, I need to direct your attention back to a post from long ago.

The Magnificent Seven (11/11/18) details the story of the six sisters who travel together annually to new destinations across the country. Their travel tradition is noteworthy and admirable, as they prioritize it, making it happen without question every year. If you don’t re-read it, let me just summarize its significance: In the stripped-bare house where they grew up, right after their mother’s funeral (their dad had already passed) and right before it was set to be bulldozed (they literally stopped the wrecking crew for a few moments), they found a rosary. None of the sisters recognized it as their parents’, and only one family had lived in the house after them, and they weren’t Catholic. They took it as a sign from their parents.

There were more signs. Several of the sisters had already randomly began receiving pennies from heaven, as one of them called them. So, when they found a dime on the dresser of one of the houses they rented on their vacations, they called it a dime from Heaven.

And thus, it began for me.

Shortly after I wrote the draft for that blog post, I vacuumed my bedroom. I hadn’t yet posted it, so I was able to include this in the post, but didn’t include the part about the vacuum, because I didn’t think anyone would believe me: I walked through my bedroom, and there was a dime lying on the floor. Right after I vacuumed. That dime sits on the frame of their picture. Next to the picture is a decorative pottery cup that holds all the dimes I have found since that day. I now am brave enough to post that, and to state this fact about my beliefs: nothing is a coincidence.

It should be noted that our parents knew their parents.

It seems these dimes are Mom and Dad’s preferred method of communication to me, but not as much for Gail and Suzanne. Gail says she finds a few dimes–more than any other coin–on the floor of the grill/bar she manages, but that’s the extent of it for her. No major dime finds for Suzanne.

Gail’s daughter Abby, however, seems to be on the same divine dime communication wavelength as me.

We share our dime find stories over the phone and by text, including the following from her:

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The last picture was from Suzanne’s daughter, apparently she received one as well.

I took a trip to Florida with a friend in January. I am a chicken in the air, I have made this quite clear. I go, but I have to work to stay calm. On the jetway, while waiting to board the first flight, there was a dime lying on the floor. Picking it up, I felt calmer.

While in Florida, we went to the Publix grocery store, and it happened to be on Mom’s birthday. On the floor at the checkout was a dime. She was with me that day, too.

The last weekend of December, while we were still celebrating Christmas, I took my usual morning run/walk. Christmas, I fear, will always be the hardest holiday, no matter how many years pass. This year was no different.

I rarely veer from my daily three-mile outdoor path, but on Saturday of that weekend, I turned south for an extra half-mile along the highway before turning around and heading north back home. There, alongside the highway, as if I was led there, was a dime.

On Sunday morning, I detoured through an empty circle drive along my normal path. In the gravel, just waiting for me, was a dime.

My Christmas weekend was brighter when I found the dime Saturday morning, and after this find on Sunday, I felt them both with me at that difficult time. Nothing is a coincidence.

Perhaps the most divine dime yet was the one I mentioned in my last post. On March 4th of this year, on the 17-year anniversary of their deaths, I went to the top of Coronado Heights near our small city with my son and his wife to be Closer to Heaven, which is my new quest on every March 4th from here on out.

On the way back to the car, right in my path, was this dime.

They were with me that day, too. They are always with us.

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Since that post in 2018, I have kept the Dimes From Heaven in that cup next to my parent’s picture.

The dime on the left is the first one I found on my bedroom floor, and the one on the right is the one I just found on March Fourth. And, as you can see, I keep other special keepsakes on that frame as well.

Until today, I hadn’t counted the dimes. There are 121 dimes in the cup, 123 total with the two on the frame. That’s 123 Dimes From Heaven, $12.30 I will likely not spend anytime soon. The collection will continue to grow, I know this in my heart.

Again, if you believe everything is a coincidence, I respect that. I have no proof it’s not. But believing makes me feel them in my heart and soul, and that is priceless.

CLOSER TO HEAVEN: PART THREE

/ middlesisterkathleen / Leave a comment

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.