snow

LET IT SNOW–LIKE IT USED TO

/ middlesisterkathleen / 3 Comments

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The hills in this last picture were our sledding hills.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ELEVEN YEARS

/ middlesisterkathleen / 12 Comments

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ELEVEN YEARS

Beautiful.  Perfect.  Awe-inspiring.  A gift from Above.

I struggle to type these words about another snowfall blanketing our area.  Yet, this morning, as I take in the brilliant white splendor of the snow in the bright sun, I must say they are the most apt words I can use to describe the outdoors this morning.

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What I wanted to type, and what I said to myself as I braced yesterday for yet another winter storm—in early March, for Pete’s sake–were these words describing our winter so far:  Interminable.  Ugly. Painful.  Never-ending.  Soul-draining.

While I thought those words, and I fight not to continue to think them, I am choosing to stay positive.

Because, after all, it is always a choice.

Choosing to relish these weather conditions has always come easier to Gail and Suzanne.  Especially the wind.  The cursed Kansas wind, in my book.  Not in theirs.  As Gail says, “Embrace it.  There is nothing you can do to change it.”  Wise words.

“People of the South Wind” is the translation of our state’s name from the Kanza tribe of Native Americans.  This wind, however, sculpted a beautiful scene in our backyard this morning.

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It is early March in Kansas.  It could be 70 degrees, or it could be 4 degrees, with a sub-zero wind chill.  We take what we get.  We have no choice.

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I WISH spring would hurry up and arrive.

Interminable.  Ugly. Painful. Never-ending.  Soul-draining.  These are the words I would use not only to describe this winter, but the deep grief we endured when we lost our parents.  Eleven years ago today, March 3rd, 2008, we saw our parents for the last time at our grandmother’s funeral.  It was a beautiful celebration of a long and blessed life, and we shared a wonderful afternoon with them, not knowing it would be our last moments together.  The next day, March 4th, they departed on their three-hour journey home, but never arrived.

We needed and accepted any and all expressions of sympathy immediately after they died, and for a long time after.

We have come a long way since then.   We will be forever grateful for the support we received from so many people.  We no longer need it, though it helped sustain us through the darkest days of our lives.

Since then, we have turned that black square on the calendar into March Forth.  With that support, time and continued perseverance, we now see their lives in full splendor:  Beautiful.  Perfect. Awe-inspiring.  A gift from Above. 

For those of you who were at their funeral—there were so many, and we remain so humbled by the obvious love and respect they earned—please recall Mom’s message.  And please continue to take it to heart.

For everyone, please use every moment of every day you possibly can to make the relationships in your life all they can be.  If you have either, or both of your parents, let them know how much you love them.  If you need to make peace with your parents or anyone, do it now.  They may not be here tomorrow.

Make your life all you want it to be.  Start today on something you have always wanted to do.  Put a jigsaw puzzle together.  Learn to play the piano, even if no one ever hears it.  Write the poetry, even if no one ever reads it.  Travel to the place you always wanted to travel to.

Or, maybe, like Gail is learning to do, simply slow down.  Take one or two things off your plate, like she recently did.  Let go of some of the meaningless busy-ness.  If Gail can learn to slow down, anyone—even you—can.

I attended a funeral this week for a beloved patient.  She left a legacy that reached beyond what most of us realized.  She lived and loved, and left a model for living life to its fullest.  Funerals are a time of sadness, but also a catalyst to keep moving forward to honor the memory of the one we loved and lost.  They would want it that way.

We weren’t ready to let her go, but we don’t get to choose when.  And the when for all of us is only a matter of time.

I struggle to fully grasp that it’s been eleven years since our parents died.  Four or five, maybe…six tops.  But eleven?  Why has the time gone so fast, and where did it go?

A wise woman once told me this:  The reason time goes faster with age is because when you are ten, time goes ten miles per hour.  When you are twenty, it moves along faster at twenty miles per hour.  At fifty…at sixty five—you get the idea.  It only moves faster.  No matter what your age, I don’t think you will disagree.

Age is a gift, just as I wrote several weeks ago.  The corollary, then, is that time is a gift as well.  Use it to do the things to make your life as full as it can be, and to celebrate the relationships you have with other people.

Enjoy the Monday mornings, the Thursday evenings, even the hour in the grocery store at the end of the workday on Tuesday.

I need to take this one to heart more than most people—more than Gail and Suzanne, anyway:  enjoy the cold, the snow and the wind.  Enjoy the gray, slushy melting snow two days later.  Enjoy the cloudy days—even long series of gray, cloudy days on end that we seem to have had multiple times this winter.

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It’s much easier to enjoy the fun times, the getaways, the days off; the vacation.  Which is exactly what Gail and I will be doing in several days.  With Suzanne’s blessing, but without her, we are heading west once again to our favorite Rocky Mountain town.  It is our original celebration destination; we started going there nine years ago to celebrate our parents lives, and ours as well.

And we continue to do just that.  Their legacy lives on in so many ways through their seven children, and we have chosen to celebrate and enjoy our lives, thanks to the love they gave us throughout their lives.

Life is too short to not have fun.  So, whatever fun looks like for you, get out there and have it.  Or stay home and have it.   Find what works for you, and give yourself the gift of time to do it.  Let some time-sucking obligations go if you need to; Gail paved the way for you to do the same.

And tomorrow, as my siblings and I March Forth, we have but one favor to ask of you:  If  they are still here, let your parents know how much you love them. Show them if you can.   And next time you get to see them, be sure to take a picture.

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Gail and I will have a partial report of the fun we had on our trip when I write again in several weeks.   We never tell all.