#SOL21: Remembering When
Remember?
I claimed that I was my father’s favorite. How could it not be? I was born on Father’s Day and many years my birthday coincided with that holiday. Of course, I was his favorite (at least on my birthday)!
The smell of sawdust meant that Dad was busy in the workshop. Working on the house. Crafting. So many items. Jewelry boxes for all of us. A grandfather clock.
On holidays we would take pictures of Dad and the boys. Typically the hall closet would be in the background. Opposite the big picture window. A view of everyone growing. A view of everyone aging. Pictures that over time became Grandpa and the boys.
The smell of popcorn meant that it was Sunday. Sunday supper often included popcorn. Popcorn eaten by the handful. Unsalted popped popcorn in a bowl with sugar and milk as a cereal supper. A big Tupperware container of popcorn that would be the snack for the next few days.
The silence. The silence of disappointment. Waiting for “the talk” after less than appropriate behavior. The hangdog feeling that when I was on the edge of disapproval.
On February 9th, today, I am remembering Dad on his heavenly 92nd birthday. On 2/9 and his 92nd. A very short palindrome.
This morning. Sitting with my computer and remembering. My smiles and laughter as I remember Dad! Thinking of how I will honor him today, tomorrow, and all my days.
And yet, still missing him. The sights, the sounds, the smells that remind me of Dad. The memories. I remember.
Previous posts about Dad here (my favorite) and here. And on the learning side, What is Memory? (here)
What triggers memories, near and far in time? What events remind you of family members who no longer have an earthly presence? How are you creating memories that will linger after you?
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Thank you, Two Writing Teachers, for this weekly forum. Check out the writers and readers here.
#SOL20: 5,844 days
I’ve been on a math kick for a few months. I blame it on my work with quilting projects. Mathing is important! Math plays a huge role in design, implementation, and binding a project.
It’s been 5,844 days
and I still miss him.
It’s also been 16 years if you are wondering about the significance of the number. So now for more than half of his life my son has not known his grandfather. The man with whom he shares his dimples. Army man. Family man.
It’s been 5,844 days
and some memories are still tough
even after 5,844 days.
… Going to the funeral home with Mom and my brother to finalize arrangements. (Was there texting then? What were our dinosaur phones like?) I was praying that my younger sister would make it out of Hurricane Alley and get to Iowa for the funeral because she’s the “glue” among the siblings. Flights were cancelled. Her husband drove her and the baby four hours north in order to catch a flight home. Easy tasks included physically reading and proofing the funeral folder and making changes via a landline phone call because tech wasn’t quite a part of our lives yet.
… Taking his pacemaker from the funeral home to the county hospital . . . that action wasn’t so tough. But saying to the hospital receptionist, “This is the pacemaker that was in my dad. We were told that we needed to turn it in here.” That was tough.
… Being the lector at the funeral Mass. Looking out at the family was easy. A packed church over Labor Day weekend was a sign of respect for Dad. Reading through the tears that choked my words was tough. I had choice in the verses and I deliberately chose short ones.
… My nephew, the band director, playing at the church and Taps at the cemetery. Finding his own group, rehearsing, and playing for the family. Tenacity. What a tough task we asked of him.
— My great nephew, days old, who kept us sane. “Pass the baby” is an escape from tasks one does not want to accept, a reminder of our own mortality, and an opportunity for a big family to celebrate. To celebrate the second great grandchild. The baby who screamed every time his diaper was changed. He was not happy with air on his bottom! The baby that the OB/Gyn said was going to be a girl. The baby that kept us sane!
5,844 days of missing him.
And yet,
5,846 days ago, my great nephew was born and two days later Dad was gone. The ultimate alpha and omega. So many changes since then. Many celebrations. Some sorrows. Many days.
Many memories that run the gamut from one weekend in our lives.
What will be the memories that will linger in your mind from 2020?
How will you celebrate the happy times?
Where will you share your memories?
What will your writerly life reflect?
Thank you, Two Writing Teachers, for this weekly forum. Check out the writers and readers here.
#SOL20: Maps
A board covered in canvas protecting maps. Black and white maps. Maps of farmland. Maps that showed crops, waterways, and entrances and exits for fields. My first remembrances of maps were maps that my dad used in his part-time work at the Agricultural Stabilization and Conservation Service (ASCS) office.
These maps were a part of family life. We would wait in the car after Sunday Mass while Dad met with a farmer. Kids in a car. Sometimes reading. Sometimes writing. Sometimes playing games like “I Spy.”
When completed these black and white maps would have markings on them in colored pencil noting changes. Each map was a section of land. One square mile. 640 acres of land. Math, Social Studies, and a lot of talk. An interdependence of content decades and decades ago.
History is filled with maps that share information about exploration, settlement, and expansion of populations. How do the visuals add to our understanding?
Are maps important today? Why? What maps do students need to learn about? What maps do students need to create?
Let’s face it. Maps are readily accessible through google and our smart phones or gps devices. It is easy to get oral directions or a map from a business location online.
But what about maps like Georgia Heard’s Heart Maps? What about capturing and creating connections between ideas that I want to remember. Heart Maps add another dimension to writing and then reading. Not familiar with Heart Maps? Check out this link for additional details.
What skills do you use to understand maps?
What maps do you use on a regular basis?
Are you a map consumer or a map creator?
Thank you, Two Writing Teachers, for this weekly forum. Check out the writers and readers here.
Additional Resources:
NEA and Maps (link)
US Interactive History Map (link)
Heart Maps (link)
#SOL17: Memories
13 years ago this weekend . . .
“Are you driving?” Sherry asked.
What an odd question?
“No, I just pulled into Hy-Vee to get some groceries. What’s up?”
And I knew.
“Please, don’t tell me!”
I just wanted to hang up the phone.
I didn’t want to hear it.
NO, NO, NO!
And the tears streamed down my face as I learned that Dad had passed.
Peacefully
Without undue suffering
Yet
Suddenly and Unexpectedly!
To this day, I remember where I was parked at North Hy-Vee that afternoon.
It’s a section I have never parked in since.
Not tempting fate.
The sun was shining.
It was a relatively nice day.
Done with work.
Planning to buy a few groceries before heading home.
Immediately shifting gears . . .
A dying phone battery.
Phone calls to make.
Returning to work.
Using a land line and a cell phone.
Calling.
Leaving messages.
Calling
Asking questions.
Calling
Asking, “Are you driving?” when using cell numbers.
Calling
Barely able to say the words.
Numb. Shocked. Confirmed.
Yet short on details!
Making lists of more phone calls.
Already exhausted.
Where do I need to be? When? What’s next?
I’m in limbo.
Half-way between my family farm home and my family home.
Is someone with Mom?
Which direction to go?
Plans to make. Plans A, B, and C.
Not ready?
No longer an option
A hurricane is headed for Southern Florida
So Sherry is not yet on her way.
I want to return to the childhood days,
My treasured days,
As the best gift to my dad on Father’s Day!
The easy days of childhood.
Fast Forward to the present . . .
2017: What a year! And it’s not over . . .
If I could turn back the hands of time?
I would definitely rewrite March and April. Those days when I wanted to huddle under the quilt and cry for all the changes in our family. Too many losses, way too fast!
I often come back to this quote from Martin Luther King, Jr.
Moving forward may seem to be at a turtle’s pace but forward motion is ALL that is required. Some days it’s not necessary to measure the miniscule change.
Does it ever get easier?
Saturday I stopped by the family cemetary (after a neighbor’s funeral – age 91). A few minutes of conversation with Joey, Grandma, brother Joe and Dad . . . and aunts, and uncles and so many more!
Was it missing the opportunity to say an Earthly “Good-bye”?
Was it not knowing how or what to say?
Was it the shock of the “suddenness”?
Taking comfort in our memories,
And remembering the JOY, the LOVE, and the many celebrations.
Never taking a single moment for granted.
Precious life! Precious time! Precious family!
Thank you, Betsy, Beth, Deb, Kathleen, Lanny, Melanie, and Stacey for this weekly forum. Check out the writers, readers and teachers here. 
#SOL17: Just Wait . . .
What sentences or words caused
Anxiety,
Fear, or
Trepidation
in your Impressionable Growing Years?
Was it the dreaded . . .
Dum, ta Dum . . .
Just wait til your dad gets home?
It was a dark and stormy night
(Sorry, Snoopy, I had to borrow that, but it’s so untrue
so that’s why the strike through was used!)
Rules
Expectations
Permissions
One memory
That persists
Decades and decades later . . .
Waiting . . .
Waiting . . .
Waiting . . .
Waiting . . .
for Dad to get home.
What had I done?
Nervous,
Anxious,
Apprehensive . . .
Running to the door.
Announcing to all,
“HE’S HOME!”
Then running to get the tools. It was time.
The house was brand new!
It took an
“Act of Dad”
For measuring, drilling holes and pounding mollies into the wall.
Unthinkable?
It wasn’t drywall. A nail couldn’t just be pounded in. A different form of gypsum board.
Not really a control issue.
A forward-thinking Dad who did’t want to spend future days patching holes and matching paint.
“Just wait ’til Dad gets home to hang items on the wall!”
Where do your ideas come from?
What techniques do you use to build anticipation in your stories?
Could this structure work for you?
Thank you, Betsy, Beth, Deb, Kathleen, Lanny, Melanie, and Stacey for this weekly forum. Check out the writers, readers and teachers here. 
Idea Source: A one line memory (often-used phrase)
Technique: Like a riddle, give clues, without revealing until the end.
Graphic: Giphy search for “waiting for dad”
Veterans’ Day
Veteran’s Day
(Blackout poem)
Veterans Day:
an official United States public holiday
November 11
honors military veterans –
persons who served in the United States Armed Forces –
coincides with Armistice Day and Remembrance Day
the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month of 1918
renamed Veterans Day in 1954
Not to be confused with Memorial Day;
Veterans Day celebrates the service of all U.S. military veterans,
while Memorial Day honors those who died while in military service.
On November 11, 1919, U.S. President Woodrow Wilson issued a message to his countrymen on the first Armistice Day in which he expressed what he felt the day meant to Americans:
“We remodeled our industries,
concentrated our financial resources,
increased our agricultural output, and
assembled a great army, so
our power was a decisive factor in the victory.
Out of this victory:
new possibilities of political freedom and economic concert
war showed us the strength
of great nations
acting together for high purposes
the victory of arms
foretells the enduring conquests
which can be made in peace
when nations act justly and
in furtherance of the common interests of men”
How will YOU celebrate Veterans Day?
Original Article (Source: Wikipedia)
Veterans Day is an official United States public holiday, observed annually on November 11, that honors military veterans, that is, persons who served in the United States Armed Forces. It coincides with other holidays, including Armistice Day and Remembrance Day, celebrated in other countries that mark the anniversary of the end of World War I; major hostilities of World War I were formally ended at the 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month of 1918, when the Armistice with Germany went into effect. The United States previously observed Armistice Day. The U.S. holiday was renamed Veterans Day in 1954.
Veterans Day is not to be confused with Memorial Day; Veterans Day celebrates the service of all U.S. military veterans, while Memorial Day honors those who died while in military service.[1]
On November 11, 1919, U.S. President Woodrow Wilson issued a message to his countrymen on the first Armistice Day in which he expressed what he felt the day meant to Americans:
“ADDRESS TO FELLOW-COUNTRYMEN The White House, November 11, 1919. A year ago today our enemies laid down their arms in accordance with an armistice which rendered them impotent to renew hostilities, and gave to the world an assured opportunity to reconstruct its shattered order and to work out in peace a new and just set of international relations. The soldiers and people of the European Allies had fought and endured for more than four years to uphold the barrier of civilization against the aggressions of armed force. We ourselves had been in the conflict something more than a year and a half. – With splendid forgetfulness of mere personal concerns, we remodeled our industries, concentrated our financial resources, increased our agricultural output, and assembled a great army, so that at the last our power was a decisive factor in the victory. We were able to bring the vast resources, material and moral, of a great and free people to the assistance of our associates in Europe who had suffered and sacrificed without limit in the cause for which we fought. Out of this victory there arose new possibilities of political freedom and economic concert. The war showed us the strength of great nations acting together for high purposes, and the victory of arms foretells the enduring conquests which can be made in peace when nations act justly and in furtherance of the common interests of men. To us in America the reflections of Armistice Day will be filled with – solemn pride in the heroism of those who died in the country’s service, and with gratitude for the victory, both because of the thing from which it has freed us and because of the opportunity it has given America to show her sympathy with peace and justice in the councils of nations.
Slice of Life 16: The Truth and the Answers
(During March, I am blogging daily as a part of the Slice of Life Story Challenge!)
I am traveling this weekend so yesterday’s post invited you, the reader, to “think” and respond!
An icebreaker commonly used at large professional development sessions is called ”Two Truths and a Lie.” Each person records two truths and a lie and then shares them with another person that they do not know. The listener is supposed to determine which statements are Truths (facts) and which one is the Lie.
Yesterday’s variation in this blog wass 2 Truths and 1 Lie about my dad’s education and then 2 Truths and 1 Lie about my education. Did you spot the “Lie” for dad and me?
My dad and education:
1) Dad went to a one-room schoolhouse for elementary.
2) Dad walked a mile to school (one way) from his aunt and uncle’s house where he lived during the week.
3. Dad and his brother were the first in his family to graduate from high school.
Fran’s education:
A. I went to a four room country school for kindergarten.
B. My third grade and sixth grade teachers had taught my dad.
C. We did not have snow days where we missed school during kindergarten because a dad would put straw in the pickup and haul all the kids and neighbors’ kids to school!
And the envelope PLEASE!
My dad and education:
1) Dad went to a one-room schoolhouse for elementary.
True, in fact this schoolhouse was the site of elections when I was younger and was the site of my first “vote” in a presidential election.
2) Dad walked a mile to school (one way) from his aunt and uncle’s house where he lived during the week.
True, Dad literally was a “boarder” during the week with relatives so that he could attend high school. His family home was too far from school for a daily walk!
3. Dad and his brother were the first in his family to graduate from high school.
The untruth. Dad was the first to graduate from high school. His brother did not. Technically, this would be half true.
Fran’s education:
A. I went to a four room country school for kindergarten.
True. I attended country school where it seemed like half the kids were related to me (brothers, sisters, and cousins!).
B. My third grade and sixth grade teachers had taught my dad.
The untruth. My third grade and sixth grade teachers were sisters. In my opinion, they were “old” enough to have taught my dad. However, they did NOT teach in a one-room schoolhouse.
C. We did not have snow days where we missed school during kindergarten because a dad would put straw in the pickup and haul all the kids and neighbors’ kids to school!
True. I would love to believe that our parents were worried about the quality of our education. Yet I wonder if they were more worried about the sanity of our mothers being cooped up with all of us rambunctious children!
So the answers were 3 and B. Great job, Carol and thanks to all who entered!
Special thanks to the hosts of the Slice of Life Challenge: Stacey, Tara, Dana, Betsy, Anna, and Beth. More Slice of Life posts can be found at Two Writing Teachers .
Slice of Life 15: Two Truths and a Lie
(During March, I am blogging daily as a part of the Slice of Life Story Challenge!)
I am traveling this weekend so this post invites you the reader to “think” and respond!
An icebreaker commonly used at large professional development sessions is called “Two Truths and a Lie.” Each person records two truths and a lie and then shares them with another person that they do not know. The listener is supposed to determine which statements are Truths (facts) and which one is the Lie.
Today’s variation in this blog is 2 Truths and 1 Lie about my dad’s education and then 2 Truths and 1 Lie about my education. See if you can spot the “Lie” for dad and me. Enter your answers in the comments. I’ll be back later with clues.
My dad and education:
1) Dad went to a one-room schoolhouse for elementary.
2) Dad walked a mile to school (one way) from his aunt and uncle’s house where he lived during the week.
3. Dad and his brother were the first in his family to graduate from high school.
Fran’s education:
A. I went to a four room country school for kindergarten.
B. My third grade and sixth grade teachers had taught my dad.
C. We did not have snow days where we missed school during kindergarten because a dad would put straw in the pickup and haul all the kids and neighbors’ kids to school!
Did you spot them? Dad’s lie? My lie? Share your guess and your thinking in the comments below!
Special thanks to the hosts of the Slice of Life Challenge: Stacey, Tara, Dana, Betsy, Anna, and Beth. More Slice of Life posts can be found at Two Writing Teachers .
Slice of Life 14: Road Trip with Dad
(During March, I am blogging daily as a part of the Slice of Life Story Challenge! Special thanks to the hosts of the Slice of Life Challenge: Stacey, Tara, Dana, Betsy, Anna, and Beth. More Slice of Life posts can be found at Two Writing Teachers.)
It was the first time, the only time, and therefore, also the last time. Drinking beer with my dad on a Saturday at 9:30 in the morning on the way home from college with a pickup bed loaded with possessions.
Drinking
Drinking beer
Drinking warm beer
Drinking warm Olympia beer.
With my dad
As he drove down the highway
And did I forget to tell you?
I was under the drinking age in this state,
So
Drinking warm Olympia beer with my dad driving down the highway headed home at 9:30 on a Saturday morning in May.
What brought us to this point?
Spring semester of my collegiate senior year had just ended. We had to move out of the dorm. I had summer term left before graduation and marriage. We had a week before we moved into the house we would occupy, clean and renovate over the summer. Most of my “things” were going home for the summer in storage.
There were no cell phones back in those prehistoric days. Our dorm rooms did have phones (I think), but they seldom rang because who could afford long-distance calls?
I had negotiated with my parents to leave the day after classes ended. One last evening of fellowship (AKA: party hearty) with friends before campus emptied for the summer.
I had been gone from home for two years. Junior year, summer in between, and senior year. Belongings accumulated. What books would I need for my teaching career? What should I keep for our final summer adventure?
These were questions swirling slowly in my head. Dad was to be at the dorm at 8 am.
He was there at 7:30. I was marginally awake, barely moving He had the only pickup with Iowa plates parked on the street outside the dorm. The one pickup on the street.
The elevator was out of order. I remember propping open the outside door so we would not be locked out.
We had to pack “stuff” down three flights of stairs and into the back of the pickup. We were both puffing as we went down the stairs. I wondered if I could talk Dad into a short break, a bit of breakfast or anything . . . just to slow the day down. Even with a two hour + ride home, we were still going to be there by noon. What was the RUSH?
No mercy. Down steps like pack mules. Sometimes in tandem; sometimes separate. Always silent.
I didn’t even know if we were violating the “rules” for “MEN” on our dorm floor. I was NOT going to be the one to tell him. Silently packing stuff down the steps, out the doors and loading the pick up.
I felt like a thief stealing away into the night. But no, it was broad daylight. No one else was awake. I left a quick note for my summer roommates.
“No more dorms,” I said as I walked out the door.
No one was in the dorm office. I couldn’t turn in my key. Back upstairs for another note and to leave my key.
Hope, faith and trust that my roommate would take care of the details. I would be home before the office opened. Even on moving day. Especially on moving day!
The year will remain unlisted to protect the innocent. “Hotel California” was one of the top hits of the year but I don’t think there was a radio in the pickup. If there was, it was not turned on.
Sheer panic. 2+ hours home in a pickup, with my dad. What would we talk about? Fortunately the pickup was noisy and I thought I might get some sleep.
WRONG, Kingosabbe!
I was shocked as my dad reached under the seat before putting the pickup in gear and pulled two Olympia beers out of a brown paper bag. No cooler. A brown paper bag. Warm beer. Driving down the streets of the college town, headed for the highway, underage drinking, and warm beer.
I wanted to tell Dad that it was skunk beer. It had been cold, then warm . . . and now still warm. But how to share that knowledge about beer when I was not of drinking age. Hmmm. Silence.
As we traveled the miles, Dad began to talk. The sun, warm beer, and hangover. I wanted to ask him to stop. I didn’t feel well. I wanted to hang my head out the window like a dog.
And Dad is talking to me about “the will”, guardianship (lovely siblings at home), insurance and my role.
Ahhhh, the “responsible one.”
The irony, he was talking responsibility, estate planning, while breaking the law. Drinking and driving. Underage drinking.
Who was this man? What had he done with my father?
When have someone close to you acted totally out of character? (Turning point!!!)
Did the situation come as a complete shock? How did you respond?
Slice of Life 12: Tenacity
(During March, I am blogging daily as a part of the Slice of Life Story Challenge!)
Last month marked the 85th anniversary of my father’s birth day. He wasn’t physically with us for Evan’s graduation or wedding, but I have been thinking of him a lot as I consider how to honor his memory.
Dad hated that we had to make the house “handicapped accessible” with bars in the bathroom and a walk-in shower, but those accommodations meant that he was able to be independent at home. Dignity. Self-sufficiency.
Why was that important?
Dad fell and broke his hip. With his diabetes and his myopathy (and heart problems including a pacemaker), his recovery was slow. He needed therapy and care beyond what Mom could provide. Entering a nursing home was totally out of the question, but it was also the only solution. Dad’s goal was to work his way out as quickly as possible. He wasn’t always the “happiest camper” but he was willing to do “anything” that would get him out of there and back on his own two feet.
Tenacity.
Perseverance.
Painful?
Absolutely, but also willing to work through the pain to meet his goal!
- The ability to stay until the purpose is accomplished.
- The ability to hang in there. (Read more at SOL 11: Challenges)
As I reflect on his life, I have even greater admiration for the way he achieved the goals that he desired. Thanks for your tenacity, Dad!
Special thanks to the hosts of the Slice of Life Challenge: Stacey, Tara, Dana, Betsy, Anna, and Beth. More Slice of Life posts can be found at Two Writing Teachers .
