Through the course of lessons and reflections, I have minimally mentioned my forever hero. With Father’s Day upon us, I cannot think of a more appropriate time and place to honor this man who dedicated himself to family, farm, and fields. Daddy, this tribute is for YOU!

Previous writings have introduced you to my ever-loving family of seven siblings, farm life, and of course, the strongest leader of all, Momma. Where was Daddy in all this calamity and love?  He was on the go! Go tend the fields before dawn. Go milk cows and feed livestock. Go work third shift as a security officer. Go part time to sell tar for roofing projects. Go sell seed corn to local farmers. Go to auction sales for oddities and necessities. Go Daddy Go!  Along with these go, go, go activities, I share with you memories that are deep in my heart.

At the early age of three, Daddy made the TransAtlantic journey with neighbors and limited family to the promised land called America. As was common among poor Eastern European immigrants, full families did not come as one. Daddy arrived with an uncle and momma. Hungarian roots were deep as they bravely welcomed a new life of opportunity and freedom. Settling in central Michigan, male relatives found farm work aplenty.

Successfully learning the blacksmith trade, Daddy became one of the best in his small farming community. Money was saved, thus, he purchased a 160 acre farm that had been lost to the bank. Determination and solid work ethic met luck and opportunity.

Daddy remained single, affable, and respectable as a farmer and blacksmith.  At the “mature” age of 38, he fell in love with a young miss. A short courtship led to marriage. That young love was a vivacious, hard working 18 year old waitress known as Momma.  Dapper, charming and a mere 5’7”, Daddy took Momma, a wholesome 5’ 10” love bird as his forever wife. Love apparently conquered all as Mr. and Mrs. soon began nurturing a loving family and well established farm.

Hungarian roots ran deep for Daddy. Meals on the farm were, for the most part, true  ethnic in nature. Lots of butter, cream, paprika, and names we couldn’t pronounce. Daddy so loved his hunky flavors. Most Sundays our table was set with Chicken Paprikash, baked rice, fresh vegetables and homemade bread.  Fruit or cheese Kolache and Kifli pastries topped dessert. Recordings of Hungarian Rhapsody completed our Sunday feasts.

Daddy had purchased a used “console” stereo and set it squarely in the kitchen. With him sitting at the head, eight little darlings circled the table as Momma led in prayer, “In the name of the Father, Son and Holy Ghost….” Dinners were quiet, comforting, and filling. No need for wine, candles or the like. We were fine dining with paprika, butter, and violins!

Keeping his Hungarian heritage alive, Daddy often corresponded with relatives in other states. When lengthy, unfamiliar letters arrived, Momma would inquire of the news from afar. Daddy’s response never waivered, “Oh, the weather is good, and everyone is healthy.”  Really?! A six to eight page letter to say all that? Momma would giggle, throw her hands up while expressing confusion!

I seldom recall hearing a swear word from Daddy, however, his first language was often used when frustrated.  Never teaching us the word, Hungarian vocabulary erupted when he got angry! As “religious visitors” stopped by with a sermon or two, Daddy honed his non-English skills by speaking his tried and true. Adding a bit of confusion to his face combined with wild body gestures, they exited the farm in a flurry.  Daddy, you were a master with brilliant ignorance!

Another Daddy love was the enjoyment of a Sunday cigar. I so remember those afternoons on a lazy Sunday as Momma would tend to the younger siblings while Daddy took us four older girls for a ride. Often visiting Hungarian friends, he loved bragging on his kidlets. Driving the country roads, he would ever so slowly take in and poof out that sweet cherry exhale. Windows down, invariably, one of us would become nauseous and have to make a quick stop. Special times with Daddy were a rarity, but a true blessing with a touch of cherry smoke!

The assination of President John F. Kennedy brings another vivid memory.  Daddy was a tried and true Democrat, Catholic, and Kennedy supporter. He was devastated at the untimely death of this honorable man. The television was never off as we prepared for the funeral.  Daddy took time to polish all of our shoes. We readied ourselves as if going to church. Somber and orderly, he sat us on the couch facing the black and white. In his Sunday suit with rosary wrapped in his hands, Daddy squeezed between us.

The funeral was dark. It was slow. It was sorrowful. My Daddy prayed.  My Daddy wept. And wept. November 25, 1963, a day I will never forget.

Lastly, my ultimate ever-stained memory began on the hot, humid, Wednesday of August 9, 1967. Daddy left his loving family, farm, and fields with little warning.  A massive stroke had sealed his fate. Momma was left with eight children ages seven to sixteen, a farm filled with livestock and crops that needed harvesting. By the grace of God, our neighbors, and relatives, we survived and flourished. This day continues to be yesterday in me.

Never a cross word.  Never walking away. Work had to be done as he was often short on sleep.  No one left without being helped. He was a true giver, not a taker. He was a friend to all and treated everyone equally. Daddy was compassionate and truly loved. My forever hero. Ever so loving and always on the go.

Daddy, this tribute is long overdue. You will remain in my heart as a man of dignity, spiritedness, wit, and respect. Go Daddy, Go…Heaven is a better place because of you!

Lessons Learned

Everyone has a father, but not everyone has a Daddy.  My memories are of fun, family, and Daddy’s ever present love. From sharing his lunchbox, riding the tractor, or rubbing his bald head, Daddy was my strength and idol.

Love is love, is love, is love.  Although my time with Daddy was short, his love is deep, purposeful, and ever present in my full heart and soul.  

Thanks for reading!

Call them polished eccentrics. Call them aged forerunners. I’m in love with a pair of cool cats in their nineties! Forever married, Ralph and  Mary have been dear friends of mine for years. Both are witty, well-educated, intelligent, and delightfully honest. Today I share my chapter in their ever so adventurous lives. First, a little background.

I have known these love bugs for over 40 years. Mary and I worked closely in the school setting as she was our school psychologist. Professional in every way, together we discussed the many special needs students and their emotional and or academic needs to succeed. Ralph, her forever spouse, is a wonderful friend and support to his lovely and myself.

As I relocated to the western side of Michigan, so too did Ralph and Mary. It’s been easy to keep in touch and remain great friends. With aging and circumstance, Mary has lost a large percent of her vision. Combined with Mary’s fragile physical state and significant hearing loss, driving privileges have disappeared. As a result, I have taken to assisting whenever I am available. At present, I offer rides for groceries, the dog groomer, or pharmacy. In return, I enjoy a light lunch or dinner, advice and counseling, and chuckles with these forever marrieds. Often too, I am honored as a guest at their summer cottage along Lake Michigan. With love and respect, we both benefit.

It was mid summer 2017. Ralph, Mary, Katie the Schnauzer, and I were spending a few leisurely days at the cottage. Cool breezes and clear skies offered a soothing respite from the summer heat. I was helping to clean up breakfast when Mary suggested we take a trip into Ludington to shop and lunch. Cheerfully we readied Katie and ourselves.

After picking up a few Walmart deals, Ralph casually suggested, “Francie, would you mind stopping by Eureka Auto? Mary and I want to check the value of our car. We’ve blown three tires on it and don’t drive anymore, and thinking to trade for an older model. We’ll save on insurance and maybe it will be a good used car for Alex, our grandson.”

“Sure, I’d be glad to stop by,” I added.

Parking the car, we exited into the steamy morning. “We need to take Princess along, right? Where’s her leash?” I offered.

Ralph was searching high and low. “Well, I don’t see it here in the back. Let me check the trunk.” Mary and I shuffled our way into the dealership. A salesman greeted us at the door while looking over our shoulders in confusion. I turned to look. Oh boy!

Frank was toddling with Katie carefully in tow using a very short bungee cord! Ever so slowly the twosome made their way with Ralph hunched and Princess on her tippy paws. Chip, the salesman, chuckled and eyed to me for a response. I simply shrugged and smiled, “I’m just the driver. May I introduce you to Ralph, Mary, and Katie?” Several sets of eyes were now smiling upon us.

As the trio took a seat in Chip’s office, I excused myself for a restroom and coffee break.Twenty or so minutes I returned to find them intact; Mary smiling, Katie snoozing, and Ralph shaking Chip’s hand. The deal was sealed. My forever weds had traded their car for a much older, used Impala!

While Chip was sorting the paperwork, a check was being drawn as the Impala was cheaper than the current value of their trade in! “Francie, we made a deal and Chip’s paying us to get another car. What do you think about that? See that cream puff out there, It’s now ours!”  Ralph could not have beamed brighter as he proudly pointed to the rustless, one-owner, gem! The office was now in a most festive, celebratory spirit. Princess wagged in excitement. I became happily confused.

Personals and oddities were quickly transferred to the new, used Impala. “Francie, hop in, you’re still doin the driving.” Ralph reassured me with his ever present smile. “Now we need to get this money in the bank, then lunch, how’s that sound? Oh, and don’t tell our girls. They don’t know about this account we have.” Ralph and Mary giggled with sly, devilish nods.

Ludington, lunch, and love. It all came together that summer day. This short tale of Ralph’s humor and wit so reminded me of James Thurber’s fictional daydreamer, Walter Mitty. Mildly outlandish with a dash of crazy fun!

Lessons Learned

Never underestimate the power and knowledge of your elders. Both Ralph and Mary are sharp and witty. I so enjoy their advice and company. I aspire to be them when, and if, I reach their age!

Wedding vows can be said by anyone, but only the special ones continue to live them. These love pups prove this every time I am in their company. They seldom bicker, often complete each other’s sentences, and share common bonds of love, respect and dedication. God bless Ralph, Mary, and of course, Miss Katie!

Stay alert for part two:  “Limericks and Love”. Thanks for reading!

Having recently divorced, I concluded that life was worthy of more than what I had accomplished in the previous 42 years. I was determined not to become reclusive, lazy, or just plain retired.  New life. New shoes. New attitude. Time to smile, get to know myself, and reassess what was important to living again.

I was given an opportunity to exit the cold, blustery confines of Michigan’s winter and enjoy the sunny south.  Long time girlfriends Kaye and Janey had found a small, comfortable condo in their Florida complex. Family and friends questioned my reasoning and quick decision. I assured them I planned to have fun, meet new people and move forward. I couldn’t get there fast enough.

The place of warmth and sunshine was just what I needed. Kaye and Janey were experienced in any and all “senior” activities. Potlucks, happy hours, card clubs, quilting, meeting new peeps and the like. Immediately I was introduced to my neighbor, Henry.   Warned that he was single and much the gentleman and charmer, I was not disappointed. Henry gracefully sported his 80 plus years. He introduced himself casually and I knew immediately I had a friend. Ahhhh, life in the sun!

Innocent enough, I invited Henry for dinner. He arrived early with a cooler and a smile.  He pulled out a small plate of shrimp, cocktail sauce, two glasses, and a bottle of wine. “You didn’t say anything about hors d’oeuvres and I always have a few before dinner. I brought my favorites and a little wine.”  His coy smile and wink found me fascinated.

Slightly enamored, we enjoyed a light dinner and lively conversation. Henry suggested he return the favor by taking me to one of his local hangouts, Buster’s. Thinking nothing of it, I graciously agreed to dinner the following night.

As you can imagine, one dinner led to another and another. Henry had lost the love of his life six years previous. I was recently divorced after a long, committed marriage. We seemed to be great listeners, enjoyed similar values, humor, and oddly enough, empathized in each other’s woes.

It wasn’t long before Henry admitted that he was starry eyed. “So listen, Francie. You are so wonderful for me. You make me smile and make me feel worthwhile.  I have never met someone like you. You are somthin’ else! I think I’m falling for you, BUT that doesn’t mean YOU can fall for me.”

“Oh Henry, you are crazy!” I assured him. “This can’t be. We are just great friends. Stop with those silly ideas.”

He would hear nothing of my thoughts. “I realize I am much too old for you. I’d like to help you find someone that would be a better match.  But, I don’t plan to work very hard at it! You are beautiful and have a good heart. I want to be alive just one more year so I can enjoy this happiness with you.”  Henry was adamant. He was a true gentleman, compassionate, and a comfort when I needed it most. Oh my, what had we started?

For the next eight months, Henry and I enjoyed short travels, concerts, Cribbage, boating, fishing, and quiet dinners. Life had become one big smile for the both of us. I openly prayed, “God, if this is meant to be, make it so.”  I too, was falling in like with Mr. Henry.

That summer, after an eight day trip through the Mitten, Henry and I enjoyed a leisurely week at his lake cottage in Wisconsin. One morning while sharing coffee on the dock, Henry mentioned feeling short of breath and wondered if maybe it was walking pneumonia. He had an appointment with a pulmonologist in a few weeks, but felt like he couldn’t wait for the visit. Following a call to his family, Henry and I set off for the Emergency Clinic.

A week later, after much needed oxygen, a few blood transfusions, and endless tests, Henry was diagnosed with MDS, a form of pre-leukemia. If he could overcome current lung congestion, occasional blood transfusions would return him to normal living. Henry decided that he would try intensive antibiotic treatment in hopes of getting well and back to living.

Within 24 hours, Henry and his medical team were not seeing improvements they had hoped for. Calling on palliative care, his priest, and the hospital Chaplain, Henry was calmly adamant. “Take out these needles, keep me comfortable, I am ready for this journey.”  His quiet strength was evident and honorable.

Henry pleaded with me stay by his side.  “Please don’t go back home. I want you here with me. I want my kids here, but not making my decisions. They’ll start arguing and all that. I love you and want you on this journey with me. You are not judgemental and will allow me to make my own decisions.  You are beautiful, wonderful and give me comfort.” Sobbing, I held his hands in mine and could only agree. With his children’s overwhelming approval, I would courageously take this journey with Mr. Henry.

Two days later, Mr. Henry completed his passage. I was there and it was beautiful. Such a God-given gift was Mr. Henry. The hospital Chaplain, the palliative care team, Henry’s priest , his children, and I comforted, prayed, sang, and blessed this gracious, giving man.

Losing someone dear is seldom easy nor timely. Hold on to the love, not the loss. Powerful, purposeful, real. My strength. Thank you loving God for Henry.

Lessons Learned

One can never predict when a true gift of love will enter your life. Henry was just that for me and I was ever reminded that I was just that for him.  

God never gives us more than we can handle. Journeying with another through their final days was an experience I never thought I could endure. With God’s trust and love I became the strength Henry needed to move forward.

There are no guarantees in life. Live like there is no tomorrow.  Enjoy. Love. Find happy!

Thanks for reading!

Farm life memories continue to fill my head with love and good health.  Alive and well, barefoot for the most part, we endured endless drinks from the water hose, swims in local ditches, barn roof climbs, and mushin through freshly dropped cow patties. Momma provided three square meals a day, as we ate healthy and together as a family. I likened it to a triple whammy of “The Waltons”, a bit of “Little House on the Prairie”, and a spirited amount of “Ma and Pa Kettle”. Homemade with imagination and little sense for sanitation.

Momma’s eight chicklets seldom had injury or illness that resulted in a visit to the only physician in town, Dr. Clapper. Master of any and all ailments, she took great care of her young brood. Take a sit down, your daily vitamin, and enjoy her ever-so creative side of medical practicality and doctoring without a license.

Dr. Pimple Popper alive and well.  Blackheads seldom had longevity on our faces. Sunday nights, Momma would line us up for baths, hair washing, and pincurls. Out came the bobby pins as she not so gently twisted and curled our locks. But wait, she was not only coiffing her girls! Ear cleaning came with the Sunday night pamper! The bobby pin was her go-to assistant. Pressure and pop! The deed was done without warning.

While she had us in the chair, a quick glean of our faces and backs often received the “two thumb pinch”.  To divert possible infection, she finished with a dab of alcohol. OUCH! Dr. Mom assured our porcelain faces were recovered and prepped for another week of school.  

Queasy, upset tummy? More than not, Momma stood by her tried and true: a teaspoon of baking soda and a half glass of water. No commercial fixes of Alka-Seltzer or Pepto-Bismol lived in the medicine cabinet. Seldom did we enjoy the likes of ginger ale or Fresca chilled from a snowbank. Her prescribed notions worked, thus, the grocery bill did not suffer.  

If and when a tummy endured more than two days of upset, Momma produced the least popular of her remedies: the warm, soapy water enema! Psychologically, I think we all produced personal strength to wish ourselves well when the subject “enema” ever surfaced! Enough said!

Cuts, scrapes, and the like? I do not ever recall seeing a box of Band-Aids in the family nest. Again, I’m sure Momma felt she could adjust and compensate without increasing the grocery tab.  As a result, these three items provided her staple to skin wellness: Bag Balm, a medicated ointment to ease udder irritations on cows, sanitary napkins as a gauze substitute, and rag strips taken from worn clothing to be used as bandages.  I need not explain further. All three sufficed and we never required further treatment from the doctor. Once again, Medicine Momma, Rescue Ranger!

In addition, rusty nails or scrapes from barbed wire never produced the ever fearful “locked jaw” as the soothing smells of Bag Balm and tattered bandages did their healing. Slivers were either two-thumb pinched or removed by Momma’s large, unsanitized, sewing needles. A quick dig, a dab of Bag Balm, and we were back to playing in no time. No screams, no tears. Just simple courage and the faith Momma knew what she was doing.

Wellness continued with Vicks VapoRub. Winter often brought a number of colds and runny noses. Likely, many of these germs were brought home from school, as Momma kept her home spotless.  She often hung freshly washed bedding outside on the coldest, and windiest of days. Frozen in place, she would return them to the house to thaw. The moisture aided our Vicks filled noses. That, along with her homemade vaporizer of a pan of water over a furnace register, provided comfort and relief.

Yes, Vicks VapoRub was one of her few commercial go-to meds. No need for store bought cough syrup. I so remember a half-teaspoon of melted Vicks laced with sugar and followed with a hot tea and shot of Kessler’s whiskey! The cough quelled and I slept for hours. Momma once again had worked her medical genius and I did not die or miss a day of school.

The end-all, cure-all: Cod Liver Oil. Following a significant bleed as a result of a tonsillectomy, I was medically suggested a regimen of of Cod Liver Oil. Dr. Mom treated me twice a day and as luck would have it, she included all seven siblings. We lined up every morning for our daily dose.  It was the worst, regardless of its wintergreen flavor. Burping a minty fish was seldom abated by any other foods, as Momma tried to mask it. She did not need sick children, thus her preventative care paid off.

My fish therapy lasted at least a few years. To this day, I honestly think this God-awful remedy provided me with great health, joints, teeth, and curly hair! I am ever thankful for Cod Liver Oil and Momma’s well-intentioned doctoring.

And there you have it, another chapter in the wellness of my farm-driven life. Good health with little concern for sanitation. Pathetic? Nah, just farm living using Momma’s sense for the good of all. Thanks to God and Dr. Mom!

Lessons Learned

Never question Momma’s medical motives.  I do not recall one Mom-driven remedy that did not suffice. Yes, Vicks VapoRub and Bag Balm continue to be popular over-the-counter remedies today! Doc Momma was ahead of her time!

Old fashioned notions pay off. With the high level of unsanitary play on the farm, I honestly feel our immune systems were strengthened and not hindered. Rock on, country living and Momma’s innovative medicine!

And as always, thanks for reading!

Eight siblings, ages 13 and younger. Mid-July, 1964 about 9 a.m. We had exhausted our plan of activities to keep entertained for the day.  “Momma, there’s nothin’ to do. Can you take us for a ride to the gravel pit so we can swim?” Can we make some ice cream? Can we, Momma, can we?” The chorus of sib whining must have gnawed at Momma’s patience. As usual, she had another genius moment.

“I’ve talked with your dad, and we’ve hatched a plan. Today we are taking a new adventure”, cheered Momma. “Get your shoes on and some clothes that will keep you cool. I’ve got some iced water to go and we’ll be home by lunch. We’re all in this together, right?” she called out.

“Right!” as we joined in unison. Giggles surrounded our excitement. Hmmm, what kind of adventure? I could only think of one particular family fun: riding on the tailgate of the pickup to town and finding returnables along the way. Once we had cashed them in,  it was time to get our favorite ice cream cone. BINGO! That was it!

“Follow me,” Momma exclaimed. Single file, eight kiddos marched to her confident footsteps. We made our way to the end of the drive, crossed the dusty, gravel road and entered the path that led to Daddy’s crop of wheat. Dotted amongst the field of green were small yellow blotches.  

Ever in creative control, Momma began, “Everyone see the yellow flowers in this wheat field? It’s called mustard and it’s a bad weed. Daddy and I will pay you a penny for each weed you pull. We have to keep it in a pile so that we can take it home to burn. We will finish before it gets too hot. Working together, we’ll be done in no time.” Not wanting to disappoint, we spread out into the field and began the pulling.

About an hour had passed and Momma called for a water break. We all had our weeds counted and piled for the burning. Brother Frankie was nowhere to be found. Suzi Q and I began the search. “He must have a big pile of weeds and needs help carrying them,” chirped Suz.

“I think I hear him whistling. Yup, he’s right over here,” I whispered. “Let’s scare him, ok”?

Suz and I crept up on Frankie.  He was sitting with no weed pile. He had taken several mustard plants and was fiercely rubbing them on his hands.

“Ahh, Frankie, what do you think you’re doing?” I asked. “Where’s your pile of mustard? Are you making green hands so that we think you were working?  Momma’s not going to like this!”

Frankie quickly dropped the greens and rose. “Ahh, ahh, well I made a big pile over there I think. Now I can’t find it. Can you help me?” He tried wiping the green hands clean, but to no avail.

Needless to say, Momma was not pleased with Frankie’s foolishness. After the break she informed him that he must stay within her eye’s view and work like everyone else. With no choice, Frankie began an earnest effort of pulling the mustard.

The sun began to warm as sweat and piles of dead weeds accumulated. Momma had removed her blouse and the boys stripped their shirts. Momma announced that soon it would be time to head home for lunch. Assured  there would be money in our pockets., we continued to hustle.

In the distance, we heard the daily warning blares of the train. Every morning it made its way to town to pick up grain and petroleum. “Momma, the train’s comin’, don’t you need to put your blouse on?” Claudia inquired.

“Nah, that engineer won’t see me.  The wheat’s just high enough,” she clucked.

In an instant, the train was upon us.  Being their usual silly selves, Frankie, Mikie, Suz and lil Sylvia began waving and screaming to grab the engineer’s attention.  The train’s whistle continued to blast as four men leaned out the massive locomotive with two others at the caboose. Smiles, wolf calls and waves entertained all.

Momma was quick to think. Rather than crouch down, or ignore the attention, she did the unthinkable. She rose from the wheat and threw the wide-eyed men her biggest smile! She waved with confidence! Momma in her bra and sunburn, greeting these strangers! And she was proud!

Once again, with her quick wit and wisdom, Momma was not to be embarrassed. She joined in the fun and made this adventure one to remember.  How she could make an unlikely farm task into one of pleasure was one of her strongest assets. God bless our Momma!

All in all, us sibs thought we had disposed of at least a few thousand mustard plants. We were ready for the money Daddy had promised. At the dinner table that night, we all gathered to hear his plan for payment.

“Thank you all for helping make the wheat field clean. You know how to work hard to make good of this farm. I haven’t counted all the weeds pulled but know that you all deserve a dollar each and a trip to the County Fair!” Daddy was beaming!

A dollar does not seem like much, however, it was like a hundred bucks to each of us. The next afternoon, we piled in the car for the fair.  After checking all the farm exhibits and getting a ride on the carousel, we received our dollar to spend. I so remember the red candied apples, carmel corn, cotton candy, and games played. Prizes were cheap trinkets but we had won the jackpot. Farm and family at its best!

Lessons Learned

There’s one in every family.  Yes, we all have a Frankie. He was genius at hatching crazy, imaginary ideas for avoiding work. He was the inventive one and often silly. Sometimes these traits worked to his advantage, many times not. Frankie will always have my heart!

Farm and family are love.  Our family was not financially rich by any means, however, love and respect for each other was undeniably our wealth!    Thanks for reading!

Life as I live it today is a most blessed and joyful one. Every day is a new sunrise of activity and experience. I work at making it that way. The alternative is much too depressing and often leads to chapter endings I am not ready to write. With another Mother’s Day celebrated,  I take great love and pride in all that I have accomplished as a Momma Llama.

First and foremost, are my Divas of Delight, daughters Ruthie and Eva. Precious blood, precious in my ever-expanding heart, these two have unending love. Seven years separates them, however, they are as close as sisters can be. Serving as each other’s sounding boards, mentors, and advisors, my llama babes thrive.

Llama One, Miss Ruthie, was born a gentle spirit. Two weeks overdue, a great nap-taker, and a true champion for the underdog, Ruthie’s laid back, compassionate self has successfully led her to many mountaintop experiences. I’d be amiss, however, if I did not speak of a few early developmental days of facing the climb.

Circa, 1982, age four or so.  A quick supper of pork chops, cheesy potatoes, green beans and banana pudding.  “So Mom, have you ever noticed how a pork chop looks like South America? I saw that shape on a map in the encyclopedia.” A bit amazed, I took pride in her imagination until she added, “And what do you think about Caspar Weinberger as President Reagan’s Secretary of Defense? Think he’s a good protector for our country?”

Whaaaat? A four year old discussing current politics? What have I helped to create? As love and blessings would have it, Miss Ruthie continued her love of knowledge and growth. She graduated and graduated and graduated even more.  

Today, her mind continues climbing those mountains to solve world issues and those of local interest. Ruthie is a WonderMom,  Doctor of Nursing, and a most avid champion of underserved children of greater Philadelphia. This Momma Llama could not be any prouder of her firstborn. Above all, I have a great friend and advocate for improved health care for all. My future wheelchair will be well equipped so to speak!

Llama Two, Miss Eva, arrived with her most lively of spirits. Born two weeks early and with an hour of labor and delivery, I knew nap-taking, gentle days were likely to be history. Eva did not disappoint!

Sweet Llama E. walked at eight months, spoke incessantly, and did not pretend to be independent. She was ahead of her time in so many ways. As much as Ruthie wanted to love and cuddle her, Eva worked harder and harder to be Miss I-Can-Do-It-Myself. The lovefest continued, however, and my llamas kept feeding on the love of each other.

Circa, 1993, third grade or so. Late spring, recess ending. “Hello, Mrs. So-and-so? I’m calling about Eva. She’s fine, but I will need you to bring her some dry, clean pants. She seems to have found the only puddle on the playground and frankly, we’re not sure what color her pants were because she’s covered with mud. And, because she is so small, we have no clothes here that fit her.” Luckily I was ending my work day and would quickly scoot to rescue Eva from further embarrassment.

As I entered the office, Sweet Eva beamed as she was dressed in a pair of sweats that reached her armpits. Embarrassment was the furthest from her thoughts. “Look Mom, how big these pants are. I think they’d fit Dad! And, and look at my pants here. Remember, they used to be white!” as she continued to giggle. The office staff, principal and myself couldn’t help but share in the fiasco of foolishness.

Eva grew into a life of high energy, and liveliness.She often would return from school adding, “Mom, today I was ELECTRIC! I had an awesome day!”

She was bright, inquisitive, and a go-getter. Always at the center of action, Eva played multiple sports, ran, acted and sang, and sang, and sang. Her musical talents and voice of compassion carried her successfully into college and beyond.

Today, my dear llama E. is happily married and effortlessly serves her God. She loves her work with campus ministry at the University of Utah. Music and singing continue to be a part of her life, however, it is just for Momma Llama. Recently, I joined her in Karaoke in the sunny south. She brilliantly belted out “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun” while I provided back up. Another fiasco of foolishness that I’ll never forget.  

Although these girls have an age difference of seven years, their bond is like that of best friends. Living hundreds of miles apart seems irrelevant as a quick phone call or text renews their love connection.

Over and over, my life has been filled with creative laughter and love from these precious ladies. We giggle. We cry. We debate. We love. Always honest, always respectful. I cannot be anything but blessed.

Lessons Learned

Parenting does not come with a set of directions.  Do the best you can and keep love, patience, and an open mind as the main ingredients.

A Mother’s love lasts long after she lets go.  I need not say more.

Thanks for reading!

Being raised with two mischievous brothers provided much joy and excitement. Thirty plus years of teaching disabled students (primarily boys) also gave me plenty of experience.  Thus, it came as no surprise when brother Mike and wife Susan asked that we care for their two young sons while they traveled for a two week European adventure. Our two daughters, Ruthie and Eva shared in the excitement as they envisioned two cousins needing female influence and play.

Summer 1998. Nephews Joey and Johnny had arrived. Joey, nine and brother Johnny age six, would be so entertained, that home and family would not be missed.  My experiences with boys was all too familiar. The teacher in me began to plan a full two weeks of activities and meals. Eva made plans to include her vast collection of Beanie Babies, Pez, and books.

Bidding farewell to Mom and Pops, the boys were anxious to head to the local grocery to purchase a few of their favorites. Eva and I made our initial stop at the breakfast aisle. Boring, non sugary cereal was our usual fare. Not today.

“Aunt Francie, Mom and Dad usually let us have one box of our favorite every two weeks,” informed a matter-of-fact Joey.  “Like this one with chocolate and peanut butter. It’s healthy too.”

“Toss it in the cart Joey. And Johnny, what’s your pick?” I joyfully asked.

“Ah, my favorite is this blue one with ghost berries Aunt Francie”, added Johnny. He quickly retrieved the box and we were on our way. Eva giggled as she chose the honey flavored oats.

The following morning the feast of sweets commenced. As both boys gulped into their third bowl of delight, a surge of nausea appeared. “Aunt Francie, we don’t feel so great. Do you think the milk was sour?”  Their faces of chocolate and blue appeared bleak.

“Ah, no, I don’t think so. Why don’t you two take to the couch and I’ll get a movie going. In a few hours we’ll take a short trip to the library. It’s a paradise for kids! The girls love it there,”  I chirped.

The bout of nausea was temporary. “Home Alone” provided a short respite for all three kiddos. “Ready for the library?” I cheerfully asked.

“Mom, we’re ready to go. Joey and Johnny, come on.” added Eva. Eyeing the boys, I did not sense the same excitement.

The library was poppin with kids. “Pick out any five books you want, boys. You will be staying for a while and I want you to find fun stories you’d like.  Unless you want to read from “The Babysitter’s Club” or “Beezus and Ramona!” I chuckled and nudged them.

Rather reluctantly, both boys selected a few books. Lots of pictures, little content. “So Aunt Francie, you don’t expect us to read these do you?  You know, we’re out of school right now and on vacation.” Joey grimaced as we made our way home.

The girls rolled their eyes and giggled. Voracious readers they were. Ruthie added, “You know boys, reading never goes out of style. Your imagination is as open as the things you read. Maybe we can take turns reading aloud to each other. It will be a little like playing school.”  Both boys nodded with minimal interest.

The first week flew by as we busied the boys with playgrounds, picnics, and endless food. No mention of missing home ever surfaced. We were enjoying the male influence as they were mannerly, however, not fully fascinated by “girly business”.

Into the second week, Joey and Johnny joined Uncle Dave for a few rounds of golf. Hunting lost balls in the swamp and woods kept them eagerly occupied.  A decapitated skull of an unfortunate rodent also made its way back to our home. According to Uncle Dave, the highlight came when each got to navigate the golf cart about the course.

“Aunt Francie, we found a skull of some wild thing, maybe a small dinosaur!” Johnny raced with excitement. “And me an’ Joey, we found hundreds of golf balls! Uncle Dave says we can sell them! Can we set a table outside and get some lemonade too? Like right now?”

Gathering the girls for lunch, we sat to hatch our entrepreneurial plan.  Ruthie would make the signage and lemonade. Eva located paper cups, a small table, and three chairs. Joey and Johnny washed golf balls and readied them for sale. Visions and rant of profits consumed one and all. Then came the wait.

By late afternoon, 12 iced lemonades had been sold. Sales totaled $4.85.  The kiddos realized “donations” were more profitable than a set price of twenty-five cents. Golf balls gleamed in the late sun. Three had been sold at $.50 a piece. Enthusiasm had run its course.

As 5 p.m. rolled around, it was obvious the business spirit had waned. Just as the boys were folding up shop, a UPS truck pulled into the drive. “So boys, what do we have here?” quipped the driver. “How ‘bout I take a couple of lemonades and some golf balls. Got any good ones?”

Joey and Johnny took action. “Ah, ya, they’re all good ones. We got about 37 here. How many do you want? They’re one for fifty cents or two for a dollar.”

“Boys, I think I’d like the whole box. How about I give you a twenty dollar bill for them and another lemonade?” Winking and a broad smile assured the sales team this fella was the real deal.

“Deal!” yelled Johnny. High fives and smiling teeth sealed the final sale.

Uncle Dave donated to the coffers and the kiddos happily split about $40.00 in sales. Closing shop and making a pizza to celebrate wrapped up a most lucrative day.

Our two weeks saw little lag time. Boy adventures along with girly activities kept all on their toes. Lions Training Camp ended the adventure for the boys. Autographs garnered and obstacle courses challenged. It appeared all lives had been changed for the good.

All in all, hair dryers and make up continued to occupy the bathroom. Two books had been read. Joey and Johnny had reluctantly shared a tea party with the Beanies. One added behavior enhanced the scene, as well.  The toilet seat took a newly found position: UP!

Lessons Learned

Kids are kids, no matter the age, no matter the sex.  Not certain the mix of cousins would gel, but our time together was seldom boring. Nervous excitement, too much sugar, loads of food, and literal, naive conversations made for a memorable education for all.

Laughter is really, the best medicine!  These lovebugs kept us hoppin. Lots of lighthearted days filled with dirty golf balls, feet, and hands, hungry tummies, and a skull to boot! Thank Heaven for these boys. Bless my girls. And bless our patience and humor!

Thanks for reading!

Recently moving to the west side of Michigan I found myself searching for a warm, adequate living space, new friends, a church and a few volunteer opportunities. The choices were endless. As a result, a one-bedroom apartment became my nest, friendships blossomed, and the largest Methodist church in the city welcomed me with open arms. A new life was comfortably shaping my rebirth.

This particular Methodist church has its roots deeply planted in the city. Large in stature and members, it became easy to find my place as a contributing member. Social justice, equality, and community outreach continue as primary focuses. My table, so to speak, had been set.

Fast forward two years. Another spring morning was upon us. Seven a.m. had arrived. Cold rain teased as she continued to spit in our faces. A bitter breeze slapped our necks and open jackets. Homeless, indigent, and well-worn they came. They quietly huddle for physical and emotional warmth. A small slice of hope will be offered for the taking. Today was Jobs Tuesday. I was there to help serve the table.

On this cloudy, chilled morning, close to 60 men and women arrive for the random draw at a chance to work at 12 different jobs sites within walking distance.  Several downtown churches, shelters, and social agencies provide two-hour working slots to this needy gathering. Jobs Tuesday helps to provide a paid workforce of a local neighborhood by funding short term work for those homeless or living in poverty.

Today, 38 jobs will be available. Legal identification and a willingness to work are the minimal requirements. Dignity and respect are exchanged effortlessly. God is ever present. For today, a hot cup of coffee, reciting the “Our Father” and $20.00 in cash will serve their souls and pockets — no questions asked. Workplaces and workers all benefit.

I have come to know many of the regulars. A few have actually become volunteers themselves with our church’s mission to reach out. Meet Leon, who stands over six feet tall, carries his broad shoulders and empty clipboard proudly. He knows “his people” and serves as mentor, cheerleader, and sometimes crowd controller. In addition, he proudly serves on the local Coalition for Handicapped Individuals. Community awareness and involvement are his strengths as he joyfully serves and advocates for peers and himself.

Teddy shows weekly as the group’s comedian. Light laughter is never hindered. His cheerful smile and disposition provide calm and reassurance to the needy hearts and minds of his peers.  He seldom forgets to remind us church members that he is available every Sunday to take the week’s offering to the bank. “Just give me a call, and I’ll be there.” With a quick wink and wry smile, Teddy fills our Tuesday cup of humor.

I would be amiss if I didn’t include Samuel, the leader of this reach out program.  A true gentle and gracious man, Samuel makes Jobs Tuesday a full time effort. Weekly visits to local shelters, social service agencies and the like, he knows the city and its people well. Many of the needy and homeless look to him for a guiding light, encouraging word,

or basic survival advice. I have found Samuel humble, thankful, and truly a server of God.

It has been almost two years since I first volunteered at Jobs Tuesday. Each week is a new awakening within me. Giving of my time is minimal compared to the wealth of satisfaction I receive in return.

Lessons Learned

Ironically, I have discovered something about human nature as well. Nearly 200 years ago, many of these underserved individuals were serving my table, without choice, an unfortunate artifact of their race, ethnicity or personal circumstance. Their personal lives were controlled and dignity was rare. Today, I choose to serve them at their table. Dignity, respect, and encouragement are my gifts to them. God has blessed me over and over. I love my church family and its commitment to community.

God, continue to bless these loving, lonely souls and those of Jobs Tuesday.  Amen.

Thanks for reading!

“Hello, Francine. How’s it going?”  Earl was a senior whose locker was adjacent mine. He stood well above my puny, flat chested body. Although shy, he was known to be kind and sincere not to mention the ace pitcher for the varsity baseball team.

“Ah, Hi, Earl;” I meekly replied. Boys did not directly speak to me. At 17, I continued to be unappealing to the opposite sex. “ I’m doing good I guess. How are you?” I was not off to a good start. A quick “see ya”, and we were on to class. My heart raced…… What was that all about?

As the school day ended, I returned to my locker to retrieve homework.  Earl, nervously leaned against the locker sporting his chipped tooth smile and baseball jersey, “So, um, Francie, how was the rest of your day and would you like to go to the prom with me? Ahh, you can say no, but Father Stine thought you would be a good girl to ask because you come from a good family. Oh and I gotta get to practice, so just think about  it would you? I’ll see you tomorrow. Bye.”

Off he dashed.  A ten second whirlwind of one sided conversation had me without  control. Did I just get ask out on a date? By a boy? And did I just get asked to the PROM?  I don’t really know Earl! What would my girlfriends Kaye and Janey have to say? What would Momma think? Was Earl just kidding?  I headed for the bus. This girl’s got more than Algebra to think about!

Kaye and Janey were ecstatic. “Gen, you lucky star, Earl is so nice. You can’t say no. Just say yes, and everything will fall in place,” they added.  I wasn’t so sure.

When I told Momma, she slowly smiled and took a chair.  “Looks like my girl is getting noticed. Earl’s a good Catholic boy and you should go to his senior prom. It’s probably his first date, but it will be yours as well. Go Francie. I can’t wait to whip up a dress just for you……no hand-me-downs for this girl of mine!”

How can one be terrified and excited at the same time?  My first date and possibly my last. I needed to get additional advice from my seasoned sisters, Claudia and the twins, Ang and Zenia. They could provide me the needed courage to make this social event successful. All three had more experience with the opposite sex than I could only imagine. In summary they agreed, “ Just be yourself, have things to talk about, and look pretty.” These commandments would be easy enough to obey I hoped.

Prom night was abuzz. My curly locks had been straightened, teased and sprayed wig-like by the only hairdresser in town, Miss Agnes. She was a peach as she offered to “give me a touch of makeup”.  I kindly declined and let Ang’s expertise tackle my pimpled, white, complexion.

Momma had made the perfect dress for my 32AA.  A pastel green, dotted swiss gown was accented with daisies she had carefully placed and attached to the skirt. The empire waist was highlighted with a buttery yellow satin ribbon.  I loved this dress and felt like a princess.

Earl arrived and joining him was best friend, Kevin. Ang would be his date as we doubled for “Paris in the Springtime”.  Pinky promise as she agreed to serve as my savior at any awkward moment. Corsages and boutineers were cautiously pinned in place, pictures were snapped, and we were off for the night.  

Earl was driving the family car.  Our limo was their 1966 Ford Fairlane station wagon, shiney and enhanced with wood-like panels! Clean as a whistle, an intense fragrance of English Leather with a faint of dairy barn greeted us.  This would be fun, I cautiously promised myself.

Dinner was served in the high school cafeteria followed by dancing in the gymnasium. Paris had made its presence and I was dreaming. The longer we danced, the easier our first date became. Slow dancing was most difficult as we obviously had little experience. We giggled, held each other pensively, often stepping on each other’s toes. “Bridge Over Troubled Water” was all I remembered.

Midnight had arrived and our time in Paris was fading. Earl and Kevin suggested we stop by The Bonanza. A 24-hour establishment , it was known for the biggest and best banana splits. Calm began to take over my insecure, foolish thoughts.

The boys gulped cheeseburgers, fries and heaps of ice cream.  Ang and I split a vanilla shake and fries. Talk was trivial and the night was finishing up to be rather uneventful.  Ang continued to keep me in her sight.

As Earl escorted me to the car, he suggested I move nearer him to be closer to the heater. Shivering in nervous excitement, I slid in place accordingly. Ang and Kevin took their places in the back. Earl started the car, adjusted the radio to a country station and ever so casually placed his right arm around my shoulders.  Yikes! I was like a fish out of water! I had to remind myself to calm. After all, Earl was just being friendly! Ang immediately came to the rescue…….

“Ahhhhh, Earl. Could you turn down that radio? It’s a little loud back here.”

Earl removed his arm, tuned the radio , and ever so slowly resumed its place on my shoulder. I froze. This was awkward. I was not feelin the like here. Keeping his composure intact, Earl whistled to Johnny Cash’s “Folsom Prison Blues”.

“Ahhh, Earl, do you have any gum?” I asked.  

“Sure do Francie, how bout some Juicy Fruit?  It’s my favorite.” Earl again maneuvered his right arm, slipped the gum from his pocket and offered us each a piece. Kind, considerate, and smiling. Earl and his limo took on a new aroma;  English Leather with a touch of fruity dairy barn. I began to giggle inside. His arm gently returned. Just breathe, I reminded myself. No harm, no foul.

“Ahhhh, Earl, could you turn up the heat?  It’s getting chilly back here.” Ang added her final lifesaver. Once again, Earl disengaged his arm and adjusted the heat. God bless sissy.

The night ended and Earl was the perfect gentleman. He walked me to the door and shyly stated, “Thanks for making my senior prom and first date memorable. I had fun and hope you did too.” With that, we hugged and I was free to breathe. Earl was likely feeling the same.

Reflecting on this night of anxiousness, I am embarrassed at my needless worries. My confidence was not as mature. My self-image was insecure.  Humor and Ang were my saving graces.

Earl and I did not date again. He went on to college , graduated and successfully became a pitcher for three major league teams. During his third season of organized ball, Earl sent me an autographed picture of himself as a Detroit Tiger. “To Francine,  Love Earl”. God bless Earl and his genuine heart.

Lessons Learned

Growing up is hard to do.  Self-doubt, insecurities, peer pressure. All add up to the frustrations of adolescence.

Inhale, conquer your fears, and enjoy the moment. So many initial experiences in life can seem overwhelming and awkward, especially for a teen.  As a teacher of high school students for over 35 years, I was determined they would not feel inadequate or pressured to fit in. Just inhale…..exhale……and breathe.

Life is for living! I learned this long after being a teenager. Live and love your life!  Amen I say. Amen!

Thanks for reading!

During one’s lifetime, a myriad of experiences cross and enter our paths of journey. Some are memorable and others….not so much. Today’s piece includes one chapter from my life as a Yooper. For any of you unfamiliar with this term, a native or inhabitant of the Upper Peninsula or U.P. (“Yoo-pee”) of Michigan can often be referred to as a Yooper. Git yer Swampers and Toboggan on and with a “Holy-wah,”  here’s your U. P. adventure!

Retirement from a teaching career, room mother, child chauffeur, and the like had christened my soul.  It became apparent that settling in the big city was not a dream imagined. Our daughters had graduated from college, married, and secured homes far from their Michigan roots.  I was ready for trading spaces so to speak. The city girl in me was jonesin’ for a quiet, peaceful, step back in time lifestyle. The desolate confines of Yooperland, however, were not on my radar.

My former spouse had spent his youth hunting, fishing and enjoying country comforts of northern Michigan. He had a strong desire to return to that lifestyle upon retirement. When a likely possibility of moving northward looked imminent, I took a deep breath, recited over and over, “In good times and bad,……….” and made the leap for the unknown: Land of the Yooper, the Upper Peninsula of Michigan!

Ever positive, the air was fresh and welcoming. New home, new friends, new chapter. In my most positive spirit, I would learn to love two seasons of this northern experience:  winter and hunting.

Halloween was blessed with the first flakes as Mother Nature kissed pumpkins and scarecrows. Awed by the beauty of this gentle, peaceful life, I was getting used to a nightly fire in the woodstove, comfort foods, and becoming one with nature. The snows came, came, and came. Pretty white adorned pines and creek beds in a perfect calendar shot. Winter was shaping up to be a perfect postcard.

As hunting season rolled in, former husband spent countless hours preparing and sitting patiently in deer hot spots. His expert skills with a bow would be challenged. I was about to experience his first venison victory.

Late December. Nearly midnight. Full moon. Temps in the teens. Snow glistened while gently falling. A most beautiful sight. Sweet words entered the house, “ I got a big one! I need help following the blood trail and bringin it in!”  My heart pounded with some sort of crazy excitement. “Get suited up, it’s gonna take a while.”

With knee-high boots, snowmobile suit, stocking hat, hand and foot warmers, I gloved up for the adventure. Quickly we hopped on the four-wheeler and headed to tag the prize. The evening was serene despite the squeaky snow as we made for the woods. I could hear my heartbeat.

Flashlights in hand, we quickly located the kill sight and trail.  I was to remain in the quad as the engine’s heat would keep me warm. Minutes passed as the deer was located in a small thicket. “I got it! Come on Francine, and don’t forget the flashlight! You’re going to help me dress it out!”  Nervous excitement, round two.

Awkwardly, I jumped from the four-wheeler. Boom! What a surprise when my feet sank into the virgin snow. Several inches had turned to feet and I was up to my waist in the pretty white! “Francine, are you okay?  I’m right over here.”

“I’m coming. Just a little deep, but I can do this,” supporting my cheerful self.

Whoa! I could not move. Up to my hips in snow, my feet were slowly sinking into a swampy muck. A big push from my thighs, I flung myself head first into the mound of white! My knees buckled, the flashlight flew, as the boots remained in the muck. I was not going anywhere and neither were my boots!

Said spouse came to put me back together. This was most obviously a “Lucy/Ricky” moment. Huffing and puffing, we trudged to claim his venison victory.

Llighter and easier to haul, we would field dress, aka, gut the deer. Flashlight in hand, I would provide needed light for the skillful execution. Gloved up to his shoulders, spouse began to sharpen his knife proudly. Lucy was losing her zest for Ricky’s excitement.

As he cut, my head moved to the side, avoiding the view. So too, did the flashlight! “Hey, don’t be movin on me. Keep your eyes and light focused on the deer! We don’t have a lot of time here. Can’t you hear those coyotes? They’re onto us.”

I forced my courage to get the job done. “In good times and in bad…..” reminded me why I was there. The snow continued to fall. The moon continued to shine. The coyotes hastened our short trek home.

All in all, this northern exposure experience will never be forgotten. I did my best. Supportive wife, “In good times and in bad” lived on. The snows continued to be pretty white and the wood stove provided many warm nights. By Mother’s Day the last flakes had made their exit to usher in spring and a most shortened summer.

I lived in Yooperland six years. Quiet and nature can be a beautiful thing. Desolation, however, is another matter. Been there, done that and proud I had this experience. God bless the true Yoopers!

Lessons Learned

Patience is truly a virtue. It took all that I had to make this living experience one of good. Everyday was something new and often exciting. I made great friends, learned a lot about myself, and survived five years longer than I first expected.

Upper Peninsula living is not for everyone. Pockets of beauty and awe surround this often lonely land. It takes a unique individual to survive and enjoy year round living in da Yoo-pee.

Thanks for reading!