Monthly Archives: November 2024

Traditions Evolve

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Great Aunt Wilma was a fixture at our Thanksgiving gatherings during her latter years. She was widowed with no children, so my parents invited her to join us. 

Elegant with her silver French twist, stylish earrings and deep brown eyes, she preferred to sit with the guys talking sports or politics (back when that was an acceptable topic). We had plenty of help and cooking wasn’t her forté, so she didn’t don an apron and join the women.

We gathered at my sister’s home in Ohio. After years of hosting, Mom was ready to let her kids handle holiday meals. Until my parents died, our sons, my husband and I traveled from Minnesota to celebrate Thanksgiving with my extended family. My husband’s family had different Thanksgiving traditions, so we didn’t have to choose.

For years, my husband and I have been the creators of holiday gatherings like Thanksgiving and Christmas. Days before, we’d clean the house, finalize the menu, make an epic shopping trip, check the table linens, plan the flowers, and start prepping dishes that could be made ahead, then cook and clean up on the actual holiday. As our sons got older, they and their wives also prepared key dishes. However, my husband and I were the event managers who were responsible for making the meal go smoothly. We were happy to do it.

But family traditions evolve. When our sons married, we began sharing them with their wives’ families. Each year we’ve had conversations about which day to hold our Thanksgiving and Christmas gatherings. After a bit of trial and error, we determined that Thanksgiving dates could be flexible but Christmas was less so. 

When grandchildren came on the horizon, my husband and I understood our traditions would change again. We are welcome and important, but as grandparents, we are stepping back to a supporting role for holiday gatherings. 

The focus has shifted to our granddaughters’ needs. Younger babies might be content to be held during a lengthy Thanksgiving meal, but older babies are not. They get bored and want to play. Ideally, both babies should have a quiet place to nap. This year, that will be at the home of our oldest son and his wife, where both babies can be accommodated. 

Shortly before the hungry horde descended last Sunday

Similar things are happening in the larger circle of my Ohio family. My sister no longer hosts a large family dinner at Thanksgiving. Now she visits two of her daughters who live in a nearby state. My brother and his wife will join friends for Thanksgiving since their children are also hours away.

My bachelor brother, who used to help my sister and me with cooking and cleaning up at our large Thanksgiving gatherings, is now slated to become a guest at a niece or nephew’s Thanksgiving table. When we spoke of the changes, my brother and I joked that now he has become Aunt Wilma. 

Navigating Life’s Turbulence: Lessons from a Country Walk

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Candidate signs and Halloween decorations needed clearing November 7th along the country road where I walked. My feet moved slower than my thoughts of how to accept election results. 

Five hundred feet ahead, at least a dozen large, wild, turkeys covered the road as well as both shoulders. They can be mean in a standoff. Future concerns fell to immediate safety. Should I turn around, my clap hands, swing a fallen branch to clear a path? Yelling and singing haven’t worked in the past. My walk was over.

Two deer bounded out from woods on one side of the road, gracefully crossed the asphalt, and entered deeper tree growth in beautiful synchrony. The turkeys scurried behind the white tails. Here, then gone. The walk cleared.

 “Awesome” I said out loud at the display of natural beauty. Unattractive turkeys had been swept into a brief glimpse of something amazingly natural on another day of unpleasant election rhetoric and deep discord.

Decades ago, St. Mary’s in Luxemburg, WI began my Christian orientation. Small towns, filled with relatives, made it easier to accept a set of beliefs and traditions. What I still carry is a careful relationship with God. Call it spirituality or faith, old-fashioned or unnecessary, I value the foundation. At the turkey and deer moment, I followed the spoken word with a silent “Thank you, God” for a reminder of good possibilities.

In November, regardless of voting on the winning or losing side, many people remain thankful for family, friends, freedom to have a public opinion. I dread how politics and powerful men with money will affect the quality of life. 

Fear feels like too powerful a word at a time when caution is critical. Fear was two years ago when I had major surgery to save my life. I knew what I feared that day. I could balance fear and hope. Today I can’t name what to fear beyond unpleasant changes. Fear and dread appear in definitions of each word, but fear has a more expansive description. 

I’d love to be one of those deer easily running through the woods. I can accept moving closer to the speed of the wild turkeys shuffling through fallen leaves or awkwardly flying up to their nightly roost. During the day I will keep looking for ways to move the threatening turkeys out of the way of my walk and yours.

Two years of thankfulness. More to come.

Our Trip South

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Our ‘before’ leaving Minnesota photo.

“We’re doing this,” we both said. Fist bump.

On September 30, Jody and I backed out of our driveway in our 29 ft. Class A RV. Destination: Zachary Taylor RV Park, Okeechobee Fl., 1,671 miles away. Hurricane Helene had made landfall and Milton was threatening. We were driving towards chaos, towards uncertainty. In 16 days, our 6-month workcamper job started at the RV park.

Would we enjoy living in an RV for six months? Would this lead to full-time RVing? How would Jody and I do living in such close quarters … all the time? Would we enjoy the RV community? Would we be interested in boondocking (camping in a remote location)? Would our two small dogs accept RV life?

Four days after we left home, 215 people were known to have died as the result of Hurricane Helene since it made landfall in Florida. Hurricane Milton would make landfall in 5 days, a possible category 5 hurricane.

Months ago, we made camping reservations at state parks and planned to visit relatives. We limited our travel to 4-5 hours a day and camped for no less than 2 days.

Flexibility and being comfortable with unknowns were our mantras. We continued south, while relatives updated us daily on the weather.

“It’s an adventure. We’re doing this.” Fist bump.

Bennett Springs State Park

Our first destination was Sugar River State Park in Durand, Illinois. We weren’t expecting answers so quickly—darkness, quiet, and remoteness left us feeling vulnerable. 82 campsites with only 3 other campers. Jody and I agreed that boondocking was not for us and we would be happy to return to our sticks and bricks home after six months. Hiking was excellent amongst the woods and prairies where we could let the dogs run off leash. Buddy and Sadie were proving to be good travelers.

It was at our cousin’s home in West Frankfurt, Illinois where we truly felt retired for the first time. Sitting outside next to their pool, visiting for hours, was self-indulgent. Before, our retirement plan seemed to have been volunteering at sporting and music venues to financially contribute to Juan and Crystel’s college education. Heading south brought that to a hard stop. Our paradigm had shifted. This was about us.

Continuing south we camped at Bennett Spring State Park in Lebanon, Missouri. Stocked daily with rainbow trout, the park attracted anglers who lined the shores and stood knee and waist deep in the water casting lures, flies, and spinners. Jody and I remained on land and enjoyed the miles of hiking forests, woodlands, bluffs, sunny glades, and dry stream beds with the dogs.

Gus-Gus. Hattiesburg, MS KOA

War Eagle Creek falls off the top of an Ozark Mountain. The 59-mile flow is never dry, and changes through four seasons. The headwaters form in the hardwoods of the Ozark National Forest and streams through Jody’s sister and brother-in-law’s pastureland before spilling into Beaver Lake, the water supply for Northwest Arkansas cities and towns. Jody, the dogs, and I rode a four-wheeler with her sister driving amongst the grazing bulls, cattle, and calves until we reached a sacred area: bluff shelters on the right that the Native Americans, Osage, Quapaw, and Caddo used for protection against the elements and the creek on the other side. Men, women and children camped here to fish, hunt animals, and collect plant foods. Fire scars remained on the rock shelters from their fires.

Wall Doxey State Park in Mississippi had few campers. A couple was escaping in their camper van from Hurricanes Helene and Milton. Hiding out until it was safe to return to their home in Punto Gorda, Florida. While at the park we were informed that our reservations in Florida– Florida Caverns State Park, Alfia River State Park and Lake Manatee State Park were cancelled due to unsafe conditions. Instead of extending our stay at the state park, we continued south 270 miles to a KOA in Hattiesburg, Mississippi. Inching ever closer to our final destination of Okeechobee, Florida.

At the KOA, Gus-Gus the cat chose me. Gus followed Jody, the dogs and me home after a walk. I took note of his concave belly, told him to wait outside our RV, and got a can of wet dog food. After he ate, I gave him a bowl of dry dog food. Gus joined me in the dog pen, lounging on the dog bed as if he belonged. Buddy and Sadie were accommodating. This may have been because Gus looked like Juan’s cat at home and his name is also Gus-Gus.

Sunset, Perry, Florida KOA

My bond with the cat was making Jody increasingly nervous. She reminded me that there was not space in the RV for a litter box. For the next several days, Gus got to be a cat, laying in the sun, safe, purring when I stroked him, contented that he was being fed and watered. There were several stories making the rounds about Gus. The one I decided to believe was that a lady had brought her cats from her house in Florida, van camped for a few nights – set up a tent and play station for her many cats, and Gus wasn’t ready to return when she was, and she inadvertently left him. It was difficult for me to say goodbye to Gus. I racked my brain for how two people, two dogs, and a cat could survive in a 29 ft. RV and decided that we couldn’t. I said a prayer and left Gus in the care of the living and the spiritual realm.

Zachary Taylor RV Park

There weren’t any cats claiming me in the Perry, Florida KOA, our last stop before Okeechobee. It was the first location that we could see the damage wrought by Helene. Piles of debris were on the roadway. Electrical trucks ferried up and down the highway. The sunset not damaged by the hurricanes was a gorgeous hue of oranges.

Our final l289 miles to Okeechobee were uneventful. Driving into Zachary Taylor RV Park, I honked the horn marking our arrival. I hollered, “The Minnesotans are in the house!”

Let the adventure continue. Fist bump.

Thinking of Mom

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Sun pours in our bedroom, a converted attic. When I make the bed, I pull the sheet and quilt back together and snap them like Mom used to do. They settle into place with a tiny poofing sigh. The golden wood floor is warm as I circle the bed and fluff the pillows.

Coming in from the car, my sack of groceries is heavy. I shift hands to lock the garage door, shift again to unlock the back door. I ponder dinner possibilities and think of Mom facing this daily challenge. Although she was a good cook, plenty of times she wasn’t inspired either.

Some nights, I gather up our crumb-laden tablecloth after dinner to shake out on the back step like Mom used to do. Nobody does this anymore. Not tablecloths. Or shaking out crumbs. But I like it. Before dinner I clear the dining room table of clutter and set the table the way she always did—forks, knives, spoons, and napkins. We often put away the spoons unused but it pleases me to do it her way.

Minutes after we sit down, I hop up to blow my nose and dab my eye. Whenever I start to eat, they run just like hers did. Some neurological blip we share.

In the evening, my husband reads the news on the sofa and I read in my chair. We comment on the day’s events, share something about our sons and their families or tomorrow’s plans. Ordinary things, but we’re so content and companionable. I think of Mom and Dad doing the same.

Mom was 67 and already a grandmother to my brother and sister-in-law’s three, when our oldest son was born. When our youngest son was born she was 70. Even though we lived four states apart, we talked often, so she was familiar with our sons’ personalities and milestones. 

Mom with our oldest

I think of the way she got down on the floor to play with them. I do the same with my 10-month-old granddaughter, who crawls over me to get a toy or bounces in time to the music I play for her. When a diaper change upsets my 8-week-old granddaughter, I lean in close and say, “It’s OK little one. You’ll be alright,” in a low quiet voice, the same way Mom soothed our youngest.

Mom with our youngest

Mom comes to mind often and I wonder how she felt going about her days. At 70, was she achy in the mornings like I often am? Was she happy and looking forward with pleasure to most of her days? Was she carefree? Nah, my life is good but not carefree—hers wouldn’t have been either. 

How often did the specter of aging shadow her? She had to be aware that one day her health would decline, friends and family would grow ill and die, and she would probably outlive Dad. Could she keep all that in the background? Did she think—like I do—that “I’m still healthy and capable. These are the good years”?

Mom died 10 years ago on Election Day, the only time I didn’t vote. Instead, I got in the car to begin the long drive to Ohio for her funeral. It wasn’t a presidential election, but I felt bad about missing the vote. Mom and Dad were part of the Greatest Generation. They were fierce believers in democracy. Dad fought and Mom sacrificed during WWII so democracy could thrive throughout the world. Please support democracy with your vote.