This is home.

Thursday night at Midnight, I left the comfort of a warm home and went to the premiere showing of the "Hunger Games". My oldest daughter went with me and we were joined by roughly 150 teenagers of varying ages. It is my understanding that this movie premiered all over the country that night in large multi-plex theaters. We were in a one screen theater in the small town near where we live.
On Friday night, my book club met. Our discussion was not the "Hunger Games" but because it had just been released and some of the women had read the book we discussed it anyway. The women of my book club are varying ages. They are well-read, well-thought, compassionate and generous women. Their combined wisdom is inspiring. It was interesting to me to hear their take on a book and movie that somehow managed to grab the attention of nearly an entire generation of teenagers.

In the dark theater that night an entire society was playing out. When teenagers gather it is a social system rivaled by....nothing. There were the quiet ones, invisible to the rest, sitting, waiting for the movie to start. There were the ones secure in their popularity, laughing, texting, moving around the theater while the kids that wanted to be near them, moved along too. Were they all happy to be there? I think so. Were they all feeling secure and accepted? Not a chance.

The women of my book club, for the most part, felt "The Hunger Games" was too violent. The violence is not the book. It is a genre of reading I generally avoid. I started reading this series based on a recommendation from my adult nieces. They are widely read and know me well. They assured me I would not be able to put this book down. They were right. I choose to accept the violence in order to feel the story.

 When I was a kid, we moved several times. I learned to adapt. I was the new kid in school in sixth grade and again in ninth grade. I went to small schools where I knew everyone, I went to large schools where I was invisible. I wasn't bullied, I always had friends. I wasn't the most popular but I was on the wild edge of the popular crowd. I hated High School.

My husband Marty, lived in the same small town his entire life. He was part of a large farming community where three or four family names were prevalent and he and most of his friends came from those families. He didn't have to learn to adapt. He was accepted because of his last name. He would tell you, High School was hard.

When our kids were in school we moved..twice. They started out as my husband did from a community where they knew everyone and then they had to learn to adapt. They were four very separate personalities and I think they would all say different things about those years, the one thing they would agree on. High School was hard.

High school is entering hostile territory. Everyday you must show up, it is literally the law. Unlike a job, you don't care for..you have no choice. It is preparation for the society you will live in for the rest of your life. It is filled with the same players, the same social situations, the same successes and failures that you will face as an adult. The difference is, you have no experience with it. You also have no choice. You must learn the rules and they change everyday. It is in High School that you learn, who you are and what you stand for.

It is an Education Philosophy that there is zero tolerance for bullying, yet I would guess that almost all kids would tell you that isn't true. It isn't true for school because it isn't true for the real world. Bullies are alive and well and they are everywhere.
The book "The Hunger Games", and the 2 books that follow are full of physical violence but I don't think that is why the kids embrace them. I think they embrace them for the three main characters. Katniss, Gale and Peeta.These kids live in hostile territory, they have learned who they are and what they stand for. They care well for the people they love and they do what they must to survive. They intentionally hurt no one. The world is full of terrible role-models. They make the news every single day. If these three fictional characters can grab the attention of millions of teenagers, there is a chance for a subtle change. We must all know who we are, but more importantly we must know what we stand for.

Then there is this: For Mike, school was a nightmare. The bad days far outweighed the good.He cared well for the people he loved, he did what he had to to survive, he intentionally hurt no one. By the time Mike reached High School, he had it down. He knew who he was and what he stood for, he just needed to put in the time and get on to his dreams. When he left the closed society of High School, when he no longer felt that he had to try to conform, he was free to be who he wanted to be. The guy he had  spent the last 13 years getting to know. He went to college and started to lay-down his own trail. When he graduated and accepted his first full-time job, he was driving a black Nissan pick-up that he called the POS. It had no reverse. The job he accepted was in Idaho. When people said "how are you going to get all the way to Idaho in that thing", he said "I just won't back up". He found that what was important was being true to yourself. He embraced his non-conformity and in doing so he began a life of honoring...himself. Mike drove his life in forward. He never backed up.

This is what I know: There is physical violence and then there are words that can destroy you like no physical act can. Cuts, scrapes and broken bones heal, words leave scars that last a lifetime. High school is hard,  Adult life is hard. You must know who you are. When Mike died, we were surrounded by community. We felt the love that comes from living in an area for 30 years and calling it home. Three years later when our youngest daughter divorced we found ourselves in hostile territory. Some of the same people that had embraced us when we lost Mike, turned on us when Heidi left. In the short span of three years our family was in the public eye for two very different reasons. We had left the house we raised our family in and moved to the home Mike owned. In doing so we put ourselves deep in the bull-pen of the opposing team. For the first time since I was in High School, I remembered what it felt like to not fit in. The rules had changed and I spent everyday trying to remember who I am and what I stand for.  Unlike High School, we don't have to stay. Marty and I have had many conversations about the future. This is what I know:
This is home.
 A line from a favorite song of mine"where you walk the streets and think you're home..but mostly your alone. This is home." I know who I am, I know what I stand for.
Last week, I had my grand-son late in the afternoon while his Mom was working. When it came time to give him a ride home, I buckled him into his booster and handed him "Dot" the GPS. He loves this thing and treats it like a Ipod touch. He changes the maps, runs through the menu and listens when "Dot tells him we are "recalculating". He keeps an open atlas on his lap in case "Dot" fails to tell us where we are going. I got in the front and was buckling my own seat belt. Nolan turned "Dot" on and then he said this "Nannie I looked at this thing and it says, we are right where we are supposed to be".
I'm gonna take that as a sign.

The cliche' "What doesn't kill you only makes you stronger" needs to go away. It is generally said by someone as a way of consoling someone in deep pain, but the truth is, sometimes what doesn't kill you, can.



Make no mistake, the book "Hunger Games" really isn't about "the games" at all. We need to live our lives in forward. Don't sit in nuetral, don't back-up.
There is no doubt that teenagers need good role-models, Adults may need them more.

till next time.

Saving Grace

The dog that saved me.

Yesterday I ran to town to run a few errands. It was snowing pretty good when I left, adding a cover to the only snow we have gotten all season. I finished up and started towards home. When I turned off the highway to head out into the country, there was a guy standing on the road watching down the bike trail. He waved me through the intersection which I thought was odd, all I had seen coming down the highway was snowmobiles. In this part of the state that is a daily and common sight not usually worthy of a manned intersection. I glanced to my right and saw what he was waiting for. A musher was coming at an easy clip, nine beautiful athletes stretched out in front of him. I pulled off the road and so did the young man coming from the other direction, we watched as they made their way through town. The depth of my feelings surprised me. I was transported back to when dogs and mushing was a big part of my life. I was that person, manning intersections, handing fresh water bottles and watching as the team pulled away. I cried the whole way home.

As my brother Steve and I drove across Texas, we talked...alot. I asked him if he thought he could name all the dogs he has had in his life. When you own a kennel of dogs, when you have raced for over 25 years, you have seen many friends come and go. We ate up the miles of Texas freeway, bringing as many of them back as we could. Not only did we try to name all of his dogs, we tried to name all of Mikes. It started us on an odessey of memories. Which ones could lead, which ones wanted to fight, which ones came from Alaska, the Minnesota kennels we knew. Stories from the days when it was all about...the dogs. Dogs I found were like people you work with. They had their personalities, their quirks, some of them came ready for the job everyday and some just wanted to hang around the water-cooler of life. I didn't know in the days when the yard was full of dog houses, dog trucks, sleds and harnesses that one day there would be a dog that would save my life.

Marty and I went a few years after the kids left home without having a dog. We had buried the last two remaining friends and I was ready I thought to be dog-free for the first time in our married lives. It didn't take long tho for the urge to have a running partner re-surface. Although Marty likes dogs and helps me care for the ones that we had, I am the "dog person". I started visiting the dog shelter looking for the one that needed me. The shelter was a 40 minute drive from my house and after the 3rd visit there, coming home empty I was starting to give up. The 4th visit, I walked through the yard, the shelter operator was with me. I looked at all the dogs I had seen the first 3 times and the ones that came since. I said "no" and started walking towards my car. Off to my left, a big white coon-hound came out of a dog-house and just stood and stared at me. I asked the operator about her and she said "you don't want her. She is the longest dog we have had at the shelter. She was adopted once and returned." They called her "Daisy", she was 8 years old. Six of those she lived at the kennel. I brought her home.

Then there is this: When Mike died, I abandoned everyone and everything. The dog Daisy, who we re-named Lady had been with us for several years. I left her. I left her in a kennel at the house we owned and relied on everyone else to go home and feed her. For three years, she had run with me everyday. I had fed her, talked to her, built the trust that she felt for the first time in her dog life. She was my friend, she trusted me. When we made the decision to move to Mike's house, Marty went home and brought Lady to me. I let her out of her kennel everyday by opening the door and walking away. I didn't talk to her, I didn't walk her. I wandered around this 80 acres and she followed right behind me. When I stopped, she ran into me. She didn't ask me for a darn thing except to just be. I read all the grief books I could get my hands on. I was convinced that one of them would tell me how to do this. What I really wanted them to tell me was how to fix this. How to bring Mike back. I tried to  put into words what I felt, what I needed, but for the deepest of grief, there are no words. The deepest of grief is a sound. A sound that Lady could hear. When the day came that I could walk no more it was Lady who held me up. I leaned over and fell into her neck. I held on to her fur with everything I was, I cried the tears of the broken, she planted her feet, starred off to the west and stood there. I soaked her fur and tried to let go of the sound that was killing me, Lady leaned into me and did her best to take the pain I couldn't carry.

This is what I know: Grief scares people. It even scares the grieving. I have a friend who is a nurse, she said when there has been an accident and death is brought to the hospital, the staff is told the families grief must be contained. I sought out help in the form of a doctor that specialized in physical, mental and spiritual health. When I told her I was broken she said "I lost a brother when I was in med school, my parents were never the same". We celebrate like crazy the beginning of life and we run like hell from death. In 2010, Lady was dying. Her hearing had failed, her eye-sight was shot. She had tumors over much of her body. She had lost most of her teeth and when the grand-kids said "she stinks", they were being kind. Everyday I prayed that when I came outside she would be dead. I put Lady in the back of my Rendevous and went to the Vet. He came out of the clinic along with the Vet tech and gave Lady the medicine that would stop her full heart. The last thing I whispered to her was "go find Mike" but the truth as I know it  is Mike came and found her. I brought Her home and Marty buried her, deep in the earth where she saved a life.

This past weekend Marty and I burned a huge brush pile on the back of the property. Last night it was still a 10 foot bed of hot coals. I am using some of Mikes clothes to make quilts for his sisters but I had two large boxes of socks, underwear and t-shirt scraps that it is time to let go of. I loaded it all and carried it to the fire. To say that it is hard to do this is an understatment.  I placed the items on the fire under a nearly full moon. Standing next to me was our current dog Molly, a 50 pound somewhat overweight Bassett Hound that I rescued from a breeding kennel in the Dakotas. I looked down and Molly was holding a pair of Mike's rolled up socks in her mouth. I popped the top on a can of High Life and Molly and I stood watch over the fire.

I have owned many dogs. I have been needed by them all. At the end of the day my life was saved by a dog that nobody wanted. I can't even tell you how grateful I am.

till next time.

Waltzin Across Texas

The rock we stand on.

For 10 days in late February I traveled roughly 3,000 miles with three people I would take a bullet for. This trip was months in the planning, when four 50 somethings decide to take 10 days off from reality there is alot of planning involved. In the months leading up to the date of departure, appointments had to be canceled or re-scheduled, time off from work had to be arranged, grandchildren had to be born and cowboy boots had to be purchased. This is a group I have traveled with in the past. We have seen the Badlands together. We have been to Mount Rushmore. We have threatened to throw each other in the sulfer pools in Yellowstone and we have camped in the mountains of Idaho. The last time tho as near as we can figure was 1968.

Flash forward to 2012. My folks "winter camp" in southern Texas. For three months each year they are "Winter Texans". They re-aquaint with friends from all over the country in an RV park down south. This winter, my two sisters and one of my brothers cleared our schedules and decided to go and see what they were up to. We spent 4 days in their world. We arrived at a place that felt like home. For 4 days we were welcomed like family, hugged by strangers and felt completely accepted by some very cool people. The generation we spent time with has been around along time. They have seen good things and they have survived bad things. They live in a world they never saw coming and they do it with style. Computers, cell phones, dvd players, computerized gas pumps, they take it all in stride. They come from many backgrounds, many career paths, they have raised children and grand-children, they have buried children and grand-children, they have held on to  marriage and to life as hard as they can. They paint, they carve, they read, they play mean hands of cards. They dance, they laugh, they plan. They never give up.

My sisters and brother and I could have flown to Texas. People asked why we didn't. Although flying would have been faster, that was never what this trip was about. This trip was about belonging. These are the people I belong to. We grew up together and never let go. We took off from Minnesota on a dark Monday morning and returned on a dark Wednesday night. In 10 days this is what I learned.

1. I know nothing about music.
2. You can't get through Kansas without some kind of bad weather.
3. Iowa is the state of historic smokestacks and silos. I saw neither.
4. If you want to see how to do a memorial right. Visit Oklahoma City.
5. Texas is big.
6. The Texas 2-step is best taught by an 80 year old. Thanks Bill.
7. I make a mean Bloody Mary. I never intend to stop perfecting my recipe.
8. In 3 states you can go from jeans to shorts.
9. You can drive in silence for miles and only feel peace.
10. Gratitude.

Then there is this:  On the last night we were in the park, it was western night. The main hall was decorated in high style. Everyone came in their "Cowboy Finest". The band was made up of musicians from the park and an elegant couple that came to "make up the band". We ate, we danced. At one point I looked across the dance floor and roughly 50 men and women including my sisters, my Mom and I were all line dancing together. The final song of the night was a song I played over and over at my Grandmas when I was a child. It was a Marty Robbins tune called "You gave me a Mountain this time". When I was a child I never knew that someday, God, would give me a mountain.  It was the perfect song at the end of the night. I walked across the floor and asked the man who five years ago I layed my head on his chest and broke into a million pieces, to dance.  I took my Dad's hand as the steel guitar played"This time, you gave me a mountain. A mountain I may never climb. It isn't a hill any longer, you gave me a mountain this time."

This is what I know: There is a Johnny Cash song done with Dave Matthews Band called "For You". The lyrics are "The 1st one in...the last one gone. I'll be the rock to stand upon". This park was full of those people. The 1st ones in...the last ones gone. If you want to lead...it must be who you are. My Mom and Dad have layed down the lessons well...they have always been the 1st ones in, the last ones gone. They are the rock we stand upon. In 3000 miles and 10 days the biggest lesson I learned about my sisters and my brother is that we are those people too. I spent 10 days with my past, my present and God willing, my future. It just does'nt get any better than that.

till next time.

Terri

This past weekend marked the 12th year my husband hosted a "poker weekend" for the guys. My husband is one of 8 boys, he has 4 brothers-in-law and 23 or so nephews.  For the past 12 years the guys have chosen a weekend and gathered together. Roughly seven years ago the first weekend in February became the dedicated date. It was a weekend I was out of town , the guys had the place to themselves. Not everyone can always make it but the "old guys" almost always show and  each year new faces arrive. The nephews have grown up and become men. They are joined each year by my youngest brother, my son-in-laws and their friends. The past five poker weekends, my father-in-law was also here. On a scale of 1-10, this weekend for Mike was a 12. When he lived at home he and his Dad hosted it together. When Mike bought his own home, he hosted it here. Nothing is planned, no food requests are made, there is no start time and no finish time. These are the rules. Clear your schedule and show up. The name of the weekend is "Poker weekend" but cards are the smallest part  of the time spent.
My husbands brothers like to laugh. They are story tellers, romancers,  beer drinking buddies and friends. They have a deep and personal relationship with each other that bridges time, obligations, responsibilities and deep pain. If you were to ask them they wouldn't be able to tell you how and why this gathering started..but Marty could.

Twelve years ago my husband stood in the back of a Catholic Church in Belle Plaine and grew up. Marty's sister Terri had lost her battle with cancer. She was only 43. Terri is the mother of 14 children. She is my husbands younger sister by a year. She was my husbands friend, playmate and the first female in the family. He loved her..deeply. Terri fought her cancer for many years and the end was slow and yet too fast in coming. I think Marty thought he was prepared to say good-bye. We showed up at the church, we were surrounded by his family, we stood with our children and waited our turn to walk to the front. At the last pew, Marty turned to me and came undone. He didn't realize how final death is, none of us did. Since I was 15 I watched this family interact. They were like all siblings, they thought they were invincible. On that day we all realized. We aren't. Marty made a vow that day and for 13 years he broke the vow only one time.  He vowed that at least once each year he would gather his brothers together in Terri's name. Poker night is Terri's night.

Then there is this: In 2007 there was no poker weekend. Mike died and for a time everything we were died too. By 2008 a new vow had taken shape. Marty would hold poker weekend again because to not hold it would have disappointed Mike. The same rule applied....Clear your schedule and show up. There was one other major change that year. Marty's Dad was invited too. Marty's Dad was like many men of his generation. He was a farmer, a hard worker and a man of few words. He was not prone to acts of affection, there was a definite line in his mind about men's work and women's work and the two did not cross. He set very few rules and the only one that mattered was no matter where you were or what time you got home ,you had better be milking cows at 5am. Marty's Dad never personally made a phone call. If he wanted someone called he told Marty's Mom to do it.

This is what I know: When Terri died, Marty's Dad was still the man I first met. He grieved quietly and privately. When Mike died, Marty's Dad grieved openly and without reserve. The first phone call we ever received directly from him came in those first early days of December when he left a message on the answering machine asking that we take his cemetery plot in the small rural cemetery where he built his life to bury our beloved Mike. His voice on the machine is so broken and so raw, I unplugged the machine from the wall and packed it away.
Marty will continue to have Poker weekend until the day he dies. It will always be Terri's weekend and it will always be hosted by Marty and Mike. Marty's Dad came this year as he has every year since Mike died. He is showing the signs of a long life. There is forgetfulness and disorientation, but he still comes.
Family get togethers, family re-unions, moments that we gather, they aren't always so much for those of us that are here as they are for those of us who are gone.

My sister-in-law
Isn't she lovely

In a few weeks I am going to Texas to see my folks. I am not going because I need too or have too. I am going because I can.  Somewhere in the future I will want to see them and it won't matter who I know, or how much money I could pay, the opportunity will be lost. I want this memory. I need this memory.
Terri left a huge family legacy. She is the mother of 14 children. Adults she would be so very proud of. She is the sister of 11. They will never forget. Marty is going to see to it.
There is a line from a country song "it's not what you take when you leave this world behind you, it's what you leave behind you when you go."

till next time

going "off track"



   The book club selection for my book club was chosen this month by me. Two years ago I read this book. This past weekend, I read it again. I cried then and I cried now but for different reasons. 
So often at book club we read out loud passages from the book that stood out for us.

Book Club selection 

This book for me is full of them but Chapter 54 in it's entirety is the reason I picked this book.

Chapter 54"The Art of Racing in the Rain" by Garth Stein
"A driver must have faith. In his talent, his judgement, the judgement of those around him, physics. A driver must have faith in his crew, his car, his tires, his brakes, himself.
The apex sets up wrong. He is forced off his usual line. He carries too much speed. His tires have lost grip. The track has gotten greasy. And he suddenly finds himself at turn exit with no more track and too much speed. As the gravel trap rushes at him, the driver must make decisions that will impact his race, his future. To tuck in would be devastating: wrenching the front wheels against their nature will only spin the car.To lift is equally bad,taking grip away from the rear of the car. What is to be done? The driver must accept his fate. He must accept the fact that mistakes have been made. Misjudgements. Poor decisions. A confluence of circumstances has landed him in this position. A driver must accept it all and be willing to pay the price for it. He must go off-track.
To dump two wheels. Even four. It's an awful feeling, both as a driver and as a competitor. The gravel that kicks up against the undercarriage. The feeling of swimming in muck. While his wheels are off the track, other drivers are passing him. They are taking his spot, continuing at speed. Only he is slowing down.
At this moment, a driver feels a tremendous crisis. He must get back on the gas. He must get back on the track.
Oh! The folly
Consider the drivers who have been taken out of races by snapping their steering wheels, by over correcting to extremes and spinning their cars in front of their competitors. A terrible position to find oneself in-
A winner, a champion, will accept his fate. He will continue with his wheels in the dirt. He will do his best to maintain his line and gradually get himself back on the track when it is safe to do so. Yes, he loses a few places in the race. He is still alive.
The race is long. It is better to drive within oneself and finish the race behind the others than it is to drive too hard and crash."

And then there is this:
My brother Steve has been part of the "sled dog world" for a lifetime. He was the biggest mentor and supporter for Mike when he started training and racing at age14. Steve spent hours talking to Mike about dogs, supplies, feed, training schedules, vet care and race stradegy. He spent hours training with Mike, showing him how to harness and hook-up. How to correctly ride the sled, balance his weight and take a fall. Mike listened and he learned. My brother Steve is a very non-assuming and humble guy. He maintains composure and can ride the hard-line. He taught Mike that sometimes you gotta go "off-track". Mike learned the lesson well. When sled-dogs are harnessed and ready to run, they are so loud and so excited it is not an understatement to say you can't be heard over the noise. The speed with which they start out is amazing and all mushers will tell you, they don't want a turn "with no track and too much speed".

 One memorable training run came when Steve was at our house and wanted to run two teams out of his truck. Mike was to take Team 1 and Steve would follow with team 2. Steve's dogs are competitors and winners, that translates to very fast. They hooked up in the yard and in about 500 feet had to take a sharp turn to the right. Mike had 8 screaming, excited dogs when he pulled his line. At the turn Mike kicked the sled out to avoid hitting the power-pole and in doing so the sled and Mike went over on their side. Steve and I stood at the end of the driveway and watched as 8 screaming dogs never looked back. I remember feeling so horrified as Mike dragged behind the sled but I most remember Steve standing next to me saying under his breath, "hang on, you got this". Mike dragged a quarter mile and never let go. He went "off-track", "he accepted that a confluence of circumstances had landed him in this position, he accepted it and paid the price." Mike timed his move and in the blink of an eye, he popped the sled back on it's tracks, he was down...and then he was up. Steve said "that's the way it's done", he pulled his own rope and sailed off down the road behind Mike.

This is what I know:
Chapter 54 is a metaphor for strength. It is a metaphor for grief. Going "off-track" is to enter the unknown. In one split second of losing someone you love, you dump all "four wheels". At that moment you are in "the dirt", you must do your best to maintain your line and get back on track when it is safe to do so. Don't tuck, don't wrench, don't lift. You are at a turn exit with no more track and too much speed. Accept that this is where you are and be willing to pay the price.

For the past five years I have been "off-track". I was crawling through a rock. That is literally what it felt like. It was that dark, it was that dense. I had lost all light. In early December while driving into town, something happened that I have read about but never felt. Something inside me literally broke open. I was flooded with a feeling of hope, a feeling of peace. I had kicked the sled upright and was standing on the runners again. Everyday for five years I could hear Mike saying "hold on, you've got this" but on that day I could hear Mike say as he turned to walk away, "that's the way it's done".
"The race is long. It is better to drive within oneself and finish the race behind the others than it is to drive too hard and crash."


till next time

Hitting the road

Retail Therapy...Tossed and Found Style

This week I used the excuse that the "Bug Car" needed service and I hit the road. Here's the thing about managing your own time without punching a time clock. There is still a feeling of "I should be doing something else" whenever you want to roam. I loaded up early for my 9am appointment, I had a 2 hour drive ahead.  By 9:30 I was done and the day lay stretched out ahead of me. The weather was late April in January, I had my "hit the road CD" playing, a feeling of Ferris Bueller day off.
One of my favorite areas of this state is the North Central Lakes area. I spent alot of time here as a child, I live here as an adult. You can easily find the road less traveled. I made a large circle that afternoon. I stopped when I felt like it, drove past places that mean the world to me, sang along to the radio and spent time talking about nothing with perfect strangers. The photo above is an idea I copied from my sister. Whenever she shops at Tossed and Found she photographs her finds. This little thrift store is among the best I have ever seen. On this day it did not disappoint. After checking in on the Lake place, I continued on and finished the day in McGregor.If you have never been to this town, put it on your list. This small town has become a favorite of mine over the past 12 years or so. It is a small town filled with hardworking people. It boasts friendliness mixed with unexpected big city finds. The McGregor Baking Company is located here, the pastries, sandwiches and soups are not rivaled anywhere as far as taste and presentation. There is one of the best Dairy Queens ever in this town. It employs friendly hard-working teenagers that always seem to be giving it their all. Mark's Bar calls McGregor home and for broasted chicken, hamburgers and tap beer you simply can't do better. If fine dining is your thing, the Fireside is a McGregor landmark. Shopping takes many forms but do not miss "The Country House" gift store or "Molly's". These two establishments fall into completely separate categories, both are unique treasures. My last stop is always to see Diane at Timeless Treasures Quilt Shop. Diane is a friend from the quilt shop days. She is loyal, talented and always in your corner. There is no one that hugs like she does.

And then there is this: McGregor has a grocery store that could fit into some of the large chains 3 or 4 times over. What it lacks in size it makes up for in everything else. I have never been there that it wasn't full of shoppers and I have never left without trying something new. Last fall I stopped in there on my way home from"Girl's weekend". I picked up what I needed and headed to the checkout. I pulled out my checkbook and realized I had written my last check somewhere over the past weekend. This small town store does not take cards and because I finished "girls weekend" like you are supposed too, I had very little cash. This lack of payment form played out very fast, there were shoppers behind me and all the tills were staffed by teenagers. When I realized I was short by roughly $2, embarrassment set in. The young teenager bagging my groceries never paused, he took out his wallet and he said "I've got this".

This is what I know: When I was working, high school kids were my day. I can't tell you how I loved that job. I know I learned as much about life from them as they thought they were learning from me. I remember thinking at conference time I should sit in the hall and thank their parents that I got to spend the day with their kids. They were well thought, intelligent, funny and deeply feeling people. Were there times they weren't that? yes...but they were kids, they were supposed to be figuring that out.
My brother is a career police officer. His life has been about dealing with the teenagers that have gone underground. We used to have discussions about the future based on the kids we dealt with daily. He always felt the world was in trouble, I always felt we couldn't go wrong.  I didn't let the grocery bagger pay for my shortfall in hindsight that may have been wrong. He saw an opportunity to step up...and he took it. The world is hard and many teenagers have lost there way but the future is secure. There is a teenager in McGregor that is seeing to it.

Till next time.

Let the story begin

Most of my life my friends and family have told me they like what I write. They say.."write more". So I did. I wrote letters to my Grandmother when my Grandpa died and she got lost in this world. I wrote letters to my Son as he traveled the west chasing dreams. I have written love letters to my husband, my children, my grand-children and my friends. I wrote poetry and short stories. I became confident, the words flowed easily, I simply wrote the words I saw in my head , the words I felt so deeply in my heart. Five years ago everything I thought I knew disappeared. The words in my head went to black, there were days I needed them... bad, but they were gone, I could no longer see them and what I felt was too black and too personal to be written.
When your child dies, the world goes black. People care, they light candles for you everywhere in the hope that you will find your way back. Back.... not to who you were because they are not who they were..but back nonetheless. Mike had a posse...people he may have never known would ride on his behalf. But, ride they have. So much of what I will write is for Mike,  it certainly is for me and I dedicate all of it to the "posse", you know who you are.

And then there is this: I have spent the first four days of the New Year as so many have. Cleaning, sorting and throwing. I am organized to a T, but throwing comes hard. If there is any emotional attachment, family connection or memory associated with an item, I can find a place to put it  back. We live in Mikes house. Everything here is a memory. Everything is an attachment. For five years I have only randomly looked through Mike's papers, his letters, the things he held on to. Even in death, privacy is there. Yesterday, in a box marked "sled dog stuff" I came across Mike's training journal. It is a notebook filled with pages of times, miles, snow conditions and stories. Mike simply loved this sport. He trained, he raced, he read constantly, he fed and watered dogs twice a day for almost 10 years.

This is what I know: Mike threw himself into a sport of competition and never once became competitive. His journal entry dated December 27/1991 ends with him writing an excerpt from a poem written by two women that Mike idolized in the sport. "The trapline twins"
"a feeling of wild joy and gratefulness filled me, more a thought than a whisper. This is just as it should be, the wind, the stars and the dogs and me."
It is where Mike was then and it is where he is now.

till next time.