A seasonal bulletin board at Fourth Avenue United Methodist Church, Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2023)
WHEREVER YOU ARE on Thanksgiving, whomever you celebrate with, or don’t, I hope your day overflows with gratitude.
A full view of that festive church bulletin board. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2023)
Thursday marks a day to reflect. We all have reasons to give thanks, ranging from the material to the more important non-material. Family tops that list for me. There’s nothing better than to be with those we love most. This year that will include all in my immediate family except my son, who flies back to Minnesota from Boston in mid-December for a holiday stay. Unfortunately his sister and her husband, who are coming for Thanksgiving, won’t be here at Christmas. I haven’t seen any of them in a year and I miss them so much my heart hurts.
But, if I’ve learned anything through these empty-nester years, it’s that I need to savor the times I do have with my adult children rather than bemoan the holidays without them. I feel thankful to have at least one of my three—the eldest daughter, her husband and my grandchildren—still living in Minnesota.
We will gather around the table on Thanksgiving, ever grateful for each other.
I created this displayin a stoneware bowl on a previous Thanksgiving. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
Likewise, I am grateful for you, my readers. I’ve felt the love this year through my difficult health struggles. In all the chaos in this world, goodness remains. Strong. Bold. Shining. And for that I have every reason to feel thankful.
THE IMPORTANCE OF CONNECTING annually as an extended family remains a high priority for the descendants of Tom and Betty Helbling. This past weekend 52 of us from four states gathered at a central Minnesota lake home. We laughed. We talked. We shared memories and made new ones. We played. We ate together under two screened tents, some people spilling to tables outside. And it was wonderful. Absolutely wonderful.
I was determined, even with my ongoing health challenges, to make the 3.5-hour trip so I could be with Randy’s family—the sisters, the brothers-in-law, nieces, nephews, great nieces and nephews. Some were missing, like the brothers from Michigan, North Dakota and Missouri and their spouses, a niece and nephews, and two of my adult children living in southeastern Wisconsin and Boston. It’s a given that not everyone can make it every year to the mid-August gathering.
It takes a lot of inflatables and other water toys for all the kids at the Helbling family reunion. The loon floatie, purchased as part of a fundraiser for the soon-to-be National Loon Center in Crosslake, was a big hit. The loon is Minnesota’s state bird. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo August 2023)
BEYOND CONVERSATIONS
But for those of us who can attend, it’s always a good time. We do more than simply visit, although that’s certainly important. We also engage in activities that get us up and moving and interacting. There’s the annual corn hole tournament and BINGO for all ages. Even the adults participate, coveting jars of homemade salsa, jams, jellies and honey from the farm. Randy brought home his sister Cheryl’s cherry jelly. Kids delight in winning sidewalk chalk, markers, craft kits and more. No kid leaves without a prize. Most adults don’t either.
The younger kids, nearly 20 strong, packed so much into the reunion days. Swimming. Playing on the beach. Fishing from the dock. Riding bikes around the circle drive. Five-year-old cousins Autumn and Amaris even performed on a pedal-less tricycle of sorts, attempting three spins before a wildly cheering audience.
Horseshoe Lake, beach and dock, pre-reunion. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo July 2023)
WATER-BASED FUN
Boat rides given by my niece Lindsey’s husband, Brent, proved wildly popular with the kids. The young father of three with a fourth due in November was busy, and likely worn out, from all those trips across and around the lake. My granddaughter Isabelle, 7, declared the boat rides “awesome.” Why? “We went really fast,” she explained. Ah, yes, speed. All kids were accounted for when the boat docked.
The water theme continued on land with a water balloon fight in the afternoon. Izzy hesitated, until I suggested she join the younger kids and avoid the older boys who threw with determined force. Eventually adults were caught in the crossfire, even hostess Rosie who had gone to a balcony to photograph the chaos below. And then Katie targeted her cousin Jonathan, who ended up with a bucket of water dumped over his head, just as he handed off his cellphone. What memories…
A section of a tri-fold family photo board. That’s Miranda in the middle photo looking up. Her grandma is right above her in a 1970 photo, which I adore and had never seen. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo August 2023)
PHOTOS AND STORIES
Randy’s oldest sister, Annette, put together a photo board. My great nieces Katherine and Sierra studied the images, trying to determine identities. “I can’t believe that’s my mom,” Katherine said of a baby photo of her mom, Jocelyn. Likewise Sierra struggled to believe a long-haired young woman was her grandma, Cheryl. Even I, and I almost hate to admit this, didn’t recognize my own daughter initially. I looked at a photo of a toddler and thought, “she looks familiar.” Well, of course, my brain reacted in a delayed response, “that’s your daughter Miranda.”
I also learned something about Miranda after paging through journal entries from an annual Helbling aunts and cousins get together that spanned from 1996-2008. Miranda penned a note about alternative casino plans with cousins Lindsey and Katie with one adding a postscript about going clubbing. What fun those teens must have had writing that message. I laughed, then photographed the note to text to Miranda in Wisconsin.
Tom and Betty Helbling in 1988.
HONORING BETTY
This is all the stuff of memories. This journal kept through the years. The treasured family photos. The conversations and family updates shared after lunch. The games and boat rides and water balloon fight and BINGO and free play. And then the jigsaw puzzle exchange, honoring matriarch Betty, lover of jigsaw puzzles and gone nearly 30 years already (way too soon at age 59). I love the Helbling family, which I’ve been part of for 41 years now. I cherish their love and support. And I cherish our time together at the annual family reunion.
We played with BINGO cards similar to these at Preschool BINGO Night. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo July 2016)
I COLLECTED MY CARD, then settled onto a chair around the large round table, eldest daughter and son-in-law to my left, granddaughter, grandson and husband to the right. An instruction sheet and popcorn heaped in paper boats were already on the table. Centering the tabletop were orange, white and green tissue paper flowers, green beads and more, remnants from St. Patrick’s Day only days prior.
This was a much-anticipated evening for families packing a massive room at a Lutheran church in a south metro suburb. This was BINGO Night at Isaac’s preschool, an event Randy and I were delighted to attend. Isaac, 4, and his big sister, Isabelle, 6, like to play BINGO when they stay overnight with us.
But this preschool BINGO is not your grandma’s BINGO, I soon discovered. The game we play in our dining room involves balls rolling, rattling in a cage. The game we play in our home also involves placing physical markers on BINGO squares. And the BINGO we play on our dining room table offers coinage as prizes, not toys filling a prize table.
I could see the kids’ excitement when they eyed the loot laid out before them. Izzy focused on plastic dinosaurs. And Isaac, well, I expected he wanted something with which he could create. The desire to win ran strong. The pressure was on for two winning games, minimum, at our table.
The type of BINGO set-up we use at home. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2011)
And then the games began, not with the rattling of balls spun in a metal cage, but rather with a teacher announcing numbers popping onto a computer and then projected onto overhead screens. This was high-tech BINGO. And this grandma was amazed. The game moved at a faster pace than rotating a cage and pulling balls.
I appreciated the absence of distracting noise that accompanies the manual way of playing BINGO. I still struggled to hear, though. I’m deaf in my right ear, the result of sudden sensory hearing loss in 2011. That affects my overall hearing and processing of speech and conversation. Thankfully, my daughter patiently repeated numbers when needed or I turned to the screen behind my back to view the too-small numbers. (And, no, a hearing aid will not help with this type of hearing loss; I would have one if it did.)
I won first place in a contest for this photo of BINGO callers at the July Fourth 2013 celebration in North Morristown, rural Minnesota through and through. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo July 2013)
Two games in, Grandpa scored a BINGO on the cards with pull-across, see-through red squares to cover numbers. I joked initially that I needed corn kernels to play. When I attended the annual American Legion BINGO Night while growing up in rural southwestern Minnesota, I covered squares with kernels of corn. Totally appropriate and accessible in farm country. But we were not in rural Minnesota and this was six decades later. There was not a kernel of corn to be found.
Upon Grandpa’s BINGO win, he and Isaac scooted to the prize table. As I predicted, our grandson chose an art-related prize—a mini painting book. I could see Izzy coveting her brother’s prize, anxious to claim a dinosaur.
BINGO is popular in Minnesota, including at the Rice County Fair in Faribault. This photo was taken in the off-season. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo April 2021)
Game after game after game we played with no winners at our table, but everywhere else. Isaac soon tired of playing and Grandpa grabbed his card. Yes, playing more than one card was allowed. At one point I joked that Isaac should have hacked into the computer while at preschool earlier that day and rigged the games.
Izzy won a dinosaur similar to this one from our basement toybox. Hers was new and not worn. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2023)
Finally, the dad won and Marc and Izzy raced to get a prize. All the while I was repeating silently, “Please let there be a dinosaur still on the table. Please, please, please.” The first grader returned clutching a dinosaur, broad smile lighting her face. I breathed a sigh of relief and gratitude that Izzy got a dinosaur, one of three still on that prize table.
About 1.5 hours in, we were down to the last game, a BINGO cover-all. As the game progressed, Izzy was getting more and more excited. She had one number left to cover. I could feel, see and hear her anticipation, her mind likely focused on grabbing a second dinosaur. But she didn’t win and then the tears came. And Grandma tried to work her grandma magic. “Look at how lucky you were to get that dinosaur!” And so on and so forth until her dad said, as we were walking across the parking lot, that he really won the dinosaur and he would be taking it to work. Marc roared and joked until all of us were laughing, even the previously-disappointed dinosaur-loving six-year-old.
WHEN MY ELDEST DAUGHTER asked me to bake Chocolate Crazy Cake iced with peanut butter frosting for her upcoming birthday celebration, I was delighted. I’d offered to make her birthday treat, but expected Amber to choose a simplified version of cheesecake or Chocolate Tofu Pie. So when she picked Crazy Cake, I was nostalgically surprised. This is the recipe my mom used for my birthday cakes when I was growing up. And it is the same recipe I used when baking cakes for my three kids.
Although Amber never asked me to craft the cake into a shape like a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle, snowman or Garfield the cat as I did when she was a child, I considered it. In the end, I’m going with a basic rectangular frosted cake. Maybe I’ll add sprinkles for the grandkids.
For his eighth birthday, Caleb’s sisters created a PEEF cake for their brother. PEEF is a fictional bear featured in books written and illustrated by Minnesotans Tom Hegg and Warren Hanson. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
February brings not only Amber’s birthday, but also that of her brother, just one day shy of eight years younger than her. Their sister, sandwiched between, is 21 months younger than Amber. Yes, I was a busy mom. I baked a lot of Chocolate Crazy Cake birthday cakes through the years, cutting them into designs typically fitting the birthday child’s interests.
A blogger friend gifted me with a copy of the cake design booklet my mom used when crafting birthday cakes. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
My mom used the Baker’s Coconut Animal Cut-Up Cake booklet as her guide to creating animal-shaped cakes for me and my five siblings. Her handcrafted designs defined our birthdays because we didn’t receive gifts. Finances didn’t allow and the adage of you can’t miss what you never had certainly applies. My kids got gifts along with personalized homemade cakes. If I were to ask them, they would likely remember the cakes I made and not the gifts received.
Birthdays always cause me to feel reflective as in how the heck are my kids already adults and x number of years old? It seems like only yesterday that I was planning birthday parties with their classmates, mixing up Chocolate Crazy Cake and lighting candles.
And now here I am, looking through my stash of church cookbooks for a cherished cake recipe. I’m feeling all nostalgic, wishing there was a way to ship a Chocolate Crazy Cake birthday cake to Caleb in Indiana.
Chocolate Crazy Cake*
3 cups flour
½ cup powdered cocoa
2 cups sugar
1 teaspoon salt
2 teaspoons baking soda
2 cups cold water
¾ cup vegetable oil
2 Tablespoons vinegar
1 teaspoon vanilla
Stir the dry ingredients together in a large bowl. Then add the liquids and mix. Pour into a 9 x 13-inch cake pan and bake for 30-40 minutes at 350 degrees.
#
Recipe source: The Cook’s Special 1973, St. John’s Evangelical Lutheran Church, Vesta, Minnesota
The recipe is listed as “Wacky or Chocolate Cake” in the church cookbook. I’ve always known it as “Crazy Cake.”Why is it called “wacky” or “crazy” cake? I don’t know.
When my grandchildren say the darndest things, I think of Art Linkletter’s “House Party” and his “Kids Say the Darndest Things” segment. Their answers to his questions proved honest, humorous and entertaining.
KIDS SAY THE DARNDEST THINGS. I can vouch for that. I raised three kids, cared for many others and am now the grandmother of two, one going on seven, the other just turned four.
Recently the grandkids, Isabelle and her little brother, Isaac, stayed overnight. During that short stay, Izzy elicited laughter with her honest observations and her leadership skills.
An outhouse repurposed as a garden shed at my brother and sister-in-law’s rural southwestern Minnesota acreage. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
First the honesty. I don’t recall how we got on the topic, but at some point I shared that I grew up in a house without a bathroom. Taking a bath meant my dad hauling a tin tub from the porch into the kitchen every Saturday evening and then Mom filling it with water. Our bathroom, I explained to Izzy, was a little building outside with two holes cut in a bench. And in the winter, we used a covered pot set inside the unheated porch.
I don’t know that Izzy understood all of this. But, as she sat there listening to Grandma spin tales of the olden days, she assessed. “It sounds like a different world to me!” I laughed at her observation. She was right. Growing up in rural Minnesota in the 1950s and 1960s was, most assuredly, a different world from hers. My granddaughter lives in a sprawling suburban house with four bathrooms. In 1967, my family of birth moved into a new farmhouse with a single bathroom. And a bathtub. Today I feel thankful to live in a house with one bathroom. I wouldn’t want to clean four.
I took this award-winning photo of BINGO callers at the North Morristown July Fourth celebration in 2013. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2013)
Then there’s BINGO, which we play nearly every time we’re together with Isabelle and Isaac. They were introduced to the game at the Helbling Family Reunion and have loved it since. The kids take turns not only playing, but also calling numbers.
Isabelle has advanced greatly in her BINGO-calling skills. This time, in addressing us, she called us “folks.” I don’t know where Izzy heard that term, but it’s certainly more rural than suburban lingo. I suggested she might be ready to call BINGO next summer at North Morristown’s annual Fourth of July celebration. Unincorporated North Morristown is a Lutheran church and school and a few farm places clustered in the middle of nowhere west of Faribault. Izzy seems well-prepared to call BINGO numbers to the folks there.
I should have shared with my granddaughter that, when I was growing up, we covered our BINGO cards with corn kernels during Vesta’s (my hometown) annual BINGO Night. I expect she would have responded as a child 60 years younger than me: “It sounds like a different world to me!” And I would have agreed.
A year ago, the grandkids were into “PJ Masks.” This is Owlette. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo February 2022)
KEEPING UP WITH THE GRANDKIDS’ evolving interests can prove challenging. I’m not up on the newest kids’ shows and trends. And just when I think I’ve learned all the latest from first grader Isabelle, especially, and 4-year-old Isaac, they are on to something new. But right now they are focused on dinosaurs and the solar system, both timeless topics.
The pair stayed overnight with us recently as much for Grandma and Grandpa solo time as for their parents having time together without kids. It’s a win-win all around.
At least I know something about space. Here the moon rises. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo June 2020)
The sleep-over was a last-minute decision, meaning we mostly winged it for the weekend. I did, however, stop at the library for a pile of dinosaur and solar system books and a few videos for those moments when the exhausted grandparents needed to rest.
Grandpa and Isaac inside their backyard snow fort. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo January 2023)
When the kids asked to play outside in the snow, we obliged. I forgot, though, how much work it is to get a 4-year-old into winter gear for outdoor play. Grandma and Grandpa bundled up, too, for the backyard adventure. When Randy pulled the scoop shovel and two 5-gallon buckets from the garage and started building a snow fort, I was surprised. Hadn’t he already scooped enough snow this winter? What grandpas won’t do for their grandchildren.
Occasionally we helpers helped the master mason by locating chunks of frozen snow to layer onto the fort walls. It was a process, impeded once by Isaac who scrambled over the wall, partially deconstructing it in the process.
At one point, Isabelle decided we should play snow tag. That would be regular tag played in the snow, doncha know, Grandma? Ah, of course. Easy for the little ones who don’t break through the snow. Not so easy for the heavier elders whose boots plunge through the snow surface.
Grandpa and grandkids climb the hill in our backyard. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo January 2023)
Thankfully I managed to avoid the mountain-climbing aspect of our time in the backyard. But Grandpa, Isabelle and Isaac headed up the hill behind our house with Izzy intending to hike all the way to the park at the very top. Grandpa put a halt to that, recognizing that thorns, branches and assorted dangers threatened as the wooded hill steepened. We did not want to risk an emergency room visit.
Fortunately, distraction still works with our grandkids. Oversized rabbits loping across the snowy hillside proved entertaining. A hole in the snow near the fort invited guesses as to what animal dug into the snow. A squirrel was suspect and I noted the following day that was a correct assumption upon watching a squirrel dive head first into the snow and emerge a bit later with a walnut. When I shared my observation in a text to my eldest daughter, Izzy expressed her concern that the bushy tail rodent might destroy the fort. “Grandpa worked hard on that!” she told her mom. She’s right. He did.
Time with my grandkids invigorates me. I view the world from their perspective. They are inquisitive, adventuresome, approaching life with wonderment. They teach me to pause, to be in the moment. When Isaac drew a spaceship on his sort of modern day version of the Etch-a-Sketch (except with a “pen” and button to erase his art), I learned that the two of us were blasting off into space. His sister? Nope. She was staying behind because she is a paleontologist. Ah, yes, that’s right. Across the room Isabelle played with a herd of dinosaurs, or whatever a mixed group of dinosaurs is termed.
Isaac chose oranges over ice cream. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo January 2011)
I don’t pretend to know everything. I didn’t know Isabelle attends first grade in a building built for 600 students, not the 900 it houses. I didn’t know Isaac would choose an orange over ice cream for a bedtime snack and then three days later ask to go to Grandma and Grandpa’s house for ice cream. But I do know these things: I love these two little people beyond measure. I love any time with them. Simply put, I love being a grandma.
Isaac posing with his solar system birthday cake. Note the diagram in front of him, the design he and his mom created before making the actual cake. Besides space, Isaac loves art and math and geography and…he’s only four. (Photo credit: Amber, image edited)
EVEN UP UNTIL THE EVENING PRIOR, I held hope that I could join the mission. But it was not to be.
I missed my grandson Isaac’s space-themed fourth birthday party on Saturday because I was still sick with a nasty cold*. Oh, how I wanted to be there for the celebration. But I knew in my heart of hearts that I couldn’t in all good conscience expose anyone to this virus. So I hugged Randy goodbye, told him to have a good time and broke down crying.
Until that moment, I didn’t fully realize how much I had been anticipating this gathering of family to celebrate a little boy’s big day. Not any little boy. But my beloved grandson. To miss his party proved beyond disappointing.
I busied myself during party time by taking down Christmas decorations, reading, compiling a grocery list for Randy, basically doing whatever to distract myself from the celebration unfolding 35 minutes away.
Occasionally Randy and Isaac’s mom, our daughter Amber, would text a photo. The space-themed table décor. The space-themed gifts Isaac loved, including a fleece blanket from Eclectic Alliance in Faribault. And the space-themed birthday cake Amber created with the input of her son who is an expert in all things solar system. I’m not exaggerating.
Amber used this photo of her brother Caleb’s solar system birthday cake as a guide in creating Isaac’s cake. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2001)
It was the cake, though, that meant the most to me, even if I wasn’t there to eat it. Earlier in the week Amber requested a photo of her brother Caleb’s long ago solar system birthday cake. The bakery where she typically buys her kids’ cakes was temporarily closed, thus she would need to make Isaac’s cake.
This photo shows a page in an altered book created for me by my friend Kathleen (following my mom’s death a year ago). This page is dedicated to the birthday cakes mom made. That’s me at age two with my clown cake. That’s my mom, late in life, to the left. And to the right is the vintage cake design book that inspired Mom. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2022)
I was thrilled. I grew up with my mom making all of my birthday cakes, the designs often chosen from a “Baker’s Coconut Animal Cut-Up Cake” booklet. I followed the tradition, crafting my three kids’ birthday cakes*. And now this was continuing into the third generation, albeit maybe for just one year. Time will tell.
Together, Amber and Isaac designed the solar system birthday cake—a round cake (the sun) ringed by cupcakes (the eight planets). Isaac had strong opinions about colors and lay-out. Uncle Caleb texted from Indiana that when he celebrated his seventh birthday with a solar system cake, there was one more planet. Pluto.
In the end, I got Mars, set aside especially for me per my request. Randy also brought home three slices of sun and left-over pizza. When I bit into Mars, I tasted the sweetness of the cake and the love that went into creating it. I may have missed the actual party, but my loving family texted messages (“The presents were a hit”) and photos during the party and then saved some cake for me. In the absence of presence, I was still included in the mission of a special little boy blasting off into another year of life. We have lift-off!
*I tested negative for COVID twice. Symptoms differed from COVID, but I wanted to be certain. Note, if you’re sick, please stay home, because you will make someone else (like me) ill.
*My two daughters on several occasions made their younger brother’s birthday cakes when they were all still living at home. There’s an eight-year age gap between youngest and oldest.
A Delta plane photographed at the Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport in 2015. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2015)
BEFORE HE EVEN SHED his winter coat, before he was barely inside the kitchen, I stretched on my tiptoes to wrap my lanky son in a tight hug. I held on, lingering, imprinting this homecoming moment upon my memory. My voice quivered and joyful tears threatened. Nearly a year has passed since I’ve seen Caleb and that time lapse showed in my overwhelming emotions.
I feel fortunate that he even got here from Indianapolis given the air travel mess resulting in thousands of canceled flights, thousands of stranded travelers and luggage stacking up in airports across the country. Too many families missed Christmas together and many people are now struggling to find flights home.
A Delta plane at MSP. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo December 2015)
Weather delayed Caleb’s Minnesota homecoming, too, with his original Thursday evening direct flight canceled due to the winter storm. He would miss Christmas with us. But he rebooked and landed at the Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport Monday evening, albeit after a delayed flight. His luggage, however, was missing. Delta delivered it to our Faribault home early Tuesday evening. His bag had never been unloaded from the plane and ended up back in Indiana. We all felt grateful for Delta’s prompt attention to finding his luggage.
Caleb on one of the many trips to drop him off or pick him up at MSP when he attended Tufts University and worked in Boston. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo December 2015)
I had to wait until around noon Tuesday to see Caleb. His oldest sister, who lives a 25-minute drive from MSP, picked her brother up and he stayed overnight in Lakeville. I wanted the siblings to have some time together without the parents. They all arrived in Faribault for a belated Christmas celebration, minus our other daughter and her husband from Madison, Wisconsin, who were unable to join us.
Oh, the hugs upon everyone’s arrival. An emotional hug for Caleb. Then hugs for the grandkids and my daughter and her husband. Love filled our house as we sat down to a meal of Chicken Wild Rice Hotdish, homemade garlic cheese bread and salad. My heart overflowed with love and gratitude for this time together. I don’t take having my family here for granted.
As I reflect on our gathering yesterday, I think of how my granddaughter sneaked up on her Uncle Caleb to tickle the bottoms of his feet, after I suggested she do so. He didn’t even show outward annoyance as he does with me if I do the same. I think of my almost 4-year-old grandson, Isaac, who snuggled on my lap under a fleece throw and how his sister, Isabelle, scrambled next to us. I think of Randy on the floor beside Isaac who’d just opened his new markers and a packet of white printer paper. Both were on his Christmas wish list. He wrote the entire alphabet on 13 sheets of paper, one capital letter on each side. I think of Amber, Marc, Caleb and I sitting on the floor, playing the kid version of the board game Ticket to Ride. (I recall all the Sunday afternoons the kids sprawled with Randy in the same spot playing Monopoly or reading the comics.) I think of Isabelle playing with her uncle’s roaring toy dinosaurs, retrieved from a tote in the basement. They joined her new roaring dinosaur. It was like a flashback in time, when Caleb was still a boy.
This photo, taken along Minnesota Highway 30 in southwestern Minnesota in January 2010, illustrates how the wind blows snow across the land. Conditions were worse, much worse, in the recent blizzard. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo January 2010)
SATURDAY MORNING I OPENED the blinds to a winter landscape awash in brilliant sunlight. That’s not particularly unusual for December in Minnesota. But what proved different were the two pillars of light flanking the sun with a rainbow arcing between. Sun dogs glared stronger than the center sun and I couldn’t stop looking at the scene.
I’m no scientist or weather person, but the sun dogs and rainbow have something to do with the frigid temps and ice crystals in the atmosphere. They lasted for hours, a true gift on a morning when I welcomed brightness in my day.
Landing at Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
PLANS UPENDED BY WINTER STORM
I needed that beautiful light in the midst of Christmas plans that didn’t quite unfold as hoped. I expect many of you experienced the same as this massive winter storm moved from state to state. My son, whom I haven’t seen in a year, had to rebook his canceled flight from Indianapolis. His plane lands early this evening at the Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport and he arrives here Tuesday morning with his oldest sister and her family. I cannot wait to enfold him in a tight, lingering hug.
Yesterday Randy and I drove the 35 minutes to our eldest daughter’s house for a holiday meal and time together with the four of them, including our two precious grandchildren. We played space BINGO and watched a little artist paint and gave lots of hugs and then celebrated Christmas with a zoom call after our holiday meal. I am thankful for such technology bringing my family together from Minnesota to Wisconsin to Indiana.
For many families, Christmas together never happened, and not just because of canceled flights. All of southwestern (my home area on the prairie) and south central Minnesota were basically shut down by the multi-day blizzard. More than 2,000 miles of roadway were closed, including interstates. Snow gates were dropped into place, blocking access. The Minnesota National Guard was called up to rescue stranded motorists, who shouldn’t have been out in a storm that packed up to 40 mph winds whipping snow into concrete-hard drifts. I understand a blizzard, having grown up on the prairie. Not everyone does.
(Minnesota Prairie Roots edited file photo used for illustration only)
MISSING FAMILY/MOM
I understand the strong yearning to be with family. Being separated from loved ones during the holidays is simply emotionally challenging. I am sort of used to it given only one of my three adult children remains in Minnesota. But the missing never goes away.
This year brought an added dimension of missing. Missing Mom, my first Christmas without her. I thought I was doing fine until the final song at our Christmas Day morning worship service. Only moments earlier, a woman pushed her elderly father to the front of the church to receive Holy Communion. In that moment, my mind flashed to my wheelchair-bound mom. Within minutes, I was crying, trying not to sob. I removed my glasses, wiped the gush of tears with the backs of my hands. I felt Randy’s hand on my back, a loving and comforting gesture.
Later that evening, my friend Gretchen texted asking for prayers. Her mom died unexpectedly earlier in the day. After Christmas Day morning worship. After lunch and gift-opening at her sister’s house in Washington. Now Gretchen and her family are scrambling to book flights from southwestern Minnesota. This broke my heart. To lose one’s mama is hard enough. But to lose her on Christmas Day, even harder. My friend Beth Ann experienced the same two years ago. Christmas will now forever be connected to loss. Yet, Gretchen and Beth Ann are both strong women of faith. Like me, they know we will see our moms again. Together. Just not now.
TELL ME: Are you grieving this holiday season? Did your Christmas plans change due to weather? What’s the weather been like in your area? I’d like to hear your stories on any/all of these topics.
This message hangs on a vintage dresser in my dining room, the mirror reflecting an oil painting of a winter scene by my father-in-law, Tom Helbling. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo December 2022)
I’ll be home for Christmas; you can plan on me…please have snow…
Well, not exactly, Bing (Crosby). You might not get home to see that snow, not the way the forecast is looking. Blizzard conditions are predicted here in Minnesota and throughout the Midwest for Thursday into Friday. That will affect land and air travel, disrupting many homecomings.
A close-up from Tom’s painting shows family members arriving for Christmas via sleigh. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
I realize a snowy landscape seems picturesque and lovely and, oh, so holiday-ish in a song. But if you’re traveling or waiting for loved ones to arrive (like I am), then I’d rather not see new-fallen snow accompanied by frigid temps and strong winds.
Waiting at the door to welcome loved ones home for Christmas. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
Dreams of my son being in Minnesota for Christmas are just that, a dream. The predicted winter storm changed everything. Now he will arrive the day after. I’ll take it. A year has passed since I’ve seen Caleb and to not see him at all would have been really really difficult for this mom. His stay will be shorter than planned, only a few days.
Tom Helbling’s artistic version of a Christmas homecoming. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
In the end, I feel thankful that my son can still travel to Minnesota. He may not be home for Christmas. But he will find plenty of snow when he does arrive. So there you go, Bing.
Minnesota Prairie Roots 
Recent Comments