A piano at the Arts Center of Saint Peter. Photo used for illustration only. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo October 2024)
MOMENTS IN LIFE EXIST that imprint upon the spirit a deep sense of contentment, peace and joy. That happened Sunday afternoon as I sat inside St. John’s Lutheran Church, Lakeville, for a piano recital. As the 11 pianists, including my 9-year-old granddaughter, Izzy, played selections on the grand piano rolled to the front of the sanctuary, I thought, life is good.
And it was good in the 45 minutes when family and friends gathered to hear these young musicians, and one mom, also a piano student, play. Love filled the space. I could feel it. I could hear it in the music, in resounding applause, in congratulatory words. I could see it in broad smiles, practiced bows, photos snapped, hugs shared, and flowers and other gifts given.
Life at its basic is about loving and supporting and encouraging and celebrating.
A SANCTUARY
The recital inside the sanctuary felt, too, like a sanctuary from all the hard stuff happening in the world today. We all need a break from that. These pianists provided that escape as they played tunes like Whispering Wind, Lemonade Stand, Spanish Dancer and the more familiar Linus & Lucy and Star Wars. I swayed to the music, smiling the entire time.
JOY IN CREATIVITY
When young Scarlett and her teacher, Roxanne, played Ode to Joy together, I was whisked away to a wedding. More joy.
The students’ playing was flawless, practiced, disciplined and filled with a creative spirit. I admired the players’ skills, from novice to more advanced, as their fingers landed upon piano keys.
When a young mom stepped up to play two selections, I spotted her husband across the pews. He was beaming, so proud of this woman who studied piano as a child and decided to resume lessons as an adult. She wants a grand piano, she shared in a brief conversation with me after the recital. But that meant convincing her husband. I’d say she’s convinced him.
LIFE IS GOOD
Likewise, Audra, Brysen, Ellie, Evan, Evie, Grayson, Izzy, Jessica, Oscar, Scarlett and Viva convinced me that a piano recital is about much more than just playing and listening to music. It is about family and friends and love. It’s about creativity and celebrating and delighting in one of life’s basic joys—music. Life is good, oh, so good when listening to Trampoline Tumble, Banana Split, Twilight Reverie and 18 other songs played on a grand piano on a Sunday afternoon in May in southern Minnesota.
Faribault is home to people from many countries as noted on this interactive map at a past International Festival in Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
TWO DAYS. TWO CONVERSATIONS. And I am the richer for meeting Adolfo and Jose and hearing their stories.
I should backtrack a bit and state that for me to strike up conversations with people I don’t know is not unusual. Such interactions widen my world, broaden my understanding and simply help me learn more about others.
It was little Milan, Adolfo’s one-year-old grandson, who initially drew me to pause during a morning walk through Faribault’s Central Park. Adolfo was pushing Milan in an umbrella stroller when Randy and I crossed paths with them. Milan, with his big brown eyes, black hair and radiant smile, is the essence of cuteness. Cute babies and kids are always a reason to stop and chat.
The pair walk through the park every morning as Adolfo cares for Milan while his mom is at work. I don’t recall whether Mom is Adolfo’s daughter or daughter-in-law. Doesn’t matter. What matters is the deep love Adolfo has for family and his willingness to care for his grandson before heading to work in the afternoon.
Kids used markers to create flags from their native countries while attending the local International Festival. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
ESCAPING COMMUNIST VENEZUELA
I asked Adolfo about his background, what brought him to Faribault. He moved here from Orlando to be with family. But he’s originally from Venezuela. His home country, he said, is not a good place to live. The reason: Communism and violence. He left family behind and desperately wants them here, safe in America.
By that time, little Milan was out of his stroller, pushing it, then dropping to the ground, his pants covered in bits of dried leaves, his tiny hands clasping two Matchbox cars. He is close to walking alone. Milan proved a distraction from the deep pain Adolfo obviously feels separated from his family still in Venezuela.
“We’re so happy to have you here,” I told my new friend. And I genuinely meant that as my heart hurt for this man who has endured so much already.
“God bless you,” Adolfo said, as he made the sign of the cross, held his hands to his heart.
Adolfo repeated our names several times, clearly an effort on his part to remember them. I repeated his, too, and Milan’s, and wished I knew Spanish. Adolfo spoke Spanish to Milan, who is being raised bilingual. What a gift to that little boy with the big brown eyes, with the loving family, with the Grandpa whom I consider kind, caring, loving and brave.
Children gather at Faribault’s Central Park to break a pinata during an International Festival. This photo placed first in a local photo contest and remains one of my favorite. I love that it reflects the diversity of Faribault and shows kids simply being kids with no thought of ethnicity. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)
FINDING A WELCOMING NEW HOME IN RURAL MINNESOTA
A day later I met Jose, a young man taking his lunch break at a park near Montgomery. He was working there for the Le Sueur County park system. Jose moved to nearby Le Center 15 years ago, having lived in California, Texas and Mexico. Like Adolfo, Jose is grateful to be here, with family. I told him how happy I am to have him living in Minnesota.
It didn’t take long before he opened up about how much he feels welcomed here, how he’s learned to love our four seasons, even winter. Jose shared about learning to drive in winter. And then he recounted being “baptized by black ice.” He walked onto the unseen ice and found himself flailing backwards. This part of Jose’s story included theatrical actions that left all of us laughing.
What a delightful young man. He’s hardworking, loves his family and likes living in a rural area. To hear that he’s found Minnesotans to be friendly pleases me. The reality is that not everyone welcomes individuals like Jose and Adolfo. I do.
I am the richer for having met these two men, whose life experiences and stories are vastly different than mine. Yet, we are the same. We have families and heartaches and hopes and dreams. That commonality connects us. And so does our humanity.
I laid this memorial service folder for my friend Barb upon one of my vintage tablecloths. (Minnesota Prairie Roots May 2024)
WE STOOD SIDE-BY-SIDE, arms stretched around one another, watching as our husbands carried the gray casket and slid it into the waiting hearse. Six friends grieving the death of a seventh.
The day before her 73rd birthday, my friend Barb died from cancer. And here I was a week later, standing outside Trinity Lutheran Church, linked to the women beside me in grief and in love.
My emotions ran high on this beautiful May morning of sunshine and greening spring, of new life rising from the earth on the Monday Barb was laid to rest beneath the earth. I understood she was at peace, in her heavenly home, and that consoled me as tears fell.
Family and friends of Barb were gifted with these nail crosses after her funeral. The cross reinforced the sermon, titled “Nailed It.” (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)
Her service was signature Barb, one she planned. One that proclaimed her strong faith in words and in music. Oh, so much music, because Barb loved music. Our friend Steve sang “Who Am I?” Friend Char slid her bow across her violin, accompanying children as they sang “Jesus Loves Me” and later as mourners sang one of my favorite contemporary Christian songs, “10,000 Reasons.” Galen played “Beautiful Savior” on his harmonica, another favorite of mine and of my dear friend Barb. There was more music, so much that Barb wanted, some of which had to be trimmed lest the service got overly long.
Sitting in the front pew, just steps from Barb’s casket, I immersed myself in the service. I laughed when her brother-in-law Dave, the presiding pastor, shared that Barb instructed him to “shake them up” with his sermon. He did. When he spoke of hell and then abruptly stopped and sat down, I wondered if he was so overcome with emotion that he needed to pause. Not so. It was that “shake them up” moment Barb requested. He returned to the pulpit to finish his sermon with loving words of grace.
Our bible study group gifted this garden stone and pansy bowl in Barb’s favorite purple to her family. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2024)
Barb loved her Lord, her family, her friends, old-time TV shows (particularly “Andy Griffith” and “The Beverly Hillbillies”) and the color purple. There was purple everywhere—flowers, ties, dress shirts, table coverings. Purple overflowed alongside love. Love in so many hugs. Love in words spoken by Barb’s eldest son. Love from God. Love surrounding us.
During the final weeks of her life, Barb continued to love on all of us, even as she lay bed-ridden. I would drop off a meal for her family, hoping to uplift my friend. And she uplifted me. She, who was dying. She never let me leave without kissing my cheek. I hold that precious memory now, the warmth of her lips pressed against my skin. To have that time with her to say goodbye eased me into her death. This time was a gift, as Barb’s husband, my friend Mike, reminded me, reminded all of us.
A loving message from Barb, printed in her memorial folder.
Barb gave so much, even in choosing the men who would carry her casket—Randy, John, Steve, Noel, Mark and Jeff. All of us friends, together in a long-time Bible study group. Twenty years of reading and studying God’s Word, of praying for one another, of growing in our faith and friendship. We have been through a lot together. Uplifted one another.
And here we were on this lovely spring morning, walking into church together behind the casket, behind the cross. Filling two pews at the front of the church. Listening and singing and crying and laughing. And then later filing out, waiting silently in the narthex, then outside. Reverently.
As the six guys moved toward the casket, we wives gathered on the side and I instinctively motioned for Debbie, Jackie, Mari, Mandy and Sonja to come closer. I needed to feel their closeness, the strength that comes from love and friendship in shared grief. It was a powerful and emotional moment standing together in a row, arms wrapped around one another. I felt Barb’s love embracing us. I heard her words, too: I thank Him for each of you. Our family and friends, I love you!
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NOTE: I will miss my friend Barb and other loved ones I’ve lost in 2024: Uncle Robin; my brother-in-law Dale; and Aunt Jeanette. This has been a season of grief.
The gravel road past our friends’ Rice County farm. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)
EVERYONE OUGHT TO OCCASIONALLY take a drive into the countryside along back county roads and gravel roads trailing dust. It’s good for the soul, spirit and mind to route into a quiet place defined by fields and farm sites. Away from town. Away from houses clumped together in blocks. Into a wide open place where land and sky meet and space seems infinite.
Randy and I found all of that recently as we drove east of Faribault, passing fields sprouting corn, farm sites nudging the highway. We aimed toward our friend Barb and Bob’s farm, invited there to harvest rhubarb. It’s an annual spring rite for us.
Bird folk art. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)
But for me, this is about much more than gathering rhubarb. It’s about enveloping myself in the peacefulness of rural Minnesota. When only the trill of birds, the roar of a tractor and conversation with our friends break the silence, I feel utterly, contentedly at home. I feel grounded and rooted and connected and transported back to the farm of my youth, albeit 120 miles to the west.
Formerly a smokehouse, this is now used for storing gardening tools. The rhubarb patch flourishes alongside the aged building. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)
I never pull a single stalk of rhubarb from the patch next to the aged clay block smokehouse. While Randy harvests, I roam. With my camera.
Beautiful rural Rice County, east of Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)
First, I pause to take in the rural landscape—fields, trees, gravel road below a clear blue sky. Oh, place of my heart.
A familiar rural site, a silo. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)
Then I head toward the silo towering over the farm site. Many times I climbed the ladder into the silo back on my childhood farm to fork silage and toss it down the chute to feed the cows. It was hard, smelly work. But when you worked on a dairy, livestock and crop farm 60-plus years ago, chores were labor intensive.
Barb’s “Star Shadow” barn quilt. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)
From the silo, I turn my focus to the weathered plywood quilt block square displayed on the side of a tin-covered pole shed. The artwork, “Star Shadow,” honors Barb’s passion for quilting. It’s a nice addition to the building. I like barn quilt art, which surged in popularity perhaps a decade or more ago. There are places in Minnesota, like the Caledonia area in Houston County, where you can take a self-guided tour and view 59 barn quilts. For my generation, especially, quilts are part of our family history. Patchwork quilts layered beds, providing warmth on frigid Minnesota winter nights. I cherish remembrances of my paternal grandmother’s quilt tops, quilting frame and the quilts she gifted to me and all of her 40-plus grandchildren.
Apple blossoms. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)
This visit to Barb and Bob’s farm brings back so many memories. I wander among the apple trees, most blossoms spent, and watch an elusive Monarch butterfly flit among the branches. I can almost taste the sweetness of apple jelly spooned onto buttered toast.
The growing pile of rhubarb. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)
I check in with Randy, who hasn’t called me to help with the rhubarb harvest. He understands the pull I feel to photograph. Via photography, I notice details and that is such a gift. He’s gathered a growing stash of thick green stalks tipped in pink. Rhubarb seems such a humble fruit. Perfect for crisp, sauce or pie.
A tractor heads to a field with a roller to pack the soil. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)
A tractor roars by then, dust rising around and behind as it pulls an unfamiliar farm implement down the gravel road. A roller, Randy notes later when we pass a packed farm field.
Randy carries discarded leaves away from the rhubarb patch. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)
Then quiet settles again. Randy gathers the pile of rhubarb leaves, tidying the area around the old smokehouse.
We visited near the lilacs. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)
We head back toward the farmhouse, this time rousing Barb and Bob, who earlier did not hear Randy’s knocks. We settle in for a chat which turns into a lengthy conversation in the shade of trees, near the lilac bush, in their front yard garden. Birds sing. Butterflies fly. Words rise. Cold, filtered well water poured from a fancy pitcher into thick, hefty glasses quenches thirst. The four of us simply enjoy each other’s company. No hurry. Nowhere to be.
Birdhouse on an outbuilding. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)
I step away to photograph several of Barb’s many birdhouses.
The shy farm cat. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)
And then the orange farm cat appears. I excuse myself again, to photograph Fred, who requires significant coaxing to come closer. But he is skittish. My camera lens, followed by the click of the shutter scares him away.
Bird bath art on the farm. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)
I circle back to the conversation circle, passing a bird bath with a trio of ballet dancers centering that circle. They are graceful and beautiful and seemingly out of place in this rural setting. Yet, they are not. The countryside overflows with grace and beauty. The grace of silence and solitude. And the beauty of the natural world.
On this day, I need this. To be in the serenity of this quiet place. To take in the countryside. To see the sky, the trees, the land. To talk with Barb and Bob. And then to leave with a clutch of rhubarb and the promise of warm rhubarb crisp pulled from the oven.
(Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo used for illustration only)
THE LAST TIME I shopped for sympathy cards 10 days ago, I thought I’d picked up enough to last a while. But I need more after what has been a really difficult week within my circle.
On Sunday, friends lost their great nephew. Just over a year old, he was struggling to recover from earlier heart surgery. The day prior to his death, this beloved toddler finally came off his heart-lung machine. Those who loved him most felt a collective glimmer of hope even as he remained on a ventilator. And then he died. On Easter morning. I cried great heaving sobs for this darling boy I’d never met, only seen in photos, his body bloated, tubes taped in place, baby fine hair spiking. My heart broke with the sort of grief that rises from deep within a mother’s spirit. Aching. Hurting. Overpowering in its intensity.
Another mother is experiencing similar grief. My cousin’s daughter’s husband died unexpectedly last week, only 18 months into their marriage. How do you, as a mother, console your daughter whose heart is broken? That, too, seems insurmountable. Beyond difficult. As moms, we want to “fix” everything, make it all better. To bear witness to such grief while grieving requires incredible strength. I feel my cousin’s pain as she strives to be there for her now widowed daughter.
And then there are the friends whose nephew died tragically in a recent car accident. When I saw a portrait of the young man and a photo of his one-year-old son, my heart broke for a baby without his daddy, a wife without her husband, parents without a son… So much grief just pouring out for this family.
I wish I could take away the grief, the pain, the suffering. I think when death is unexpected, as it was in all of these situations, it’s decidedly more difficult to accept. We understand when aging parents and grandparents die, even when someone with an aggressive form of cancer dies. We’ve already begun mentally preparing, grieving even before death. But this, these deaths, shock the emotions.
In the all of vicariously grieving, I will do what I can to support my friends and cousin. I’ll purchase more sympathy cards, pen notes written from the heart and pray for comfort to come. I care. Because they are hurting, I hurt.
(Minnesota Prairie Roots edited and copyrighted photo October 2022)
GLINT OF SUNSHINE on metal caught his eye while mowing lawn. Five feet from the stop sign, Randy found the quarter-sized round in the grass. A friendship token with a center butterfly cut-out.
Like a writing prompt, my mind wandered to the story behind the token in our yard. How had it gotten there? When? Why? Plots form. Characters emerge. Tension builds.
I imagine the metal circle tossed by an angry friend. I picture friends—pre-teen or teen girls, simply because the token seems like something that age demographic would value—arguing. Perhaps their disagreement was over a boy or some weighty matter like name-calling or something trivial. No matter the reason, it was enough for one to fling the symbol of friendship onto a stranger’s lawn.
Or perhaps the coin was simply lost, fallen from a pocket. That scenario feels better, even if loss never feels good. I expect the physical reminder of friendship provided comfort and reassurance. Touch the coin when stressed, when missing a friend, when needing a moment of connection to someone who cares about you and loves you.
Friendships, no matter our ages, hold such importance. These are our people—those who get us, support us, encourage us, care about us, hold us dear. I cherish friends, from those who are on the level of just beyond everyday acquaintances to those with whom I can share anything and trust that they will listen, keep confidences and be there for me in joyful as well as challenging times. I reciprocate.
EVER-CHANGING
Certainly, friends come and go. The friends I had in grade school through college are mostly now friendships of memory. Memories of jumping rope during recess, dining at Club 59 in Marshall senior year and sitting cross-legged on dorm beds far away from home, our worlds opening wide. These friends will always hold a piece of my heart.
Moves, life changes, circumstances, differences and more change friendships, grow friendships, end friendships. That’s a given in life.
Technology has changed how we connect, form relationships. Through blogging, I’ve grown some close friendships with other bloggers. I never expected this, to first connect online and then develop friendships (think visiting one another, dining together, emailing one another and more). It’s wonderful, this widening of my friends circle. That circle is large, encompassing friends now from New York, North Carolina, Pennsylvania, Texas, even the Netherlands, and other locales, including many places in Minnesota.
ACCEPTING, LOVING, SUPPORTIVE
Life is hard. There’s no denying that we all face challenges at some point in life. But true friends lighten those struggles by their simple, non-judgmental presence, by their support and encouragement. Family histories, grievances and experiences don’t get in the way. These are our friends. Pure. Simple. They accept and love us as we are, for who we are.
I may not carry a friendship token in my pocket. But I understand its symbolism, its importance. I hope whoever lost or tossed that metal circle into my yard has reclaimed her friendship or realized the friendship was not worth continuing. Sometimes that’s the hard truth, too, that not all individuals should remain our friends. Sometimes the friendship token needs to be tossed into a stranger’s yard, left behind so we can move forward.
TELL ME: How do you define friendship and how has it changed for you through the years?
This quarter-sized token, gifted to me some time ago by my friend Beth Ann, lies on my computer desk.
IF YOU’RE LIKE ME, you find yourself reaching out daily to check on family and friends. Now, more than ever, it seems important to connect via mail, email, text, phone calls or video chatting. I need reassurance that people in my life are OK and know they are loved and supported. Likewise, people have done the same for me. And more.
Face masks crafted by my blogger friend Penny.
Earlier this week I received a package from a Texas blogger. I’ve never met Penny, but we’ve followed each other’s blogs for years and also exchanged emails. Inside the padded envelope I found four cloth face masks. Penny, who is an incredibly kind and loving soul, has been sewing masks for people in her community. And beyond. She also included a lovely card and note. Her gift felt like a hug from across the country.
Paul Schell, whom I photographed several years ago painting at the park. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo.
And yesterday I received an equally lovely note from a Faribault artist who grew up in my native Redwood County. I first met Paul several years ago while photographing artists at a summer evening concert. Paul sat far removed from everyone, quietly painting in a corner of Central Park. Since then, his skills as a watercolor artist progressed. Several years back he gifted me with a print of a destination waterfalls in Redwood Falls. And on the card I received Friday was his watercolor of Moland Lutheran Church, which I’ve written about several times on this blog. The card and accompanying note were unexpected. I must add that Paul mentioned a favorite community cafe, Stacy’s Kitchen in Wabasha, per my post the other day about small town eateries. I so appreciate the time Paul took to gift me with his art and his note.
The Warner Press blog page shows some of the most recent posts.
I have one friend in particular, Beth Ann from North Carolina (I met her when she lived in Iowa), who is especially gifted at uplifting and encouraging others. When our family was going through some really difficult times, she sent me cards and extra encouraging items. What a blessing. I felt so loved.
Coloring can be calming and therapeutic.
We can all spread the love. I think especially of those in nursing homes. Like my mom on hospice and my father-in-law. We’ve received letters from both care centers about ways these facilities are trying to keep loved ones connected via technology. That won’t work for my mom. But I can still mail cards to her. And I’ve thought of coloring a picture, like I did for my two grandchildren for Easter. Sometimes we need to color outside the lines.
And sometimes we need to go old school by picking up the phone and calling those without technology. Voice to voice so we can hear the laughter, the inflections, the worries, the joys. On Thursday I phoned two aunts—one in Missouri and the other in New Jersey. As our conversation grew to a close, my Aunt Dorothy said, “I love you, My Little Princess.” I felt overcome by emotion at those sweet words. “My Little Princess.” It’s the endearing name Dorothy has called me my entire life. She was the big city aunt who occasionally returned to southwestern Minnesota to visit family. Dorothy arrived with tubes of discarded lipstick and jewelry and arms full of love. She would wrap me in a hug and whisper those endearing words, “I love you, My Little Princess.”
Today please take the time to connect with someone who needs to hear that same message—that they are loved.
From the front page of the Faribault Daily News.
IN LOVING MEMORY
I dedicate today’s post to the Rev. Craig Breimhorst, who died on Thursday due to complications from COVID-19. A resident of my community of some 24,000, Pastor Breimhorst was the first person in Rice County, Minnesota, diagnosed with the virus. He became ill in mid-March, a day after returning from a trip to the Holy Land. He was the pastor of Christ Lutheran Church in Faribault for 30 years and currently served part-time as pastor at Trinity Lutheran Church, West Concord.
Although I didn’t know Pastor Breimhorst, I have read enough social media comments to see how deeply he was loved and valued as a person and as a pastor. Blessed be his memory.
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Disclaimer: I am paid for my work with Warner Press.
Elsie Keller, right, works in the kitchen at St. John’s Germanfest. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo 2017.
THERE ARE PEOPLE you meet in life who make a profound impact. Not on a grand, public scale. But upon the people they meet, the communities in which they live and serve simply by the way they live and serve. Humbly. Exuding kindness and friendliness. Living a life of service, of giving to others. Elsie Keller fits that description.
I don’t recall exactly when I met Elsie. But I know where. At St. John’s United Church of Christ, Wheeling Township, just down the road from the rural Nerstrand home where she lived her entire life. Ninety-three years.
Elsie making German potato salad, Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo 2013.
Inside the church kitchen, that’s Elsie standing next to her stool at a Lenten Soup Luncheon. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo 2014.
Elsie next to The Last Supper painting given to St. John’s in honor of her husband, Arnold. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo.
I’ve attended many functions at St. John’s from the annual Germanfest to Lenten soup luncheons to ice cream and pie socials to the yearly The Last Supper Drama. And every time I set foot inside that aged limestone church, Elsie was there. Most often behind the scenes—plating pie, stirring German potato salad, operating spotlights and much more.
Elsie poses with family at the 2017 Germanfest. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo 2017.
If I didn’t spot her, I sought her out to hug her diminutive frame, to see her sweet smile, to catch up a bit. She was that kind of woman. The grandmother you miss. The mother who lives too distant. The friend who cares. The churchgoer who lives her faith in service to her church and to God. Singing. Coordinating Vacation Bible School for 51 years. Teaching Sunday School for more than five decades.
Elsie, hard at work in the Pie Room. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo 2015.
A member of St. John’s Youth Fellowship waits, plate in hand, for a slice of pumpkin pie scooped up by Elsie. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo 2011.
By the end of the day, Elsie had blisters on her hand from cutting pies. Here she scoops a slice of apple pie. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo 2011.
To know Elsie was to love her. I loved her smile, her demeanor, her humility, her kindness, her devotion to church and family, her work ethic. I remember, especially, the time I found her working in the St. John’s pie room sliding pieces of homemade pie onto plates with her gnarled arthritic hands.
Elsie takes a break from kitchen work to enjoy a bowl of ham and bean soup. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo 2014.
Back at the farm, Elsie still gardened. She canned green beans on Thursday evening. The night before her death.
Elsie in The Pie Room, a space so small that this petite woman can barely fit her stool between a counter and refrigerator. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo 2011.
I still cannot believe my friend is gone, even though she was nearly 94 years old. There are people in life who seem ageless, whom you always expect will be there. For me, that was Elsie. If only you could have known her. For those of you who did, you understand why I will miss her. Her smile, her kindness, her positive and giving spirit…
Smile, even when you’re turning sixty. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo.
MY FRIEND, I’LL CALL HER JULIE, turns sixty today. I know she’s not particularly excited about that number because, as she says, “It sounds old (compared to 59).”
I remember feeling the same when I reached that landmark birthday. And to think I struggled with turning forty. I wish now that I was only four decades, rather than six-plus decades, old.
But there’s something to be said for this age. And I can summarize that in a single powerful, joyful word: grandma. Julie and I, who have been friends since our kids were in grade school, are both relatively new grandmas. Her grandson is 14 months younger than my almost 2 1/2-year-old granddaughter. We trade stories now about grandchildren and share images of the cute little ones who bring us much happiness.
Julie and I have been through a lot together. Joyful times and difficult times. We listen to one another and trust each other. With anything. What a blessing she has been in my life through rearing children and now into loving grandchildren.
On this her 60th birthday, I want Julie to realize that turning sixty is really not all that bad. Especially when you have a grandchild to spoil and love.
Happy birthday, dear friend! I wish you many more years of joyful living.
VALENTINE’S DAY BRINGS expectations of love expressed in some perhaps grand way. It’s a great day for florists and chocolate shops and restaurants. And that’s alright. Both flowers and candy are visual reminders of love. Dining out allows time to connect and celebrate. I have a half-dozen red roses on my dining room table. And I appreciate them.
But even more important are the everyday moments of love. You know, those little things you take for granted in your life. Or the surprises that cause your heart to surge joy.
What does that look like for you?
For me, love has shown itself recently in these ways:
a handcrafted valentine from friends
the giggle of my granddaughter
a bag of macadamia nuts, a gift from my eldest and her husband who recently vacationed in Hawaii, a place I will never visit.
my husband washing the dinner dishes every Sunday so I can phone my mom at 6:30 p.m.
a friend buying valentine books for my 10-month-old granddaughter whom she’s never met.
an unexpected call from my second daughter
Downtown Fargo, North Dakota, the real Fargo, not as depicted in the movie or TV series. Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo.
my husband binge-watching Fargo (the TV show) with me on DVD
skyping with my son in Boston
seeing my great nephew Landon with his face pressed to the patio door watching and waiting for my husband (Papa Two) and me to arrive
texts from a friend asking, “How are you?”
Today, please express your care and appreciation for your friends, your family, and, yes, even for those outside your closest circle. Try to make that a practice every day.
Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo.
Happy Valentine’s Day, dear readers! I appreciate you.
Minnesota Prairie Roots 
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