Minnesota Prairie Roots

Writing and photography by Audrey Kletscher Helbling

Encouraging & embracing creativity this holiday season December 10, 2025

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 6:02 AM
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Gifts for the creative grandson. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo December 2025)

WHEN MY ELDEST DAUGHTER sent her children’s Christmas gift wish lists to me, I wasn’t surprised to find several art-related items on first grader Isaac’s list. He loves creating. And to create, he needs supplies. So Isaac asked for giant construction paper, a Paint by Sticker book, a pixel art set and Sharpie markers, specifically a grey marker. Why grey? I have no idea. He’s getting all of those from Randy and me.

One year Isaac wanted a ream of paper for Christmas. He blew through the 500 sheets we gave him in several months. Not only does my grandson create art, but he also solves math problems far beyond what a six-year-old should be capable of doing and recently proclaimed, “I love to read!”

I’m not sharing this to be a boastful grandma. Rather, I want to emphasize the importance of encouraging children in their interests. That builds confidence and shows that we support and care about them and their passions.

A Little Golden Book Journal, among several crafted by recycler artist Rhonda Norgaard and for sale at the Paradise Center for the Arts, Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo December 2025)

My 9-year-old granddaughter, who really really loves to read, and write, declared on her first day of fourth grade that she wants to become an author. That could change. But for now, Izzy embraces creativity through writing, singing and playing piano. And I enthusiastically encourage her.

Among the many gifts for sale at the Paradise Center for the Arts is a Paradise membership. Members get discounted ticket prices among other benefits. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo December 2025)

In Faribault, I am an enthusiastic supporter of the arts, centered at the Paradise Center for the Arts. This downtown hub of creativity brings the visual and performing arts to my community via concerts, theatre, comedy, gallery shows, art classes and more.

Acrylic paintings by Adele Beals. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo December 2025)

And now, during the holiday season, 32 artists are showcasing and selling their art at the annual Holly Days Sale. I recently popped into the Paradise to peruse the artsy offerings ranging from pottery to paintings, stained glass, fiber art, mittens, jewelry, metalwork, woodwork, journals, photography, handbags and more. This is one-of-a-kind merchandise crafted with creative minds and hands by Minnesota artists.

Gail Kielmeyer crafted this doll, aprons and more, tagged as Minnesota Made. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo December 2025)
Handmade goods fill the main gallery and two smaller galleries for the Holly Days Sale. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo December 2025)
Paula Person crafts cellphone-sized and other bags and clutches for her business, notebagz. Her products are made from recycled publications. She also does custom work. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo December 2025)

I can’t help but wonder how many of these artists, as young children like my grandchildren, loved to create. Perhaps a grandmother taught them to sew. Perhaps they were fascinated by their grandfather’s abilities to build anything with wood. Perhaps an aunt painted. Perhaps their parents knitted or welded or journaled. Perhaps a teacher encouraged them in their creativity.

Laura O’Connor of Cuddled Again rescues and restores gently-used stuffies for resale. A portion of the proceeds go to HOPE Center in Faribault. To the right is Sandra Sargent’s stained glass art created at Bending Sunlight Glassworks. She teaches at the Paradise and also has a studio across the street in the Bachrach building. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo December 2025)

Whatever the reasons individuals choose to make art really doesn’t matter, although it is interesting to hear backstories. If they’re like me, they create because they have to and can’t imagine their lives without art. No one expects to get rich in the arts, thus the term “starving artists.” Writing and photography are, for me, passions that earn me minimal income. Yet, I press on with my creative endeavors.

Oil on canvas nature scenes painted by Joannie Johnson. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo December 2025)

Likewise all those artists selling their goods at the Holly Days Sale clearly love creating and sharing their artwork with others. I am grateful to them and to all creatives, and to arts centers like the Paradise, for enriching our communities through the arts. Perhaps some day I will see my grandson’s art in a gallery and my granddaughter’s book on a bookstore shelf. Whatever happens, I hope they will always appreciate and embrace creativity.

Gail Kielmeyer’s handcrafted Minnesota Made mittens. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo December 2025)

FYI: The Holly Days Sale continues at the Paradise from noon-5 pm Wednesday-Friday, from 10 am-2 pm Saturdays and extended hours from 10 am-5 pm December 20.

The Paradise is hosting the monthly Faribault City Council Chat at 6 pm Wednesday, December 10, as part of the city’s community engagement efforts.

The Paradise Community Theatre is currently performing “The Sound of Music” at the Paradise. Remaining performances are set for 7:30 pm December 11 and 12 and 2 pm December 13 and 14. Tickets are selling quickly, so reserve yours now.

© Copyright 2025 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

Artwork photographed with permission of the Paradise Center for the Arts

 

Outside on a “summer” day with the grandkids in southern Minnesota March 29, 2025

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 5:54 PM
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
This photo taken at 4 p.m. Friday, March 28, shows the unusually high March temperature in Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo March 2025)

TWENTY-FOUR HOURS AGO, the temperature registered 81 degrees on the State Bank of Faribault sign in our historic downtown. At 4 p.m. Saturday, the temp read 38 degrees. That’s a 43-degree plunge. Such is the fickle nature of weather in southern Minnesota. One day summer. The next day winter.

Let’s talk that one day of summer. The two oldest of our three grandkids were here for a sleep-over Thursday into Friday afternoon. We took full advantage of the unseasonably warm temps with lots of time outdoors. Who wants to stay indoors when the sun is shining, the breeze is blowing and it feels like summer? None of us.

So out we went Friday morning, first to hang laundry on the clothesline, which didn’t interest Izzy, almost nine, and Isaac, six, quite as much as I had hoped. “We have a dryer,” Izzy informed me as she handed me clothespins. So does Grandma. But Grandma prefers hanging laundry outdoors, under the sky, under the sun, in the wind.

This looks just like the caterpillar found in our backyard on Friday morning. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

A CATERPILLAR, SQUIRRELS, BRAMBLES & A ROCK

Time outdoors led to discoveries, like the woolly caterpillar Izzy found in the backyard and which she insisted was poisonous. I insisted it was not while using a dried maple leaf and a piece of bark to move the fuzzy ball to a safe place in a flowerbed. She worried and warned that I was not to touch the poisonous caterpillar. “Izzy, it’s not poisonous,” I repeated. I’m not sure she believed me.

We noted all the holes dotting the backyard, spots where squirrels dug for hidden walnuts. Empty shells littered the dormant lawn.

The previous evening, Grandpa led Izzy and Isaac up the hill through the woods behind our house. It’s a bit of a climb past fallen branches and brambles. But they were adventurous, determined to make it to the top, to Wapacuta Park. There they found the playground equipment rather scary—Grandpa concurred—but a gigantic rock a whole lot of fun as they scampered atop it. This is the same mammoth rock their mom, aunt and uncle climbed as kids. Life come full circle.

The Fleckenstein Bluffs Park playground. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

TIME TO PLAY & TIME TO ASK SERIOUS QUESTIONS

Late Friday morning we headed to Fleckenstein Bluffs Park near downtown to a playground the kids found much more to their liking. Another rock (albeit fake) to climb, a towering climbing apparatus, musical instruments, sand diggers, mini spinning seats and more, including fossils imprinted in the fake rocks.

We spent time, too, on an overlook above the Straight River. There the grandparents had to answer questions about homelessness given the blue tent pitched alongside the river. “Why do they live in a tent?” Sometimes adults don’t have all the answers. But we tried. Izzy worried that the police were coming to arrest those living in the tent when she saw a cruiser driving down the bike trail. No, Izzy, they’re not going to arrest them.

Beavers have given up chewing on this tree along the Straight River, we discovered during a walk on Friday. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

BEAVERS, GEESE, A HERON & MEMORIES

And so we followed the Straight River Trail, noting trees chewed by beavers, a sandbar in the river, chimes on an apartment balcony clinking in the wind, a pair of geese moving from land to river, a magnificent blue heron flying low above the water…then those geese again, swimming.

Izzy stopped to pluck stones from alongside the trail, dropping them into an empty yogurt cup she’d brought with her. We walked sometimes hand-in-hand, Isaac and Grandpa well ahead of us, also clasping hands. This time together in the outdoors is the stuff of memories, of learning, of connecting with nature.

This used bookshop in Faribault is a must-stop when the grandkids visit. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

DRAGONS, TORNADOES & THE BIG WIDE WORLD

On the drive home, we stopped at Books on Central, a used bookstore run by the Rice County Area United Way. We like to take the kids there whenever they are in town. Izzy found a fantasy book about dragons she’s read, but wanted to own. And a nonfiction book about tornadoes. Isaac was looking for atlases. Jeanne, who volunteers at the bookshop, found two, as yet unprocessed, atlases in the back room. Isaac was happy, promptly sitting down to page through the books. We also chose a book for their baby cousin, Everett, in Wisconsin.

And so that was our day together. A time of laundry hanging, backyard observing, playing, walking and enveloping ourselves in nature. But above all, it was time for us as grandparents to be with our beloved grandchildren, simply enjoying an unseasonably warm late March day in southern Minnesota, “poisonous caterpillar” and all.

© Copyright 2025 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Beyond simply playing BINGO March 26, 2024

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 5:00 AM
Tags: , , , , ,
An old school BINGO card. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

ISAAC’S EXCITEMENT was palpable. He flew into Grandpa’s arms for a hug. They share a special bond; they are buddies. I love witnessing the love between them.

“Aren’t you going to give Grandma a hug?” my daughter asked Isaac. He wasn’t. Not initially. But then Isaac did. After his sister, Izzy, hugged me. There were more embraces for their parents. We were ready to go.

The six of us entered a spacious gathering room accented by a stained glass cross and other faith-based art. The buttery scent of popcorn permeated the space. Prizes covered tables. BINGO cards, some white, some green, layered more tables.

This was Family BINGO Night at Isaac’s preschool at a Lutheran church in the south metro. Randy and I were there to play the game, but mostly to spend time with our grandkids, eldest daughter and son-in-law. Making memories. Building bonds. Sharing moments.

Isaac and Izzy were there for one thing—to win at BINGO and claim a prize. They scoped out the goods, Isaac eyeing an alien painting kit and Izzy a Paw Patrol puzzle.

As we grabbed BINGO cards and settled onto chairs ringing a large round table, Izzy next to me and Isaac next to Randy, I could see the kids’ anticipation. Izzy fidgeted. Isaac’s cheeks were flushed. While we waited for the game to start, we picked up frosted cookies to go with popcorn scooped into paper boats. Sweet and salty. Yum.

Soon enough the BINGO calling began. Loud. But I managed, even with sensory issues caused by long haul COVID.

Playing BINGO at a church festival. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

We slid red plastic tabs across BINGO numbers. The adults played two cards each, doubling our chances of winning a coveted prize. Soon Marc was calling “BINGO!” and Isaac had his alien art. Good, one happy kid.

The BINGO rounds continued with no winners at our table. By then I was struggling visually, seeing double sometimes. My eyes are still healing from bilateral strabismus eye surgery and they were getting a work out playing BINGO. Not only were my eyes darting between two cards, but they were also occasionally focusing on the overhead screen to read numbers, when I was unsure I heard correctly. I felt my right eye muscles stretching, hurting. I needed Izzy’s help. She took one of my cards. I noted Izzy was becoming increasingly antsy about winning a prize. And then Grandpa came through and, boom, she had her puppy puzzle.

My siblings and I have a saying, “Life isn’t fair and the fair is in August.” I wanted to say that to Izzy, but I didn’t think she would understand. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2019)

All was good and fine…until Grandpa won a second time and it wasn’t fair, proclaimed Izzy, that Isaac got two prizes and she only had one. Try and reason with an almost eight-year-old. It went something like this, “Well, Grandma won and she could have picked a prize for herself, but she let you pick one.”

“I thought Grandpa won,” Izzy replied, emphasis on Grandpa.

My granddaughter was right. I didn’t win. Randy did. Not only were my eyes tired. But apparently so was my brain. BINGO!

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

The unwanted birthday gift has its day March 6, 2024

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 5:00 AM
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , ,
An amaryllis begins to bloom. (Photo credit: Amber Schmidt)

THE BOXED BULBS on an end cap at a big box store caught my eye, as intended. I worked briefly as a grocery store clerk back in the day when cashiers read and punched prices onto cash register keys. I learned then all about moving products by strategically placing them on the end of a shelf row.

So here I was, falling for the age-old marketing gimmick of pushing impulse purchases. But on this day, I was thankful for that end cap display of boxed amaryllis bulbs. This would make the perfect birthday gift for my soon-to-be 5-year-old grandson. Or so I thought.

On Isaac’s birthday in early January, we gathered to celebrate. As Isaac opened his gift stash, it was obvious he liked some presents more than others. That’s the thing about kids his age. They can’t hide their honest reaction, their true feelings. He loved the LEGO sets, the sticker book, the… But when he pulled the boxed bulb from the gift bag, Isaac promptly tossed it aside. Not set the box on the carpet, but threw it. Not even an explanation from Grandma about planting the bulb which would flower in big, beautiful red blooms changed his mind. He didn’t care.

I should back up a minute and explain why I thought this would be a good gift for my grandson. Last spring I gave several packets of seeds to the grandkids. Spinach, carrot and flower seeds, which my eldest daughter planted with her son. He took an interest once the seeds sprouted and the plants grew. Amber called him “Farmer Isaac.”

The farm girl in me felt encouraged. My grandchildren, who live in a sprawling new housing development in the south metro, are far-removed from their rural heritage. It’s important to me that they understand their agrarian roots. Randy and I grew up on crop and dairy farms—farms with large gardens from whence came most of our food. Youth like Isaac and his sister, Isabelle, need to know that food originates on farms, not grocery store shelves. As preschoolers, they loved to dig in the dirt at our house. I would hand them shovels and the dirt would fly. Kids need to touch the earth, splash in mud puddles, gather sticks and pine cones and leaves and do all those activities that connect them to the land. And make their hands dirty.

Emerging amaryllis. (Edited photo; Photo credit: Amber Schmidt)

But now here was this dormant amaryllis bulb all ugly and brown and not looking at all like anything that would ever grow. But, once potted, grow it did. When the first green leaves emerged from the massive bulb at the end of January, Isaac suddenly took an interest. “You better take a picture to show Grandma,” he instructed his mom.

Isaac loves space, puzzles, art and now amaryllis. (Photo credit: Amber Schmidt)

A few weeks later, the first of several flowers bloomed. And there was Isaac again in a photo, right elbow learning on the kitchen island by sheets of paper for his next art project, left hand on his world atlas, jigsaw puzzles and that once dormant amaryllis bulb now blooming in the foreground. His smile was wide, his happiness evident. The amaryllis had its moment. Big. Bold. Beautiful red. No longer tossed aside. Finally and fully appreciated by the birthday boy.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

When the birthday boy says the darndest things January 10, 2024

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 5:00 AM
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , ,
A video features episodes of the TV series. (Image sourced online)

ANYONE WHO IS A GRANDPARENT will tell you it’s the best. That includes me, grandmother of two. Grandparents have all the fun of parenting minus the everyday challenges of raising children. We are also witness to much, sort of like observers of “Kids Say the Darndest Things.” Remember that original long ago TV series by Art Linkletter in which he interviewed kids and they answered quite honestly, hilariously?

Recently, my grandson celebrated his fifth birthday with a small party that included Randy and me (his other grandparents live in Arizona), his paternal aunt and uncle, and his older sister and parents. His other aunt and uncles live too far away.

Isaac starts opening gifts. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted, edited photo January 2024)

As we gathered in the living room to watch Isaac open his gifts, I felt the love that enveloped this little boy. He was so excited as kids are wont to be about birthdays. But then if I had a pile of gifts at my feet and I was only five, I might get excited, too.

Tearing into the packages, Isaac didn’t hide his feelings. When he opened a space sticker book from Opa and Oma, he stopped and was about to start sticking stickers…until his mom politely reminded him that he should open his other gifts first. It was clear he loved the sticker book.

Last spring Isaac and his mom planted flower seeds including zinnias, like these grown by my friend Al. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo September 2019 used for illustration only)

But he didn’t love the red amaryllis bulb I gave him to plant. In fact, Isaac tossed the box to the side while I hastily tried to explain to him what was inside. “I don’t like flowers!” he said, this the boy who last summer seeded flowers, tended flowers, delighted in every bloom and earned the name Farmer Isaac. Maybe my grandson will change his attitude when the amaryllis blooms in about two months.

He also tossed aside a pom pom animal craft kit. He loves doing arts and crafts and goes through so many colored magic markers that Crayola should have a rewards program for his parents.

Thankfully Isaac liked the thick pack of multi-colored construction paper and the 3-in-1 space shuttle LEGO set Randy and I gave him. Before we left the party, he’d already assembled the shuttle and told me I should give all of his Uncle Caleb’s LEGOs to him. Alright then. I would need to clear that with my son.

It was Caleb’s gift, though, that had all of us erupting in laughter. Not because it was anything unusual or humorous. Rather, it was simply cash in a card. Isaac ripped open the envelope, pulled out the substantial monetary gift and flew out of the room and upstairs to his bedroom, bills clutched tightly in his hand. No one was going to get his money.

Isaac’s colorful birthday cake. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo January 2024)

And then there was the bakery birthday cake, chocolate and frosted in bold hues, as vivid as any frosting I’ve ever seen. Isaac wanted blue frosting accented by a rainbow of colors to match the Numberblock theme of his party. “Numberblock” is an animated children’s series that teaches kids math skills via adventures. I’ve never seen it. My grandson, a math whiz, has and also has the toys spun off from the show. Ask him a math problem and he can likely solve it. I’m not talking simple addition and subtraction, but rather multiplication and other math problems well beyond his just-turned-five years. Did I mention that his dad is a math major and an actuary?

Back to that blue cake. The blue coloring of the frosting was much darker than Isaac’s mom expected. As we forked the heavily frosted cake into our mouths, our lips, tongues and teeth turned blue. The birthday boy never complained. But there was some quick wiping of teeth by adults and of the kitchen counter before the blue dye stained surfaces.

Hours after we left the party, my daughter texted with a message from Isaac. “I forgot to tell the birthday comers thank you,” he told his mom. Awwww. Melted this grandma’s heart, negating the tossed amaryllis “I don’t like flowers!” moment. Kids truly do say the darndest things.

#

TELL ME: I’d like to hear a “kids say the darndest things” quote from you. Let’s laugh this morning.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Gardening: Passing along my rural heritage & much more May 2, 2023

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 5:00 AM
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , ,

Seeds for sale at Seed Savers Exchange, Decorah, Iowa. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo September 2018)

SEVERAL DAYS AGO, my 4-year-old grandson excitedly shared that his broccoli was growing. His mom, my eldest, clarified. Sixteen broccoli seeds and one carrot seed had sprouted, popping through potting soil in three days. That surprised even me, who grew up in a gardening family with most of our food from farm to table, long before that became a thing.

Annuals that are easy to grow from seed. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

A year ago, I gifted my grandchildren with several packets of seeds. Flowers only. Zinnias and bachelor buttons, easy-to-grow-from-seed annuals that blossom throughout the summer. Isaac and his mom planted the seeds in flower pots. And then watched seeds emerge into tender plants that grew and bloomed in a jolt of color.

Old-fashioned zinnias grown by my friend Al and sold at the Faribault Farmers’ Market. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo September 2019)

That was enough for the preschooler to get the gardening bug. This year, in selecting seeds for Isaac and his older sister, I added vegetables to the mix of flowers. Spinach because I knew it would grow quickly and flourish in Minnesota’s still cool weather. And carrots, because Isaac wanted to plant them. Later, he told his mom he also wanted to plant broccoli because he likes broccoli. I’m not sure that’s true. But Amber bought broccoli seeds for her son, whom she’s dubbed Farmer Isaac.

“Summer in a Jar,” sold at the Faribault Farmers’ Market. This photo published in the book “The World of Laura Ingalls Wilder, The Frontier Landscapes that Inspired The Little House Books” by Marta McDowell. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo September 2015)

I can’t think of a better way to encourage kids to try vegetables. And to teach them about plants and that veggies don’t just come from the grocery store. With most families now a generation or two or three removed from the land, it’s more important than ever to initiate or maintain a connection rooted in the soil.

Several types of tomatoes grow in the garden outside Buckham Memorial Library, Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

Soil was the gardening starting point for my grandchildren. Once when they stayed overnight, I got out the gardening shovels and directed them toward a corner flowerbed and a patch of dirt. The dirt flew as they dug and uncovered earthworms and half a walnut shell and bugs. I didn’t care if their hands got dirty. I simply wanted them to have fun, to feel the cold, damp earth, to appreciate the soil beneath and between their fingers.

My great niece waters plants inside her family’s mini greenhouse. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo May 2018)

I was a bit surprised when my eldest embraced gardening with her kids. But then again, she was the daughter who always watered flowers and observed that “the flowers are opening their mouths” (translation, “the tulips are blooming”) as a preschooler. I never had much of a garden due to lack of a sunny spot in my yard. But I usually grew tomatoes in pots and always had pots overflowing with flowers and flowers in beds. So Isaac and Isabelle’s mom did have a sort of gardening background.

Heirloom tomato at the Faribault Farmers’ Market. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo September 2019)

As a farmer’s daughter and a grandma, passing along something like gardening is like passing along part of my rural heritage. My Grandma Ida always had a big garden, an essential with a family of 10 kids. She continued to garden throughout her life, long after her kids were gone and she moved to town. Likewise, my mom planted a massive garden to feed her six kids. My siblings and I helped with the gardening—pulling weeds, picking vegetables… And shelling peas. Of all the garden-related tasks, the rhythmic act of running my thumb along an open pod to pop pearls of peas into a pan proved particularly satisfying. Plus, I loved the taste of fresh peas from the garden. There’s nothing like it except perhaps the juicy goodness of a sun-ripened tomato or leaf lettuce or a just-pulled carrot with dirt clinging to the root.

My friend Al vends flowers and vegetables at the Faribault Farmers’ Market. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo September 2019)

I don’t expect my grandchildren will garden like their great great grandma or great grandma. But that’s OK. They’ve been introduced to gardening. They see now how seeds sprout and develop into plants that yield beauty or food. Hopefully they will gain an appreciation for garden-fresh, whether fresh from the pots on their patio or deck, or from a farmers’ market.

Purple beans grow in the library garden. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

Even though they live in a south metro suburb, my grandkids remain close to the land with farm fields within view, not yet replaced by massive housing developments. It’s important to me that Isabelle and Isaac always feel connected to their rural heritage, that they value the land, that they grow up to remember the feel of cold, damp dirt on their hands. That they understand their food is not sourced from grocery stores, but rather from the earth.

© Copyright 2023 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Not your grandma’s BINGO March 23, 2023

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 5:00 AM
Tags: , , , , , , ,
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.

© Copyright 2023 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

 

Beyond BIG PLANS, the moments that matter most to this grandma February 20, 2023

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 11:55 AM
Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,
Book cover credit: Bob Shea’s website

“I GOT PLANS! BIG PLANS, I SAY!” shouts the boy standing atop the highest hill in town, the hill he just climbed.

His plans take him to a big city, to a board room filled with MUCKETY-MUCKS, into a helicopter and onto a football field. He becomes mayor and then President. He has, he continues proclaiming, BIG PLANS.

His plans take him into space, flying in a rocket ship built by the state of Pennsylvania and wearing a space suit made of potatoes from Idaho. There is seemingly nothing he cannot do.

My grandkids, Isabelle, 6, and Isaac, 4, loved this easy reader picture book written by Bob Shea and illustrated by Lane Smith. I did, too. It’s funny, empowering and imaginative. And I loved reading it to my grandchildren as we snuggled into the recliner under a fleece throw. I lost count of how many times I read BIG PLANS during their overnight weekend stay.

As a grandma, I hold onto the moments rather than big plans for my young grandchildren. I want them to appreciate who they are now and Isaac as much as stated the same when he said he wanted to remain a kid. For now he is—a little boy whose knowledge of the solar system is not to be challenged. Likewise his sister with dinosaurs.

Saturday into Sunday afternoon, toys and books and puzzles littered the living room turned playroom. Toys pulled from totes in the basement. A Fisher Price school bus, a fire truck, a bulldozer. Matchbox vehicles, including an ambulance with doors that open, Isabelle noted. Small plastic dinosaurs and larger roaring ones. Cootie and BINGO pulled from an upstairs closet. Toys that their mom and their aunt and their uncle and a host of other children have played with through the decades, imaginations unleashed.

Isaac created art with crayons, inspired by another book we read, Jigsaw Mystery in the Mail by Bob Graham. He drew a birthday cake with two flaming candles, asked me to cut out double layers of cake and then staple the two together to form a card. He asked for an envelope, then requested I address it to United States of America. Nothing more. He expects his mom to drop the card in a mailbox, just like in the book.

The animal-focused book Moon Glowing written by Elizabeth Partridge and illustrated by Joan Paley brought discussion about hibernating beavers, bats and bears. Maybe a bear lives inside the snow cave we discovered in the backyard, Isabelle and I considered. The snow den into which Izzy and I poked a stick three feet long, the stick easily swallowed. I considered for a moment that an animal might come raging out. Certainly not a bear, but…

So we moved onto fishing (Izzy’s idea). She dropped her line over the limestone wall, hauling in fish after fish after fish. I appreciated how creative her mind, how dry maple leaves topping the snow, mulching flowerbeds, morphed into sunnies and crappies and walleyes caught via her stick fishing pole. And then this first grader mentioned that she wished she really was fishing. And although it’s no longer truly safe to ice fish in Minnesota this season, there’s always next winter. Or fishing from the dock at the cabin this summer.

These were the moments of my weekend. No BIG PLANS. But something far better—time with these dear little ones. Time to hug and hold and hang onto the moments that matter most. Like the moment Isaac declared, “Peanut butter pancakes make me happy!”

© Copyright 2023 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Time with the grandkids on a winter weekend in Minnesota January 19, 2023

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 5:00 AM
Tags: , , , , , , , , ,
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.

© Copyright 2023 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

The magic of believing in Santa December 23, 2022

Filed under: Uncategorized — Audrey Kletscher Helbling @ 5:00 AM
Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

This shows part of my small collection of Santas (and one St. Nicholas) and Santa cards displayed on a shelf in my dining room. The Santas on the left and right are candles received from my Aunt Ardyce at a family gift exchange in the 1960s. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo December 2022)

MY OLDEST DAUGHTER TEXTED on Wednesday asking for a cookie recipe. The kids, she said, would want to leave a treat for Santa.

Oh, to be young again and believe in an overweight bearded man in a red suit bearing gifts on Christmas. Just to clarify, the 6 ½-year-old granddaughter is questioning Santa’s validity. But Izzy hasn’t vocalized her suspicions to her younger brother, Isaac. I expect she wants to share her doubts, yet is hesitating lest she’s wrong. Who wants to risk Santa not leaving gifts?

There’s something to be said for believing in Santa, no matter your age. Or maybe, more accurately, there’s something to be said for the magic that accompanies believing. So I suppose, in reality, I believe in Santa still.

I believe in the joy he brings. The smiles. The goodness. The laughter. The reminder that, even in difficult times, Santa navigates around life’s obstacles through a dark sky, Rudolph’s nose lighting the way. That’s such a strong visual, one we’ve seen illustrated many times in children’s picture books.

This time of year, so many individuals, organizations, churches and more bring joy. They are, like Santa, the bearers of gifts. Toys, food, clothing, gift cards… They become the magic. But it isn’t all about the tangible “things,” although those are decidedly needed and appreciated. It’s also about what giving means to the recipient. It means someone understands, someone cares, someone sees.

Santa is not fictional. He’s real, in a magical sort of way that is timeless and believable, even to the grandma of a suspicious first grader.

TELL ME: What are your thoughts on Santa?

© Copyright 2022 Audrey Kletscher Helbling