Minnesota Prairie Roots

Writing and photography by Audrey Kletscher Helbling

Celebrating Randy & 42 years together May 15, 2024

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My husband, Randy, and I exit St. John’s Lutheran Church in Vesta following our May 15, 1982, wedding. (Photo credit: Williams Studio, Redwood Falls)

FOUR DECADES plus two years. Or 42 years. No matter how you view it, that’s a lot of time. Today marks 42 years since Randy and I were married at St. John’s Lutheran Church in my hometown of Vesta.

A favorite photo of Randy holding our then 10-day-old granddaughter, Isabelle. (Minnesota Prairie Roots file photo April 2016)

As anyone our age will tell you, time passes too quickly. Here we are today, comfortably settled into our life together. Kids long grown and gone. In semi-retirement. Grandparents of two. Understanding that this life we’ve built has been one of much joy, but also one of challenges. Nothing unusual about that. Such is life.

Through the all of it, we’ve supported one another. Leaned into each other. Been there. Done exactly as we promised we would, in sickness and in health.

Randy stands next to an Allis Chalmers corn chopper like the one that claimed his dad’s left hand and much of his arm in a 1967 accident. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

Randy is the kind of guy who quietly steps up and helps, does the right thing. Back in 1967, long before I ever knew him and in a part of Minnesota unfamiliar to me, Randy saved a life. His father’s. They were working together, harvesting on the family farm, when the corn chopper plugged with corn. Tom hopped off the tractor to hand-feed corn into the chopper. As he did so, his hand was pulled into the spring-loaded roller. The chopper blades sliced off his fingers while his arm remained trapped in the roller. As his father screamed, Randy disengaged the power take-off. He then ran across swampland and along the cow pasture to a neighboring farm for help. If not for that heroic action by a boy who had just turned eleven, my future father-in-law would have died.

This is my husband. Calm. Steady. Dependable. A son who saved his father’s life. He was never publicly recognized for his actions. (I think he should be, even now nearly 57 years after the fact.) Life went on for the Helbling family, Dad now minus a hand and part of an arm. It was not easy.

This is a photo snapped with a cellphone of the X-ray showing the implant in my wrist, held in place by 10 screws. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2018)

Randy has maintained that steady evenness throughout our marriage, a quality I appreciated when our younger daughter underwent surgery at age four, when our son was struck by a car, when I was in the worst throes of long haul COVID, unable to function. He’s always been there for our family, for me. When I broke my wrist six years ago, Randy stuck his hand out the van window to slap an imaginary emergency light atop the roof as I pleaded with him to drive faster to the emergency room. Yes, Randy possesses a sense of humor that balances my lack of a funny bone.

Admittedly, I don’t always understand his humor. But Randy still tries to make me laugh. Occasionally he cuts a cartoon from the local paper (I don’t read the funnies) and sticks it on the fridge. His latest came from “The Family Circus” with this line: Poems are like rap without music. When I finally noticed the clipping two days later, I texted him that Poems are NOT like rap. He knows I don’t like rap music.

Audrey and Randy, May 15, 1982. (Photo credit: Williams Studio. Redwood Falls)

Maybe he doesn’t like poems. But if he doesn’t, Randy hasn’t told me, his poetry writing wife. I bet if you had asked Randy 42 years ago whether he would ever attend a poetry reading, he would have vehemently replied, “No!” But he has. Many of them through the years, at which I’ve read my poems.

Randy is my greatest supporter in my writing career. He understands that the writing and photography I’ve done, and still do, are my life’s chosen work, not simply a hobby (as some others view it). I appreciate his appreciation of my creativity.

I appreciate his talents and skills also. Randy, supposedly retired from automotive machining (but not really), earns the praises of many a customer. They want “only Randy” to do their work. He is exceptional in his trade and truly irreplaceable.

Randy grilling. He grills year-round. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

Randy has other skills I’ve come to value through the decades. He is an excellent griller, still grilling everything the old school way on a Weber charcoal grill. He’s also mastered making grilled cheese and tomato soup for Saturday lunch and omelets for Sunday brunch.

Randy can fool any cardinal with his realistic bird call. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

And he’s really good at cardinal calls. The bird, not anything related to his Catholic upbringing. Whether in the backyard or walking in woods, Randy will answer a cardinal’s trill with his own. Yes, he sounds just like a cardinal.

Our life together now includes grandchildren. Here Randy walks with Isabelle and Isaac along a pine-edged driveway at a family member’s central Minnesota lake place. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo July 2020)

We’ve built this life together on love, laughter, respect, support, encouragement, faith and so much more. Forty-two years. Four decades plus two years. Days, weeks, months, years…of blessings in good times and in bad. There for one another. Always.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Looking west in a new poetry collection by five Northfield poets April 18, 2024

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Just-published, a 116-page anthology featuring the poetry of five Northfield, Minnesota, poets. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo April 2024)

ON AN APRIL AFTERNOON when gray skies reverberated thunder and unleashed sheets of rain upon parched southern Minnesota, I read their words, table-side lamp pooling light onto pages. It felt right, to cozy under a fleece throw, to immerse myself in the poetry of Becky Boling, Heather Candels, D.E. Green, Steve McCown and Julie A. Ryan on a day meant for sheltering indoors.

Outside the Northfield Public Library during a 2019 celebration of Hispanic Heritage Month. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo September 2019)

Their collective poetry, printed in the recently-released anthology, We Look West, is decidedly reflective, introspective and individually unique. Unique in voice and style for this group of writers tagged as Poets of the Northfield, Minnesota, Public Library. This book is part of the Up on Big Rock Poetry Series published by Winona-based Shipwreckt Books Publishing Company. It showcases the work of not only seasoned writers, but also poets seasoned in life. This is a relatable read, especially for Baby Boomers like me.

Antiques on 4th in Cannon Falls. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo October 2021)

Youthful memories of grandmothers, homemade ice cream, small towns as they once were and much more flow through the pages. At times I feel as if I’m reading about “the dusty excess of nostalgia” of my life, as Steve McCown writes “In an Antique Store.” His mention of a Tom Thumb toy cash register sends me back to a long ago Christmas. His poems are sparse, yet fully-descriptive in the way of language carefully-culled by a man who taught high school and college English.

An Elvis impersonator performs during Bean Hole Days in Pequot Lakes. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo July 2021)

Likewise, Julie A. Ryan, has me reminiscing with “Candy Cigarettes,” the chalky white sticks of fake cigarettes that I, too, “smoked” in the 1960s. Ryan paints with her words, revealing the visual artist side of her creativity. She mentions Van Gogh and painting and also leans into music within her poetry. Especially powerful is her poem, “’68 Comeback Special,” in which she shares about a near-death experience, of almost meeting Elvis. Her final poem, “We Look West,” titles the book, summarizing well the transition of life from sunrise/birth to sunset/death. That themes the anthology, the movement of life from east to west.

Performing at The Contented Cow in downtown Northfield. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo August 2020)

In her poetry, Becky Boling moves readers through life from playground monkey bars to motherhood to contemplating old age. I am particularly drawn to “Violin Lesson,” in which Boling observes her young son learning to play the violin. From a deep cushioned armchair, she is caught up in the artistry, the beauty, the movement as am I through her observational writing. And then she closes with the emotional thought of not wanting the moment to end, of understanding that some day she will let her son go. As the mother of three, I feel her sadness at the lesson completed. I expect in her 36 years of teaching Spanish and Liberal Arts at Carleton College in Northfield, Boling has observed the movement of young people whose parents let them go to learn and grow their independence.

A southwestern Minnesota prairie sunset between Redwood Falls and Morgan. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

D.E. Green, who taught English for 33 years at Augsburg University, has likely seen the same. His poems reflect life and love. Particularly endearing is his poem, “For Becky: Love Sonnet after Neruda,” written for Boling, to whom he’s married. (They also share the position of interim co-poet laureates in Northfield.) His appreciation for and study of Shakespeare show in this love poem, as touching as any love poem I’ve read. “I love you unthinkingly/like a deep breath, a careless yawn, a sigh,” he writes. Beautiful. Green also reflects on his life lived “good enough” and on life during retirement. His poetry should be required reading for anyone closer to west than to east.

My mom lived in a care center, confined to a wheelchair in the end years of her life. I took this photo of her hands about a year before her January 2022 death. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo December 2020)

Heather Candels, too, reflects on her passing life in a poem aptly titled “Passing.” But it is “Situation Comedy,” a poem about a 104-year-old woman living in a care center, which elicits an especially emotional reaction from me. I can picture the centenarian shoving her walker (as my octogenarian mom did) to the dining room, then sitting with Grace and Lloyd, whom she secretly calls Grease and Lard. “Something has to be funny about all this,” Candels writes. The former English teacher is a gifted storyteller who brings unexpected emotional lines to her writing.

In “A Sign,” Heather Candels writes about racial injustice via white lilies of the valley and “their colonies spreading underground/roots nurtured by the rich dark soil…” This poem alone is reason enough to buy this anthology. Photo taken in Madison, Wisconsin. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo September 2020)

And then there are the poems that touch on tough topics, on social issues, on disparities. Climate change. Evidence in the Nuremberg Trials. Racial injustice. Poetry doesn’t right life. But it opens our minds, causes us to think, reflect, perhaps take positive action as we move from east to west.

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FYI: The five Minnesota poets included in We Look West will launch their anthology during a reading and book signing at 7 pm on Thursday, May 16, at the Northfield Public Library. I encourage you to attend if you live in the area. If not, I suggest you buy a copy of this 116-page anthology through an independent bookseller. These poets are gifted writers, this collection a must-read whether you’re a Baby Boomer or not.

 

Defining time in the everyday moments of life March 7, 2024

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The restored Security State Bank Building clock in historic downtown Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

TIME, WHEN YOU’RE YOUNG, seems to pass slowly. You’re waiting, always waiting. To turn another year older. To master a skill. To gain independence. To do whatever seems so important you wonder how you can possibly wait for another day or week or month to pass.

Now I wish time would slow down. But it can’t and it won’t and so I accept the reality of time passing, of aging, of days disappearing too quickly. Of celebrating my 50-year high school class reunion this year. Of my youngest turning thirty. Of me nudging seventy.

A street clock in historic downtown Wabasha. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

In a recent conversation with a beloved aunt, she shared that she can’t believe how old her nieces and nephews are, considering she’s only twenty-nine. I love that about Aunt Dorothy, who has always and forever declared herself on the cusp of thirty while in reality she’s closing in on ninety. I like her thinking.

(Book cover sourced online)

By happenstance, I picked up a children’s picture book at my local library a few weeks ago that focuses on time. I’m not trying to go back in time to my childhood. Rather, I enjoy books written for kids. Many hold important messages and beautiful art that resonate with me. I highly-recommend you check out recently-published children’s picture books to see how they’ve evolved over the decades into some timely masterpieces of words and art.

Among the books I selected was Time Is a Flower, written and illustrated by Julie Morstad of Vancouver, British Columbia. In her opening page, Morstad writes of time as a clock, as a calendar, in the traditional ways we consider time.

A prairie sunset in southwestern Minnesota. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

But then the book unfolds, page by page, into time comparisons that are simplistic, everyday, ordinary, unremarkable. Yet remarkable in the way Morstad presents them with sparse words and bold art. If I could rip the pages from her book, I would frame her illustrations of a sunset reflected in sunglasses; a child’s long wavy locks woven with bird, butterfly and flower; and a wiggly tooth in a gaping mouth.

A swallowtail butterfly feeds on a zinnia. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

Time is the moments, the memories. The details. Not necessarily the extraordinary. That is the message I take from Morstad’s book. Appreciate the caterpillar, not just the butterfly. Appreciate the seed, not just the flower. Value the slant of sunlight across the floor, and the shadows, too.

A princess by Roosevelt Elementary School kindergartner Ruweyda, exhibited in March 2023 at the Student Art Show, Paradise Center for the Arts, Faribault. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

As I consider Time Is a Flower, I think of my dear aunt half a country away in New Jersey. Too many years have passed since I’ve seen Aunt Dorothy, so long that I can’t recall the last time we embraced. But I hold memories of her, of our time together. She was the young aunt who arrived from the Twin Cities with discarded jewelry and nail polish for me and my sisters. She was the aunt who called her husband, “My Love,” an endearing name that imprinted upon me her deep love for Uncle Robin (who died in January). She is the aunt who took me into New York City when I was a junior in college visiting her on spring break. She is the aunt who, for my entire life, has called me “My Little Princess.”

A 1950s scene in downtown Faribault honors history and the passage of time in this mural. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

Yes, time passes too quickly. The clock ticks. Days on the calendar advance. Years pass.

Each spring the daffodils bloom. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

But within each day, seconds and minutes and hours remain. Time to live. Time to love. And time to remember that time is like a flower. Sprouting. Growing. Blooming. Dying. Time is a moment, until it’s a memory.

Most people no longer wear wrist watches. I still do. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

NOTE: Remember, this Sunday, March 10, time changes as we shift to daylight savings time in the U.S. We lose an hour of time as we spring forward.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

The centenarian, the seamstress & the tortoise September 27, 2023

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Audrey Kletscher Helbling and Mickey Nelson inside The Junk Monkey. (Copyrighted photo by Randy Helbling, September 2023)

IN THE EVERYDAY MOMENTS of life, I often strike up conversations with strangers given my innate desire to hear their stories, to connect, to learn, or simply to show I care. Through such encounters, I’ve met the most delightful individuals.

THE CENTENARIAN

Take Mickey Nelson, 103, of Clarks Grove.

“You’re 103?” I overheard the question, edged with disbelief, while recently browsing a local vintage, collectibles and treasures shop. That was enough for me to pause and head to the front of the store to meet this centenarian engaged in conversation with shopkeeper Theresa.

When I spotted Mickey, I understood why Theresa sounded so incredulous. Mickey looked not a day over 80. His smile, which reached his eyes, exuded positivity, joy. And then I heard his story, realizing I’d heard it three years earlier.

Mickey is, in every way, extraordinary. In 2020, he walked 100 miles in his small southern Minnesota community to celebrate his 100th birthday. He didn’t walk just to walk. Mickey walked for a purpose, to raise money for the Salvation Army. And he raised a whole lot—$115,000, his daughter Michelle said.

I was beyond impressed by this WW II veteran and his generosity. Mickey remembered the bread lines during the Great Depression. That sparked his 100-mile mission to gather monies for Salvation Army food assistance during COVID-19. A similar effort by an aged veteran in England, who walked 100 laps in his garden during the pandemic and raised $30 million for Britain’s healthcare system, also proved motivating for Mickey.

On this day, I felt honored to meet Mickey, whose story was broadly shared in the media in 2020, the reason it was familiar to me. I decided right then and there that I wanted my photo taken with this celebrity, a remarkable man not only for his generosity of spirit, but also for the spirit of joyfulness he exudes.

Virginia Malecha displays two of her tote bags, among creations she was vending at the Faribault Farmers’ Market. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2023)

THE SEAMSTRESS

The same can be said for Virginia Malecha of Millersburg, whom I met while enjoying a pork burger during a recent event at the local co-op. She, like Mickey, exudes joy. And she, like Mickey, is generous. Virginia has sewn 200 cloth bags for patrons to use at the Northfield Public Library. As we talked, I learned that this seamstress has been sewing since age nine. She clearly enjoys the craft, stitching totes from recycled materials (such as clothing and duvets) and from her fabric stash collected through the decades.

Virginia invited me to stop at the Faribault Farmers’ Market to view more of her creations, including dish towels she machine embroiders, scrubbies and more. Two days later, I did just that. I was impressed by this kind, generous and friendly woman. She not only sews, but also taught herself to play the concertina and raised her family on a dairy farm (another connection given I grew up on a dairy farm). I asked to take her photo. I wanted to remember her beautiful smile and how she, like Mickey, inspired me. And it all started with a conversation over burgers in a co-op parking lot.

Not a tortoise, but a turtle, which is nearly as slow as a tortoise. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo June 2020)

THE TORTOISE

And then there was the recent afternoon I met Paul (whose last name I never got) in the same park where Virginia vended her wares. He was walking, just like my husband and me. Randy and I were, however, going at a much faster pace. That led to a humorous moment, when Paul called us the hares, himself a tortoise. But, I reminded him, the tortoise wins the race.

On this day, though, I truly was the winner given the conversation that followed. We chatted a bit about retirement and other topics. But even before Paul mentioned that he was a retired Lutheran pastor from New Richland now relocated and living across the street from the park, I recognized his compassion. He listened as I shared about my neurological health issues caused by a virus in early January. His wife, he said, suffered a traumatic brain injury. Her challenges in many ways mimic mine. I felt, in that moment, understood, uplifted and incredibly thankful for this caring man.

Like Mickey and Virginia, we connected in an everyday moment of life. And I am the better for having met the three of them—the centenarian, the seamstress and the tortoise.

© Copyright 2023 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Connecting in life’s everyday moments August 30, 2023

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I love this positive message posted on a rear vehicle window. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo August 2023)

WE STOOD OUTSIDE the local library, minutes before the 9 am weekday opening, waiting for staff to unlock the front door and let us inside. Rather than wait silently, I struck up a conversation with the elderly man next to me. I’ll always choose talking to a stranger over saying nothing. That’s my nature.

Via conversations, I have met many interesting individuals, listened to their stories, sometimes shared mine. It’s all about pausing, about truly taking the time to engage others in meaningful ways, if even for a minute or ten.

On this morning, I learned that I was talking to a 94-year-old Korean War veteran. We had an instant connection as my dad also served in the “Forgotten War.” I sensed immediately that my new acquaintance did not want to talk about anything war-related and I respected that. My dad had been the same.

Instead I veered to a safe topic, this veteran’s early appearance at the library. “I have nothing else to do,” he said. My heart hurt at his words as I imagined how long his days stretch before him. He comes to the library to read newspapers. Not books. He struggled to read books in high school and never attempted since.

As we walked through the now open library doors, he ahead of me, I had one more thing to say. “I challenge you to read a book.” I doubt he will. But that’s OK. He reads newspapers, watches sports on TV. And on this day, he shared just a bit of his life story with me. And I felt honored to hear it.

Vintage dresses for sale at Antiques Plus in New Ulm. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo March 2021 used for illustration only)

AT THE ANTIQUE SHOP

Weeks prior, I found myself unexpectedly assisting a bride-to-be as she tried on vintage dresses at a local antique shop. Tall and slender with a thick braid falling to the side of her left shoulder, Angela radiated beauty inside and out. I offered to zip the zipper-back dresses she was considering for her October rehearsal dinner. She slipped into a flared pink dress that, even on her slight frame, fit too tightly. Next Angela donned a sleeveless chocolate brown wool dress that seemed custom-made for her. But I wanted to be honest. “Wool can be itchy,” I warned. She agreed that the heavy, textured fabric did feel a bit uncomfortable. Finally, I zipped the last dress—a long white sleeveless dress in a nubby fabric. When Angela expressed doubts about wearing white, I advised she’s the bride and can wear whatever she desires.

I left before Angela made a decision on the vintage dresses. But I didn’t leave before I learned that she works as an engineer at a medical device company in the metro and that she loves her job. What a joy to meet a young woman so devoted and passionate about her profession. That gives me such hope. We also shared a faith-filled moment, one which I will keep private between me and Angela. I consider her an angel in every sense of the word and felt blessed to have met her.

Roxy of Owatonna sent me a clutch of uplifting mini cards which I can give to others. She has been such an encourager to me during my recent health struggles. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo August 2023)

IN A GROCERY STORE PARKING LOT

Last Saturday, I experienced another uplifting moment, this time in a grocery store parking lot. The auburn-haired teen wheeling my cart full of groceries to the van asked about my plans for the rest of the day. I had none, I said, then asked about hers. She was meeting friends after work. As we parted, I told her to have fun with her friends. And she wished me a good day. Again, I felt such hope. This young woman could have simply pushed the cart, unloaded the groceries and said nothing. But she chose to engage. That says a lot about her character, her humanity.

It is everyday encounters like this which fill my spirit. Life offers so many opportunities to connect, to be there for one another. Whether to converse, to encourage or to zip the backs of vintage dresses for a bride-to-be, opportunities await us. We need only pause, listen, care.

© Copyright 2023 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Reflections on commencement from the mom of a postgraduate grad May 16, 2023

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An edited computer screen image of students about to graduate Sunday evening from Purdue University. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)

“YOU ARE READY and the world needs you….The world needs your energy and talents.” Versions of those statements are likely being repeated by keynote speakers during college commencements across the country. Sunday evening, Kathleen Howell, professor of Aeronautics and Astronautics at Purdue University, delivered those words to master’s and doctor of philosophy students receiving their diplomas, my son among them.

Purdue’s Boilermaker mascot was on-site for weekend commencement ceremonies. (Photo credit: Randy Helbling)

From hundreds of miles away in southern Minnesota, I watched livestreaming of the lengthy ceremony. My vestibular neuronitis symptoms prevented me from making the long trip to Indiana. But Randy was there, sitting in packed Elliott Hall of Music for hours waiting to see Caleb walk across the stage to accept his master’s diploma.

Purdue’s college president, left, and other staff filled the stage Sunday evening in this computer screen photo. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo May 2023)

As speakers go, Howell did a stellar job of addressing graduates, reflecting on their time at Purdue and the future. And I’m not just saying that. I’ve attended college commencements thrice through the years and have heard some not so good speakers, especially the Wisconsin politician who apparently thought he was at a campaign rally rather than a university graduation.

The rising moon. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

But back to West Lafayette, Indiana, and that speech by Howell. She shaped her address around a quote from President John F. Kennedy’s “moon speech,” quite appropriate given her area of expertise and involvement with the space program. In his talk about space exploration at Rice University in Houston, Texas, in September 1962, JFK said, “We chose to go to the moon in this decade and do the other things, not because they are easy, but because they are hard.”

Graduates, families and friends gather pre-commencement at Purdue Sunday evening. (Photo credit: Randy Helbling)

Howell took that quote and expanded, suggesting grads reflect on what they’ve learned and the lessons they’ve learned. How they’ve chosen the things that are hard, pushed through hard times, modified their paths, come out stronger and more resilient. Her words, I expect resonated with many. They did with me as a parent. Howell encouraged the new degree-holders to trust themselves, to always recognize that not everything is accomplished alone. I appreciated her specific acknowledgment of those who supported, continue to support, these new graduates.

All in all, Howell’s keynote address was upbeat, uplifting, encouraging. I never once just wanted her speech to end so the ceremony could proceed. But when it did and doctorate candidates began the process of being “hooded,” I admittedly grew impatient.

Caleb, pre-commencement. (Photo credit: Randy Helbling)

Eventually, Caleb walked across the stage and I found myself overcome with emotion. He’d worked hard, met challenges to reach this point and I felt incredibly proud and grateful and many other feelings rolled into that moment. Howell’s speech caused me to reflect on Caleb as a little boy and his interest in space, not space travel as much as the solar system. He even had a star chart. His star, though, shines not in the skies, but in computer science. Caleb will be among those Purdue students who go on to create technological advancements. He’s already off to a good start with his undergrad accomplishments, independent research and work experience in the years between earning his bachelor’s (from Tufts University) and master’s degrees.

For all those parents who are watching their “kids” graduate, this is your moment, too. As Professor Howell said, none of us can do this alone. Not us. Not these new graduates. And especially not the first men on the moon.

© Copyright 2023 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Strength & hope April 18, 2023

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The Straight River churns at the Morehouse Park dam in Owatonna. This image shows strength and power. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

WHAT’S YOUR DEFINITION of strength? Whom do you consider strong? Have you faced a challenge, or multiple challenges, in life that required strength? While our answers vary, especially on the third question, I expect threads of commonality in responses.

Strength, from my perspective, is about fortitude and endurance. It’s about somehow finding the ability to face a challenge, to persevere, to come out on the other side with a renewed sense of personal power. Not power in the sense of control, but power that reaffirms one’s ability to deal with whatever life throws at us.

Sometimes our lives can feel like random pieces of broken tile. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

We all have something, right? Financial hardships. Health issues. Loss. Pain. Family members who are struggling. But, admittedly, when we are in the middle of a lot, it can sometimes feel like we are alone, that others live perfect lives unencumbered by issues that drain, stress and, yes, sometimes overwhelm. Nothing could be further from the truth. I repeat: We all have something, whether individually or within our families. We are not alone.

Book cover source: Goodreads

The novel, Three Sisters by Heather Morris, prompted me to write on the topic of strength. Although fictional, the book is based on a true story about three sisters held in a concentration camp. This is a story of indescribable atrocities witnessed and experienced. This is also a story of irrepressible strength and hope. I encourage you to read this novel and also watch Ken Burns’ documentary, “The U.S. and the Holocaust,” which happened to air at the same time I was reading the book. Together, the two were almost too much for me to emotionally take in. It’s a lot to comprehend the inhumanity and cruelty of mankind. Those sent to concentration camps certainly exhibited strength, whether they survived or not.

An iris. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

In reading Three Sisters, I learned that gladiolus (the flower) signifies strength. And the iris, which is part of the glad family, denotes hope. The iris was my mom’s favorite flower. “Hope” is a word I’ve held, and continue to hold, close. “Hope” is not simply a wish. By my definition, it is an active verb that focuses on light shining through darkness. It is a word, too, that envelopes gratitude and believing that things will get better.

My mom gave me this name plaque many years ago. I keep it on my desk. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

My name, Audrey, means noble and strong. I wish I’d asked my mom why she chose that name for me, her first-born daughter. I never did, and now she’s gone. But the name fits. I’ve had to be strong many times throughout my life. We all have something, right? Challenges can make us better, more empathetic and compassionate people. That is the good that arises from struggles.

Photographed at the Northfield Public Library. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

I consider, especially, mental health challenges. From anxiety to depression to brain disorders like bi-polar and schizophrenia, these are undeniably hard diagnoses which require incredible strength to face. Simply getting up in the morning, functioning, can prove difficult. There are no cures. No quick fixes. Medication can manage, therapy can help. And even though we are getting better at recognizing and understanding, stigma remains. We can do better at supporting, encouraging, helping. We need more mental health professionals to meet the growing demand for mental health care.

Strength. Hope. Those two words inspire and uplift. Gladiolus and iris. Those two flowers represent the same. From the pages of a novel about three Holocaust survivors to my name to life experiences, I understand what it means to be strong, to feel hope.

TELL ME: I’d like to hear your thoughts on strength and hope.

© Copyright 2022 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

Heartache. Hope. Help. October 19, 2022

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Sunrise on Horseshoe Lake in the central Minnesota lakes region. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo September 2022)

I’M FEELING A BIT INTROSPECTIVE these days. Perhaps it’s the season. Perhaps it’s the state of the world. Perhaps it’s the challenges faced by people I love, people in my circle. I can’t pinpoint a specific reason for feeling this way, only a recognition that my thoughts seem more reflective.

(Book cover credit: Milkweed Editions)

My reading follows that thread. I just finished Graceland, at Last—Notes on Hope and Heartache From the American South by Margaret Renkl. A friend recommended this award-winning book published by Minneapolis-based Milkweed Editions. She knew I would appreciate the essays therein which cover topics ranging from politics to social justice to the environment to family, community and more. So much resonated with me, inspired me, focused my thoughts. To read about these issues from a Southern perspective enlightened me.

Yes, this book includes political viewpoints that could anger some readers. Not me. Equally as important, Renkl also writes on everyday topics like the optimism of youth. I especially appreciated her chapter, “These Kids Are Done Waiting for Change.” In that essay on youth activists, she concludes: They are young enough to imagine a better future, to have faith in their own power to change the world for good.

Sam Temple, 21, is running for county commissioner in Rice County. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted photo July 2022)

That quote fits a young candidate running for Third District county commissioner in my county of Rice. Last week I attended an American Association of University Women-sponsored debate between the two candidates, one 21, the other 67. It’s refreshing to see a young person running for public office, someone who cares deeply about his community, about issues, about history, about humanity. He is well-informed, experienced in public service, thoughtful, a good listener, invested, and brings a new, young voice into the public realm. I felt hopeful as I listened to the two candidates answer written questions submitted by the audience. There was no mud-slinging, no awfulness, but rather honest answers from two men who seem decent, kind, respectful and genuine. Those attributes are important as I consider anyone running for public office. Candidates may disagree, and these two do on some issues, but that didn’t give way to personal or political attacks.

Among Faribault’s newest apartment complexes, Straight River Apartments. Many new apartment buildings have been built in the past year with more under construction. Yet, this is not enough to meet demand. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo 2022)

Renkl, in Graceland, writes on pertinent topics of concern to many of us, including those seeking election to public office. In “Demolition Blues,” an essay on housing changes in her neighborhood, she shares how housing has become unaffordable for many who work in the Nashville metro. The same can be said for my southern Minnesota community, where high rental rates and housing prices leave lower income and working class people without affordable housing. That’s linked to a severe shortage of rentals and single family homes.

It would be easy to feel discouraged by real-life issues that flow into our days whether via a book, an election, personal experiences, media… But then I think of those young activists, the young candidate running for office in my county, and I feel hope for the future.

Among the many sympathy cards I received after my mom died. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo January 2022)

I feel hope, also, within. We each possess the capacity to “do something.” That needn’t be complicated as Renkl writes in her essay, “The Gift of Shared Grief.” She reminds readers of the importance of sending handwritten condolences. I understand. My mom died in January and I treasure every single card with handwritten message received. There’s something profoundly powerful and personal about the penned word, about connecting beyond technology. It doesn’t take much effort to buy a greeting card, write a few heartfelt sentences and mail it. Yet, the art of connecting via paper is vanishing. I’d like to see more people sending paper birthday cards again…I miss getting a mailbox filled with cards.

I photographed this message along a recreational trail in the Atwood Neighborhood of Madison, WI., several years ago. To this day, it remains one of my favorite public finds and photos. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

One final essay penned by Renkl, “What It Means to Be #Nashvillestrong,” took me back to that candidate forum last Thursday. When asked to identify the most pressing issue people face locally, the younger candidate replied with “personal issues.” He’s right. No matter what we face jointly as a society (such as inflation), it is personal issues which most challenge us. Author Renkl, referencing a text from a friend, calls those—cancer, death, etc—our “private Katrina.” That in no way minimizes the death and destruction of large-scale disasters like Hurricane Katrina. But we all have something. Her friend texted: One day the sun is shining and all is intact, the next day everything is broken. And the rest of the world goes on. You’re trapped in your own crazy snow globe that’s been shaken so hard all the pieces fly loose.

And when those pieces fly loose in our circle, in our community and beyond, what do we do? We can, writes Renkl, be the hands that help our neighbors dig out.

© Copyright 2022 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

 

Inspired by Maria Shriver’s reflective book, “I’ve Been Thinking…” August 5, 2022

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Published in 2018, a bestselling book I found at my local library. (Cover source: Amazon)

BE STILL. Two words. Two words that, at their core, seem so simple to follow. Yet, in the busyness and chaos and struggles of life, they often prove difficult to remember, then practice.

What does it mean to “be still”?

New York Times bestselling author, journalist, mother and celebrity Maria Shriver addresses the topic in “A Time to Rest,” a chapter in her book, I’ve Been Thinking…Reflections, Prayers, and Meditations for a Meaningful Life. In the chapter focusing on the importance of rest and reflection, Shriver reminds us to “be still.”

Those two words are a reference to Psalm 46:10 which, several years ago, became a bit of a mantra for me thanks to my friend Steve. Steve is quiet, a man of sparse words. So when he speaks, people tend to listen, really listen. He holds a deep faith. And when he pointed me to a specific verse in a Psalm that would remind me often to “be still” and hear the voice of God, he knew exactly what I needed.

A contemplative and peaceful photo I took, and edited, in December 2017. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

This past week, Shriver’s book has based my morning time of quiet, of prayer and devotional/inspirational reading. I recommend this reflective collection of short themed chapters ending in prayer to anyone, whether a person of faith or not. I fully agree with Shriver’s advice to take time each day for quiet reflection, for thought and for a centering that calms. Be still.

Her inspirational book covers so many topics—empathy, listening, gratitude and much more—that, if we choose to practice them, will make our lives better and this world a much better place, We are, after all, all connected, Shriver writes as she calls for kindness and love to prevail. None of this is new. Yet, to read her words, from her perspective and experiences, reminds me that none of us are truly alone, unless we choose to be alone. Each of us deserves to be valued and appreciated. Heard.

An important message displayed at LARK Toys, Kellogg, Minnesota. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo October 2015)

She encourages each of us to pause before we pass along something we’ve read or heard as truth. Like Shriver, I have worked in journalism and understand the necessity of verification, of truthfulness. She calls for a social kindness movement. I’ll take kindness period in a world where kindness feels more and more elusive.

This quarter-sized token, gifted to me by my friend Beth Ann, lies on my computer desk. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

In the end, Shriver holds hope. And I do, too. Hope has been my focus word for many years. Hope, centered in my faith, has carried me through some especially difficult times. We’ve all had them—the struggles that stretch and challenge us. I hope you’ve never felt alone in difficulties. I haven’t.

I need to read books like I’ve Been Thinking…, to remind me of hope. To uplift and encourage and inspire me. To remember always to rest and reflect. To be still.

TELL ME: How do you work at being still? And what does “be still” mean to you?

© Copyright 2022 Audrey Kletscher Helbling

 

The realities of job loss, a personal story July 21, 2022

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My husband, Randy, at work as an automotive machinist. (Minnesota Prairie Roots copyrighted file photo)

THIS IS MY TRUTH. It is 9:25 am, and I am exhausted. I’ve been awake since 4 am. Randy awoke two hours earlier. After a while of tossing and turning, I rolled out of bed and finished reading a book by a nurse who worked for 11 months in a Minnesota COVID ICU Unit. A review of that powerful book will be forthcoming.

But today this is a post about what’s keeping me awake. More precisely this is a story of job loss. In early May, my husband of 40 years learned that he will lose his job of 39 years as an automotive machinist at an auto parts store. Not because he didn’t do a helluva a job, but because the new out-of-state corporate owner is opting to close down the profitable and much-needed machine shop. Randy was given four months to wrap up work he had scheduled in, with orders not to accept new work. That’s substantially affected his income and his morale.

FEELING DEVALUED AND STRESSED

It’s been hard, really hard. The stress is wearing on us, Randy especially. He is one of the calmest individuals I know. But this, this disrespect and devaluing of him after 39 years of hard work and loyalty is tough to take. Every single day he deals with customers upset about the shop closure. Every single day he turns away work. Every single day he deals with rumors spread by co-workers and others. Every single day he goes to work weary of it all.

And that filters to me as I try to support, encourage and be there for him. I am angry. I am frustrated. I am tired and drained and stressed. Mentally exhausted. Randy likely feels that quadruple. We are grieving.

DON’T SAY THIS TO US

If one more person tells me to look on the positive side, that something good will come from this, I will scream. I don’t need to hear that right now. I need affirmation of my anger, my frustration, my exhaustion, my worries, my stress. Randy needs the same. We are entitled to these feelings. And we will own them.

I recognize that our current situation has happened to others. I’m sorry for that. But today this is our story.

YOU WORK HARD ALL YOUR LIFE & THEN THIS HAPPENS

Randy is not yet full retirement age. That won’t occur until early next year. Uncertainties exist about his future, including his end date, which may be as early as July 29 or perhaps August 31. Communication is lacking. An attorney has been consulted. None of this should be. Not after 39 years.

My heart hurts for Randy. He should be leaving his long-time job on his terms, in his time. Gone is the thought of a retirement party with customers, co-workers and family gathering to celebrate and honor Randy. He’s a good man. A decent man with a strong work ethic. Highly-skilled at his trade. Remarkable in his devotion to meeting customers’ needs and providing excellent service. He is dedicated, working long hours for 39 years. The list of attributes could go on and on.

I, of course, am biased. But anyone who knows Randy would tell you the same. He is farm boy strong with a background of physical labor. Talented and hands-on skilled. Grease rings his fingernails. Grease stains his worn steel-toed work boots. And sometimes grease stains his face.

Today I see his weary face. I see the exhaustion. I see the stress and uncertainty. He can’t sleep. Neither can I. We are exhausted.

© Copyright 2022 Audrey Kletscher Helbling