Divine Intervention
I don’t believe that things happen for a reason. I do believe that the universe sometimes moves in magical and tragic ways, and as a result, things just happen. Like today, en route to Rochester, after getting the official diagnosis of my mother’s cancer.
My oldest brother, Michael Hildebrandt, was driving, turning onto the on-ramp off of Victory Drive and toward 14 E. Kim is in the front seat, and Gretchen and I are in the back seats of his extended cab.
As Mike moves upward on the ramp, he spots a car deep in a ditch to our left and pulls over to ask the driver if he is okay and needs help. The young man, probably in his 20’s, tells us what happened: another car hit their brakes as he was behind them and he tried to stop, over-corrected, hit some ice and landed in the ditch. He is far down and he needs a tow to get out of there. His phone is dead and Mike offers him his phone so he can call AAA.
Mike invites him into the back seat, where Gretchen and I are sitting; I’m puffy in the face from sobbing. My heart hurts. All of our hearts hurt.
He says he’s so thankful and calls Mike mister often. I tell him we’re on our way to Rochester to be with our mom, who just was diagnosed with cancer, and this is something she would want us to do, would do herself. He said he was down there for 30 minutes and so many cars drove by and didn’t stop. He's very thankful we did.
He also tells us his mother, now retired, once was a forensic psychiatrist at Mayo Clinic. My brother tells the young man he’s in the mental health field, too, in Mankato, and is the coordinator for the Second Step Clubhouse. The young man asks if he knows a particular psychiatrist—divulges it’s his own, and Mike says he knows this man and respects him deeply.
This connection leads to a beautiful conversation of this young man wanting mental health outreach, connection, and services. Mike happens to have one business card on his person and gives it to him and tells him to contact him, since he lives in Blue Earth County. He tells this young man he’ll be in the next day and to come down for a tour of the Clubhouse, and fill out an application.
This young man calls us (I should say Mike) his angels and he awaits in the warmth of the vehicle till the tow truck arrives. He thanks Mike profusely, says he’ll call him, and hustles on his way to meet the tow truck. We drive off to be with our mom and sister Jennifer.
My mom believes in the universe’s magnetic pull, connections, and how we all are in this together, as do I. While this moment didn’t happen for a reason, perhaps, it did happen, and I feel it was the divine intervention we all needed—my family and that young man—right then and there.
Two friends gather stories!
Saturday, December 29, 2018
Monday, November 13, 2017
Goodbye to George
By Shirley Saum
For the first time in 14 and a 1/2 years I woke up and it was so quiet. An unnatural quiet. I was used to having George greet me with a wag of his tail and a check of his food dish. Yesterday was a very sad day for me as I had to have George put to sleep. He had been having some kidney problems and each day was a challenge to know what to feed him. I managed for 3 1/2 months to keep him fairly healthy and happy.
My friend Judy and I went to pick up George on a rainy night in Sacred Heart, Minnesota in 2003. My husband thought we should have a dog and he had fallen in love with Deb's little Yorkie. He enjoyed George very much during the time he was so ill; George was a wonderful diversion for him. Estle passed away in 2004, but did love his little pet and George was a great companion for him. George was a darling puppy, he weighed only 21/2 pounds, but quickly grew into a ferocious little guard dog of 7 pounds. Beware if you rang the doorbell or walked past our house with another dog who easily outweighed George by 90 pounds. He would bound out the door or off the patio and nip at the big dog's heels. He was protecting his family and their property from any and all invaders.
He was a typical terrier. He did not like a to wear a collar or be restrained in any way. What he did he did on his terms. He liked to jump up and sit on my lap while I read or watched television. I f he did not think I was petting him enough he would reach out a little paw and pat my hand so I would continue petting him.
As I said before , getting him to east something was a challenge. The past months he had Spagetti O's, tuna fish, cat food, dog food, soup. cottage cheese, donut holes and anything I was having for dinner.
One week he slept for two days and did not eat anything, so I thought this is it. I called the Vet and made and appointment to have him put down. On the third day he got up, proceeded to eat and seemed to do well.I cancelled the Vet call and she told me, " I didn't feel like getting up those gloomy days either", and remember George is in his 90's.
Saturday night he paced in circles and would tip over and I knew it was time to let go. I called the Vet on Sunday morning and she told me if I could get him there in a half hour she would take care of him. She had her bags packed and was ready to go to Sioux Falls for a few days. Luckily my daughter was with me this weekend , so she drove and also took George into the clinic where the Vet gave him a shot. Teresa held him and she said he just went to sleep very peacefully. We took him home to Canby and my friend Gerry Gingles dug a grave for George in my flower bed. He placed a piece of concrete garden art on top of the grave and very gently wound vines around the statue. Judy Larson brought a rose and placed it on his grave. Such good friends
I miss my little George, but know it was kinder to let him go than to keep alive and suffer. Goodbye little Georgie. I love you and miss you.
A short epilogue:
Sunday morning when I got up, my house was a mess. Things tipped over and pee pads scattered. George was sleeping peacefully, but had evidently had somehow turned the Roomba on by accident. So George had the last laugh; he was innocent. It was that darn Roomba that made the mess.
Monday, October 2, 2017
Crystal Whopper, Memories of Mom by David Bengtson
For those who may not be familiar with the story of the Crystal Whopper:
The Burger King Waterford Crystal Whopper (Chairman's Award) was presented to my mom, Ruth Bengtson, by John Dasberg (BK Chairman, President, & CEO) on the MGM Grand stage in Las Vegas in 2002. She was one of 10 recipients worldwide chosen from thousands of BK employees nominated by local BK stores.
Because my dad had passed away, my mom asked me to be her companion on the trip to Las Vegas, which included air fare, chauffeur service, three days and two nights at the MGM Grand. So I was there for all of the festivities. I was retired; my mom was 79 and still working 40 hours a week at BK.
At the time, she had also been working for 38 years as a crossing guard for the City of Cranston (RI). Twice a day (morning, afternoon), she would slip into the walk-in freezer at BK (the only private place in the store, she said) and change into her crossing guard uniform, then drive a couple of miles in her PT Cruiser to St. Mark’s School.
In the morning, after she finished crossing her kids, she’d drive back to BK and change again in the freezer to complete her eight-hour shift. In the afternoon after she had finished her crossing guard responsibilities, she could head for home. He work at BK and the school was done for the day.
When Marilyn and I toured Waterford Crystal in Ireland in 2003, I asked one of the artisans if he remembered the Crystal Whopper. He did! In fact, he said he worked on it! Twenty-five were made, and then they broke the mold.
My mom worked for Burger King for 39 years. She was the first employee to be hired by Nick Janikies, who opened the first BK in Rhode Island at the corner of Park and Reservoir Avenues.
After my mom passed away on April 1, 2017, my three younger brothers chose me to be "The Keeper of the Crystal Whopper," a responsibility I take very seriously.
Sunday, October 1, 2017
Joe Walsh, my dad by Kelly Walsh-Owen
My dad was the head coach at the U of M for the Gophers tennis team from 1965 until 1971. Over the years he kept in contact with many of his old players. This week two of his players came here from New Hampshire to see their former coach and take him up to the University to see the tennis court named after him. Sadly Alzheimer's is slowly stealing my dads memories but the impact he has made on the lives of those he's touched over the years speaks volumes about the person he was and will always be to me!
Friday, September 29, 2017
Memories of the Pit
Wayne Bueno Roemhildt
How does our swinging off a rope into a river this weekend tie into "Mankato Memories?"
Allow me to regale you.
It was North Mankato, the summer of 1982....
I was in 5th grade, and MTV was just hitting its stride.
J. Geils Band - Centerfold, The Go-Go's - We Got The Beat, and Men At Work - Who Can It Be Now...we're "totally" killing it on the radio station.
My neighborhood crew and schoolmates were finding respite from the summer heat (humidity) down at the Pit (aka, Hinniker Pond). To be sure, there wasn't a kid in our clan who's parents actually thought we were at the "Pit", so much as where we said we would be - North Mankato Swimming Pool in Spring Lake Park. Our squad was.... cut from more of the "adventure seeking" cloth. We were delinquents; guilty of our fair share of misdeeds, and all the duplicitous trimmings of youth. Plus, the Pit had cliffs and banks to jump off! The Pit provided more adrenaline and sexiness than the springboards at the pool.
As some of us were floating on inner tubes, one of the older boys (either Brad Venberg or Mark Deichman) made a remark about how cool it would be if we had some rope to tie on a tree, so we could soar off the banks into the water "like in that Mountain Dew commercial."
Me, being the younger, resourceful lad - who would do just about anything to gain the approval and admiration of the older boys.... I declared, "I know where we can get the PERFECT rope!"
You see, it wasn't but a few days earlier, that the same squad of friends and their older brothers dared me to go into the old, run-down school building (now known as the Bell Tower Apartments) - then called Ray Ecke's School Of Rock (70's bands would rent the rooms to practice their classic rock crafts). They dared me to climb up through attic, onto the roof, and ring the old school bell. That bell, mind you, that had been dormant for a few decades.
Welp, of course I did. I climbed in a window (the one we always snuck in through to explore that history gem) climbed through the attic, and rang the bell. I'm pretty sure it took me 10 seconds to get down, and fly across the street to the Kwik Trip to meet my comrades, waiting with giant grins of approval.
Back on the water, at the Pit, I told the boys of this giant rope that I saw up in the attic of the old school. "It was prolly the rope they used to ring the bell back in the day."
There was a moment of silence... then we feverishly swam ashore, and ran TOP SPEED to the corner of Belgrade Ave & Center Street.
I hustled up to the attic of the old School, while the older boys challenged me to "hustle!" and warned me that "You better not be lying!". A few minutes later, I crawled out the window...the clouds opened up, the heavens sang, and the light shinned down on that beautiful 40 ft long rope I was struggling to drag.
We got back to the Pit. It took us all of 5 minutes to unanimously find and agree on the perfect tree and the perfect branch to attach the big rope. I want to say it was Mark Deichman who made the daring climb, and tied the knot...but It very well could've been one Rodney Lowe.
That rope swing was as good as a rope swing gets, ever. It put that swing in that Mountain Dew commercial to shame. My contemporaries and me, we spent hundreds of days over the next few years wringing every ounce of enjoyment, thrills and fun that we could from that rope, and that tree. College students, bikers from the nearby Harley shop, innocent kids who couldn't resist the sexiness and lure of the rope swing.... millions of breathtaking memories were made.
To that little North Mankato school - where my mother and her siblings attended - built in the late 1800's.... I say, "Thank you!", on behalf of myself, my brother, my schoolmates, and even that dumb drunk college kid who climbed too high up the tree and let go of the rope on shore... Thank you!
Thanks for all the remarkable memories, good and bad, North Mankato.
Maybe you, dear reader, will smile the next time you pass by those Bell Tower Apartments.
How does our swinging off a rope into a river this weekend tie into "Mankato Memories?"
Allow me to regale you.
It was North Mankato, the summer of 1982....
I was in 5th grade, and MTV was just hitting its stride.
J. Geils Band - Centerfold, The Go-Go's - We Got The Beat, and Men At Work - Who Can It Be Now...we're "totally" killing it on the radio station.
My neighborhood crew and schoolmates were finding respite from the summer heat (humidity) down at the Pit (aka, Hinniker Pond). To be sure, there wasn't a kid in our clan who's parents actually thought we were at the "Pit", so much as where we said we would be - North Mankato Swimming Pool in Spring Lake Park. Our squad was.... cut from more of the "adventure seeking" cloth. We were delinquents; guilty of our fair share of misdeeds, and all the duplicitous trimmings of youth. Plus, the Pit had cliffs and banks to jump off! The Pit provided more adrenaline and sexiness than the springboards at the pool.
As some of us were floating on inner tubes, one of the older boys (either Brad Venberg or Mark Deichman) made a remark about how cool it would be if we had some rope to tie on a tree, so we could soar off the banks into the water "like in that Mountain Dew commercial."
Me, being the younger, resourceful lad - who would do just about anything to gain the approval and admiration of the older boys.... I declared, "I know where we can get the PERFECT rope!"
You see, it wasn't but a few days earlier, that the same squad of friends and their older brothers dared me to go into the old, run-down school building (now known as the Bell Tower Apartments) - then called Ray Ecke's School Of Rock (70's bands would rent the rooms to practice their classic rock crafts). They dared me to climb up through attic, onto the roof, and ring the old school bell. That bell, mind you, that had been dormant for a few decades.
Welp, of course I did. I climbed in a window (the one we always snuck in through to explore that history gem) climbed through the attic, and rang the bell. I'm pretty sure it took me 10 seconds to get down, and fly across the street to the Kwik Trip to meet my comrades, waiting with giant grins of approval.
Back on the water, at the Pit, I told the boys of this giant rope that I saw up in the attic of the old school. "It was prolly the rope they used to ring the bell back in the day."
There was a moment of silence... then we feverishly swam ashore, and ran TOP SPEED to the corner of Belgrade Ave & Center Street.
I hustled up to the attic of the old School, while the older boys challenged me to "hustle!" and warned me that "You better not be lying!". A few minutes later, I crawled out the window...the clouds opened up, the heavens sang, and the light shinned down on that beautiful 40 ft long rope I was struggling to drag.
We got back to the Pit. It took us all of 5 minutes to unanimously find and agree on the perfect tree and the perfect branch to attach the big rope. I want to say it was Mark Deichman who made the daring climb, and tied the knot...but It very well could've been one Rodney Lowe.
That rope swing was as good as a rope swing gets, ever. It put that swing in that Mountain Dew commercial to shame. My contemporaries and me, we spent hundreds of days over the next few years wringing every ounce of enjoyment, thrills and fun that we could from that rope, and that tree. College students, bikers from the nearby Harley shop, innocent kids who couldn't resist the sexiness and lure of the rope swing.... millions of breathtaking memories were made.
To that little North Mankato school - where my mother and her siblings attended - built in the late 1800's.... I say, "Thank you!", on behalf of myself, my brother, my schoolmates, and even that dumb drunk college kid who climbed too high up the tree and let go of the rope on shore... Thank you!
Thanks for all the remarkable memories, good and bad, North Mankato.
Maybe you, dear reader, will smile the next time you pass by those Bell Tower Apartments.
Rings by Erica Idso-Weisz
When Ryan & I began talking about getting married, his mother gave him a little box from his beloved Oma. Inside held together by a bread bag twist tie were four rings-2 steel, weathered bands & 2 beautiful rose gold bands. A small note attached, written in his Oma's hand, read "For Ryan." The story of the rings leads us back to Germany during World War II, where Ryan's grandparents were experiencing invasion from the Russians. Alfred was sent to a work camp & Erna was left to take care of the farm, neither knew if they would see their beloved again. Alfred was left for dead in a snowbank when the tree he was chopping down fell on him. Miraculously he was simply knocked into the snow and after the Russians moved on, he escaped. He found Erna and they moved to Mankato. Here they worked for little pay to save up for the house, we began our family together in. The rings they were wed in were the steel bands. Precious metals had all been given to the war effort. The rose gold rings, engraved with one another's initials, represent post-war life and the struggles they endured together and the hope they found. The bands glow with the love they shared and that now we share. Happy Anniversary, Ryan Idso-Weisz!
Tuesday, May 2, 2017
Pay it forward!
by Judy Boudreau
I had a kind of "pay it forward" afternoon. I did an errand, planning to use the $30 I requested in change at the grocery yesterday. I pulled out the cash from yesterday's purchase and only had $20. I called the store (Lunds on Lake Street) and, within minutes my favorite manager (Kathy) had figured out that the specific register had come out $10 over yesterday. YAY! When I went in to claim my $ she gave me a package of Jonny Pops. Read about them in the photo. Awesome. I made a purchase ($9.98 ha ha) and, when I approached my car, I saw a debit card on the pavement. I took it in and gave it to an employee. Returning to my car a frantic young lady was searching her steps from the store earlier. I realized it was her card and connected her with the employee. All is good today.
I Met Jesus Today
I MET JESUS TODAY
by Karen Couch Brier
He was walking along the highway at dusk, headed into the mountains. He was loaded down with bags and backpacks and carrying a big box.
He was crying.
I did a u-turn and went back to ask if he needed a ride. He said “That would be great.” Where to? “As far as you are going.”
Since I was only going about a mile, I offered to drive him wherever he was headed.
San Bernardino.
That’s almost 9 hours away. By car. So I asked for the story.
He’d been living with a lady about 9 miles away and working in the area. There was a minor incident and she got mad and kicked him out. He was headed home.
So I took him home and we fed him dinner and made up a bed on the sofa. My husband was worried we were going to be murdered in our sleep. Or worse – robbed!
I didn’t think so. I got a good vibe from him. He seemed like a nice kid who had trouble and just wanted to get home.
We fed him breakfast and drove him to Reno to the Greyhound station where he bought a ticket. Two transfers and about 24 hours and he’ll be home.
Jesus Lopez Bueno – good luck to you. Thank you for letting me pay back one of the many times I have rescued.
He was walking along the highway at dusk, headed into the mountains. He was loaded down with bags and backpacks and carrying a big box.
He was crying.
I did a u-turn and went back to ask if he needed a ride. He said “That would be great.” Where to? “As far as you are going.”
Since I was only going about a mile, I offered to drive him wherever he was headed.
San Bernardino.
That’s almost 9 hours away. By car. So I asked for the story.
He’d been living with a lady about 9 miles away and working in the area. There was a minor incident and she got mad and kicked him out. He was headed home.
So I took him home and we fed him dinner and made up a bed on the sofa. My husband was worried we were going to be murdered in our sleep. Or worse – robbed!
I didn’t think so. I got a good vibe from him. He seemed like a nice kid who had trouble and just wanted to get home.
We fed him breakfast and drove him to Reno to the Greyhound station where he bought a ticket. Two transfers and about 24 hours and he’ll be home.
Jesus Lopez Bueno – good luck to you. Thank you for letting me pay back one of the many times I have rescued.
Thursday, November 10, 2016
Learning to ski
A water story
Seven year old girl, loves her dad¸ will try anything he
says. Flathead Lake in Montana waterskiing. “Just hold on. Whatever happens,
hold onto the tow rope. Just hold on.”
So she did, all the way for about a mile and a half as the water
overwhelmed her, in her eyes, mouth, nose, until the watcher had the driver cut
the motor. “I held on, Daddy!” she choked out. “Yes, you did, Kitty Kat!”
Years, years later the joy of waterskiing successfully bubbled. And this, Dad,
I did for you because your crippled legs wouldn’t let you. Love you, Dad.
Maude and friends...a swimming prank
Maude and friends had decided to go skinny dipping one night
at Long Lake. It had been a long day of partying and a swim sounded relaxing.
Long Lake is shallow so after dropping all their clothes on the dock, the troop
of friends walked out to where the water was deep enough to submerge
themselves. They swam for a while watching the stars overhead and the
lightening on the other end of the lake. When they tired of swimming, they made
their way back to the dock, only to find that every last stitch of clothing
except for a cap and a belly-pack, were gone. They hesitated not one second,
marched up the beach, down the road, and across the field, wearing that one hat
and one fanny pack, shared among them all.
Saturday, November 5, 2016
Anniversary of draft date
September 8, 2016
I was drafted 50 years ago today. It was my 20th birthday. We went by bus from Primghar, Iowa to Sioux Falls, South Dakota where they counted us off by twos. The twos went to the Marines and the ones went to the Army. I was a one. It was my first close call. On our way to basic training at Fort Bliss, Texas we had a two hour layover in Denver. None of us draftees were old enough to buy a beer at the airport. We were pissed. That turned out to be the least of my worries for the next two years. Anyway, I'm happy to have made it home in one piece, that's for sure. And now I'm an old man. That's really good. Maybe I will have that beer today just to catch up.
Robert Idso
St. Peter, Minnesota
Sunday, February 7, 2016
My Accident
My Accident
By Clara
Harder
When I was
in school, I got off the school bus in front of my parent’s house. A girl I
knew hit me with her car. I flew six feet in the air and broke my pelvis. I
spent a month in Lake’s Region Hospital. I had to have a tutor come to the
house. Dr. Armstrong saw the accident happen. He is a veterinarian. He wanted
to pick me up and take me to the hospital but they said not to move me. I lost
weight when I was in the hospital. I was down to 90 pounds. I knit myself a red
stocking cap. Today my right side is crushed. My books and purse went flying in
the air. My teacher didn’t believe me. I had to call him and tell him it was
true. I had over $2,000 in the cupboard that I got in cards. They got me out of
bed to teach me how to walk again. I was lucky to be alive.
On Depression
On Depression
Lonely and sad at heart
I sought soul’s consolation
I wandered down the city streets
Down to the place where rivers meet,
But nothing could my soul entreat-
Weary was I.
Weary and tired of life
I had no strength within me,
A heaviness engulfed my soul
Obliterating every goal,
My thinking was without control-
Quiet my tongue.
Quiet and all alone
Despite the friends about me,
Their gaiety and tenderness
Could not dispel the loneliness,
Nor sleep erase the weariness-
Hopeless was I.
Helpless against a foe
Returning without notice,
No armor can its sword deflect
Nor can the mind its source detect,
But man can face his foe erect,
For God, in time, heals all.
Healing, in time, will come
I know not how or where,
The heaviness will disappear
Life’s purpose again be clear,
My heart shall rise above life’s fear-
And I shall sing!
Bella Creel
1958
Smile
Smile
A smile is quite a funny thing,
It wrinkles up your face;
And when it’s done we’ll never find
It’s secret hiding place.
But far more wonderful, I think,
To know what smiles can do.
You
smile at me.
I
smile at you.
One smile now makes two.
Smiles add the happy thought-
You’re not alone, you see.
From here to there, so light and quick,
All happens easily.
The smile that we remember
Oft’ cheers a troubled heart.
Problems fade and spirits lift,
We know it from the start:
Our smile becomes a picture
Like a famous work of art!
Myra Moir
Primrose, Mankato
02-29-2008
Monday, December 14, 2015
A Christmas Cookie Story
Thank you, Erica Lynn Idso-Weisz!
Grandma Idso's Cinnamon Thumbs aka “Norwegian Little Fingers”
We all have that one food that sends us sailing back in a vortex of nostalgia the moment that you see it, smell it and taste it. For me that beautiful moment is wrapped up my Grandmother’s delicate Cinnamon Thumbs that graced our warm Christmases growing up.
These are the kind of cookies worth sneaking out in the middle of the night, at risk of stubbing your toe on the way, just to open up the freezer to be met with the glow and the rush of frigid air and the hollowed Cool Whip containers ever so carefully layered with these delicate morsels of pure joy.
I love the simplicity of this recipe. In the wise words of Julia Child, “With enough butter, anything is good." This couldn’t be truer for these simple cookies. The sugar and butter complement one another beautifully, and provide a delightfully delicious dance of flavor, lusciously kissed by the cinnamon sugar.
My Grandpa Idso, a born and bred Norske, enjoyed good belly laughs and healthy amounts of teasing. My stoic grandmother was often the recipient of a gently ribbing and though she feigned that it was “too much” I know that she loved it and him, so very much. He referred to these cookies as “Norwegian Little Fingers” and to this day I can’t help but smile whilst nibbling on these treats, thinking of his kind and fun soul teasing my grandmother about her cookies. I can still her voice playfully chiding “Oh Pete” as he dunked these sweet treats in his coffee and gave her the sweetest of half-cocked smiles.
Grandma Idso’s Cinnamon Thumbs aka “Norwegian Little Fingers”
5 T. sugar
1 c. butter, softened
2 c. flour
1 tsp. vanilla
Mix and roll into ladyfinger shapes. Bake at 350 for 20 minutes. While hot, roll in a mixture of 1/2 c. sugar and 1 Tbsp. cinnamon.
I love these cookies served along with another family tradition, Peppermint Bon Bon ice cream. It has to be the pink kind with ribbons of minty goodness flowing throughout. Enjoy!
Grandma Idso's Cinnamon Thumbs aka “Norwegian Little Fingers”
We all have that one food that sends us sailing back in a vortex of nostalgia the moment that you see it, smell it and taste it. For me that beautiful moment is wrapped up my Grandmother’s delicate Cinnamon Thumbs that graced our warm Christmases growing up.
These are the kind of cookies worth sneaking out in the middle of the night, at risk of stubbing your toe on the way, just to open up the freezer to be met with the glow and the rush of frigid air and the hollowed Cool Whip containers ever so carefully layered with these delicate morsels of pure joy.
I love the simplicity of this recipe. In the wise words of Julia Child, “With enough butter, anything is good." This couldn’t be truer for these simple cookies. The sugar and butter complement one another beautifully, and provide a delightfully delicious dance of flavor, lusciously kissed by the cinnamon sugar.
My Grandpa Idso, a born and bred Norske, enjoyed good belly laughs and healthy amounts of teasing. My stoic grandmother was often the recipient of a gently ribbing and though she feigned that it was “too much” I know that she loved it and him, so very much. He referred to these cookies as “Norwegian Little Fingers” and to this day I can’t help but smile whilst nibbling on these treats, thinking of his kind and fun soul teasing my grandmother about her cookies. I can still her voice playfully chiding “Oh Pete” as he dunked these sweet treats in his coffee and gave her the sweetest of half-cocked smiles.
Grandma Idso’s Cinnamon Thumbs aka “Norwegian Little Fingers”
5 T. sugar
1 c. butter, softened
2 c. flour
1 tsp. vanilla
Mix and roll into ladyfinger shapes. Bake at 350 for 20 minutes. While hot, roll in a mixture of 1/2 c. sugar and 1 Tbsp. cinnamon.
I love these cookies served along with another family tradition, Peppermint Bon Bon ice cream. It has to be the pink kind with ribbons of minty goodness flowing throughout. Enjoy!
Monday, December 7, 2015
A Pearl Harbor Day Story
My friend, Peggy Walter, sent me this story.
In 1941 my Mom, Margaret Quirk (19) and Dad, Kenneth Michael (21) were working and living with relatives in St. Paul. On Dec 7 they were on their way to their parents homes to tell them they wanted to be married. Enroute they heard about the bombing of Pearl Harbor. Afraid that their parents would tell them to wait until the war was over to get married, they went back to St. Paul, and my Mother wrote their parents a letter instead. They were married on Jan. 23, 1942. Not long afterwards my Dad enlisted in the Navy. He was sent to France where he participated in the Invasion of Normandy. He was gone for 4 years. Every year on Dec 7, my Mom calls and says: "Do you know what your Dad and I were doing on this day in 1941?" I always let her tell the story.
Honoring a Life That Changed Mine by Lonnie Ellis
Last summer, at the Rock Bend Folk Festival, I met a man named Dana Melius. Dana works for the St. Peter Herald and we ran into each other a time or two after that and then because Facebook friends. Once, each of us had bought the same book twice accidentally, so we traded. I had two copies of Humans of New York: Stories and he had two copies of Dreams Of My Mothers: A Story Of Love Transcendent. So, we swapped but he tucked two dollars into his book because he thought he was getting a better deal.
A couple months later, Dana's young wife died unexpectedly from complications of cancer surgery. It was tragic and her death touched me as I read the poignant posts written by Dana and his children mourning the loss of their wife and mother.
Then one day, another post crossed my Facebook path. A post written by a man who had an experience with the Melius family years before. It was a stunning story of violence, mercy, reconciliation, and redemption. I thought it was so important to share it in light of the debates we are having in our country on gun violence and refugees. I finally contacted Lonnie Ellis, the author, to as if we could share it here. He was happy to have us do that. I'll preface his powerful piece of writing with a comment he wrote beneath the piece on Facebook. He believes in the transformative power of stories, and so do we.
Many of you have not heard this story, or heard it so fully. I only began talking about it in my late 20s. I think its because its taken a long time to start to understand who I was then. In my 20s I didn't really think of myself as the same person who participated in some really serious violence as a teenager, sometimes even as the aggressor. I think I had to understand it myself in order to share it. Another factor - I had the notion that it was ideas that were important now, that I should just talk about ideas and philosophy as the motivators. I've learned that its our stories that transform and that people need to hear these stories.
Honoring a Life
That Changed Mine
A
revised version of this was published as an op-ed in Winthrop News.
Rural
Minnesota lost a vibrant and generous leader when Kim Melius of Winthrop passed
away on November 23rd. Many knew her as a dedicated mother, social worker, and
hospice caretaker. Kim and the Melius family impacted me under very different
circumstances. I grieve her death knowing my life would be immensely different
if not for the compassionate decision Kim and her family made eighteen years
ago.
The
story begins with senseless violence. In 1997, I was among twenty-two young men
who drove from Glencoe to Winthrop looking to retaliate for an assault on one
of our friends. In a dark yard, I stood by and watched as my friends viciously
beat two young men. Some distance away, a third young man was ambushed, knocked
unconscious, and savagely beaten with as many as fifty blows to the head and
body. This young man was Kim’s son, Ben. He suffered a cracked skull and
massive swelling in the brain. He could have died.
Sometime
during the scary, painful days that followed for Ben, his mother Kim, and
father Dana, they had to make a decision about pursuing justice. The other
perpetators and I faced three felony assault and rioting charges. Many of us
had been involved with violent acts and legal problems before. You would think
the family would want to lock us up and throw away the key, but the Melius
family chose a path of restorative justice instead. They sought healing for the
victims, the perpetrators, and the wider communities of Glencoe and Winthrop.
Where did they find the mercy? Where did they find the hope?
The
restorative justice process put the perpetrators, victims, and our families in
a room together for several hours, face-to-face. I had to bear witness to the
real human suffering I’d caused. With every story, the consequences of our
violence broke into my consciousness. I remember the strong and gracious Melius
family standing in the center of it all and was inspired by them. With my
mother crying by my side, I stood up and said, “I didn’t throw any punches, but
I am not innocent. I contributed to a group mentality where we could do
terrible things. I stood by.” I, along with the other perpetrators, did many
days of community service and paid for damages. We spent hours with Dana writing
an op-ed for the papers trying to bring healing to the communities shaken by
our violence.
I know
that felony convictions would have permanently altered the course of our young
lives. We would have faced a lifetime of challenges beginning with college admission,
housing, and gainful employment. But at greater risk were our souls, and this
event and the Melius’ choice began a permanent transformation in mine.
I began
wanting to be a different kind of person. I wanted to be the kind of person who
would have stopped my friends that night—who would have even been willing to
put my own body between victim and violence.
Four
years later, with my transformation well underway, I set off for a college
semester abroad in India. I learned that among the fifteen students from
Gustavus Adolphus College was a student from Winthrop I felt must be the sister
of Ben Melius. On our first day, I pulled Ambryn Melius aside.
“I
think you might be the sister of Ben Melius.”
“Yes,”
she said as she nodded.
“I was
there that night. I was there the night your brother was beaten.”
She
waited for what seemed like a long time. Then she responded, “You didn’t have
to tell me that.”
Like
her parents, she didn’t turn away from me. We became real friends and have continued
to deepen our friendship over the years and are still close to this very day.
Over
the next decade and a half, I became a faith-based community organizer, got a
master’s degree in theology, and now serve as associate director of a national
Catholic social justice organization in Washington, DC. All the while, Ambryn
and the Melius family invited me into their home. There, I saw more of the
incredible wisdom, grace, and love that enabled them to make that extraordinary
decision eighteen years ago.
Kim,
Ben, and Dana dared to hope for strangers who caused great pain in their
family, even when we didn’t hold a lot of hope for ourselves. That changed my
life. I could never thank Kim Melius enough for her part in it, but I try the
best way I know how—by striving to live up to her example.
Lonnie
Ellis, Washington, DC (formerly of rural Glencoe)
Wednesday, December 2, 2015
A story caught on Facebook
We love the way sometimes people who know us and know we are story collectors will let us know about a good one they have read somewhere. This one was spotted by our friend, Michael Callahan. Mike is a comedian and has contacts with many other comics around the country. Darlene Westgor is a comic friend of his from the Twin Cities. She recently posted a wonderful, but sad, story on Facebook. I contacted Darlene to see if we could use it and she agreed. (Comics must be so good at story catching because they are always looking for the humor, and sometimes tragic humor, in life.)
Darlene's story:
Back in the 80's I worked in a record shop in Chicago. Hooked up with the manager at the time cause he had a high rise apt and I was impressed. He knew music had a sick sound system and a lighted pedestal bed. (You heard me) Yadda, Yadda, Yadda, I moved on. For the past 25 years, this guy has sent me cards for every occasion, no matter where I lived. At first I thought it was crazy, Mother's Day, Easter, Christmas, my birthday. but then I assumed he was just a letter writer. Thing is, he never left a return address. I tried to look him up, the guy was of the grid. I didn't pay much attention to it but he had missed some occasions and I just knew. For the first time, I googled his name and found his obituary. And that he died 'suddenly'. It really, really messed me up. Someone I haven't seen in over 20 years. Fucking awful.
Darlene's story:
Back in the 80's I worked in a record shop in Chicago. Hooked up with the manager at the time cause he had a high rise apt and I was impressed. He knew music had a sick sound system and a lighted pedestal bed. (You heard me) Yadda, Yadda, Yadda, I moved on. For the past 25 years, this guy has sent me cards for every occasion, no matter where I lived. At first I thought it was crazy, Mother's Day, Easter, Christmas, my birthday. but then I assumed he was just a letter writer. Thing is, he never left a return address. I tried to look him up, the guy was of the grid. I didn't pay much attention to it but he had missed some occasions and I just knew. For the first time, I googled his name and found his obituary. And that he died 'suddenly'. It really, really messed me up. Someone I haven't seen in over 20 years. Fucking awful.
Saturday, October 24, 2015
The Gas We Pass
the word fart wanted to know more about the subject. I brought a book I have, called "The Gas We Pass: The Story of Farts ( it is a children's book". She started reading it to the rest of us. I got the giggles as she looked like the Queen of England reading to her adoring public. She had to use the word fart several times and stumbled over the word but managed to finish the book. She announced it very educational. By this time everyone was hooting and hollering and bringing up stories probably best forgotten. I had 4 boys so I was an expert on what a stinker was. One lady told how her son would light a match if his buddy let one go. Evidently if you are close enough to his hinder you can see a small flame.
My friend the 88 year old announced they called it flatulence, another called them toot toots, a former daughter in law told me "girls never fart". I wish that were true. I believe I will call them trumps as they do in jolly old England. Apparently they know Donald Trump. Now there is a gas bag. Or maybe I will be an all American and call them FARTS.
Anonymous
Wednesday, October 14, 2015
Anonymous story from Rock Bend
I am the mother of three amazing girls, ages 7, 12, 14, and 19. The past three years have been the hardest and most challenging.
Three years ago in June, we had a house fire that completely burned our house to the ground. We lost everything. My girls were ok. My husband and I were on vacation (first vacation in years without kids)...San Francisco. We received a call from a police officer. My first thought was my girls. My kids had been at the zoo that day and while they were on their way home they saw smoke in the sky. They joked that it was their house, and it was. Amazingly, our cat was able to get out of the house safely. While in San Francisco, all I could think of was being home with my girls.
As devastating as the fire was, my girls have had a very positive attitude. We are all so grateful that nobody was hurt. This was a very tough time for my family but at the same time we grew closer together and hae learned not to be materialistic; stuff can be replaced, people cannot.
Our house was rebuilt but adversity was just around the corner again.
My husband was in the mortgage business and when the market crashed, investors lost homes and money and blame trickled down to all the little people in the business. My husband was part of an investment group and helped with loans and he was charged, along with realtors, mortgage loan officers, and title officers and was sentenced to two years in federal prison where he is now.
So for the past 20 months, I have been a single mother, We went from a two-person income to one. Raising strong and confident ladies has always been my goal. I am humbled by my daughters' resilience. I truly feel with all we have been through we could be negative and bitter but we have all learned to find the silver lining in bad situations.
To top off life events, our new house was broken into and all our electronics and tax information was stolen. The house was trashed but all we could do was laugh. I don't think anything could phase my girls and me.
I unfortunately now suffer from panic and anxiety attacks from all the trauma. I am looking forward to my husband being home with us soon and getting back to a normal life.
That is, until the next devastating event.
Three years ago in June, we had a house fire that completely burned our house to the ground. We lost everything. My girls were ok. My husband and I were on vacation (first vacation in years without kids)...San Francisco. We received a call from a police officer. My first thought was my girls. My kids had been at the zoo that day and while they were on their way home they saw smoke in the sky. They joked that it was their house, and it was. Amazingly, our cat was able to get out of the house safely. While in San Francisco, all I could think of was being home with my girls.
As devastating as the fire was, my girls have had a very positive attitude. We are all so grateful that nobody was hurt. This was a very tough time for my family but at the same time we grew closer together and hae learned not to be materialistic; stuff can be replaced, people cannot.
Our house was rebuilt but adversity was just around the corner again.
My husband was in the mortgage business and when the market crashed, investors lost homes and money and blame trickled down to all the little people in the business. My husband was part of an investment group and helped with loans and he was charged, along with realtors, mortgage loan officers, and title officers and was sentenced to two years in federal prison where he is now.
So for the past 20 months, I have been a single mother, We went from a two-person income to one. Raising strong and confident ladies has always been my goal. I am humbled by my daughters' resilience. I truly feel with all we have been through we could be negative and bitter but we have all learned to find the silver lining in bad situations.
To top off life events, our new house was broken into and all our electronics and tax information was stolen. The house was trashed but all we could do was laugh. I don't think anything could phase my girls and me.
I unfortunately now suffer from panic and anxiety attacks from all the trauma. I am looking forward to my husband being home with us soon and getting back to a normal life.
That is, until the next devastating event.
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