Living in the moment

It definitely looks like November is coming! It was overcast and the trees were full of color as I drove to work this morning. It made me think of something I read not too long ago. 

In the end, when we reflect back on our journey, it won't be the days we remember...It will be the moments with those we love. 

If you are reading this, I pray that you are living in one of those moments today.

Weekend at Ben's

It's hard to believe, but Ben & Monica have been married for 10 years! I went up to watch the kiddos so they could get away for the day. I went up the afternoon before to join Monica & the kids for a night of fun.

We started the evening off watching Alex swim. I think he has found his sweet spot! He just starting swimming since summer and he is already blowing those other Guppies out of the water!

Our next stop was the County Line Orchard where the kiddos got to eat fresh warm pumpkin donuts.

Is this not the cutest kid ever???

We stopped by Walmart and when we were walking down the Halloween aisle, Monica put on a wolf mask when Grant wasn't looking. At first, he looked at her cautiously , but then expressed his disproval!

Our last stop for the night was the Haunted Hayride. It was a hoot!  I thought this picture was awesome until I noticed the power strip. Really?

Saturday, I spent the day just hanging out with the kiddos. We played outside, took a bike ride, played Halloween Bingo too many times to count and watched a movie. We had a blast, the weekend flew by, and it was over much too soon!

A Day in the Life of this Family

One thing led to another...Daylen was playing with my exercise ball and we were trying to balance on it, and it wasn't going so well. However, Daylen used his little noggin and wedged the ball between the futon and Annie's chair so as I said...one thing led to another, and Annie told Daylen if he could balance on the ball and not talk for 30 minutes, she would give him $1 That boy loves to earn money and today was the day.

When Emilie was little, Marlin used to pay her to scratch his back so he told Daylen he would pay him if he wants to take over that job, and he was more than happy to do so.

For Daylen's birthday, I got a set of bow's.  I gave Alex a bow for his birthday in August and Daylen said he wanted the same thing.  I found this set that cost the same thing and there were two bows plus the back of the box was a target.  When Daylen opened it, I knew immediately why it was the same money for two.  The bows were half the size of Alex's bow.  It worked out fine, though, because the size was more suited for Daylen and Ari could use the extra bow to play with Daylen. June had to get into the act by walking around with the extra arrows.

Poppe trying to teach Ari how to hold the bow.

There's nothing like time spent together with the family!

...and the day is not complete without feeding Kiwi and Puddin' their apples.

...or picking leaves out of the tree to feed the calves.

Oh No! says June...my feet aren't Schrock feet.  It hurts to walk across these rocks.

Finding Treasures at the Mart

It must be Daylen's birthday week...he's got the sombrero...Now we're just waiting on the Mariachi's to show up to sing!

Whoops! It's too late! He's already moved on to football.

Or maybe he'll be a fireman someday!

Kokomo Opalescent Glass Company Tour

Joyce, Jerry & Annie were here visiting this week so I played hooky from work to have a day of fun.  Since Daylen is on fall break and his birthday is this coming week, I brought him along.  We started out the day with a tour of the Kokomo Opalescent Glass Factory. 

Learning How Glass is Made

Blowing Glass a Lost Art

Door to NoWhere

Names of Employees from as far back as the 1800's

Poppe shows Daylen how to weigh himself.

Annie & Daylen discussing how glass is made.

Mac for short

This gorgeous gal is my Aunt Maxine.  Apparently my mother called her Mac for short since that is how she wrote her name under most of her pictures. My aunt is a quiet sort with fiery red hair, and always a pleasure to be around. I talked to her tonight relaying the latest stories of my mother's fading memory.

She married Glen Brown who was my uncle before I was born, and remains so today! He was a corker as some would say...very lively and full of life and never without a story to tell.

Red Hair runs in our family on both the Railsback side and the Brunner side, but the genes were never passed down through my line.  That's too bad, because I would have gladly welcomed a red haired child.

From left to right, we have Imogene, Maxine, Verlyn, and Kate. I wish I knew the story behind these pajamas, but sadly I do not.

This is Maxine and my mom in front of Uncle Bill & Aunt Ila's Motel. I've heard a lot of stories about their Motel over the years, but none that I recall right now.

I love this picture of my Aunt Maxine.  I think it is stunning and captures who she is perfectly. She has such a gentle sweet spirit which remains a part of who she is even to this day!

I almost forgot to include this awesome photo of Dort, Mavis, & Mac. Again, I don't know the story behind this. Perhaps someone will enlighten me!

Imogene

My mother was the youngest of six girls in her family. Above, from left to right, are Maxine, Mavis, Imogene, Kate (my mom), Dorothy and Ila.  Imogene was the sister just older than my mother.  They were very close in age, just a little over a year apart. Tonight when I talked to Mom, she asked me if I had talked to Imogene since she came to visit. I said, "No, I haven't seen her. Have you?"  My mom told me that she had not.  I asked her who told her she came to visit, and she said that one of the "girls" (meaning one of her sisters) had told her that.  My dad quickly intercepted the conversation and told her that Imogene was in Ogallala, and has not come to visit. My mom started to protest, but my dad quickly interjected that they have not talked to anyone in Nebraska recently so he was sure she was not in Tucson. My mother is now having time distinguishing how far away Indiana is from where she lives, and how far Ogallala is in reference to either of us. Imogene, on the other hand, is still sharp as a tack!

I certainly love all my aunt's, but I've always loved teasing Imogene the most. She went on to marry Clarence Davison and gave him 7 boys so you can imagine how many stories she has to tell.  I love to hear her stories, and I love her smile, and I especially love the way she says, "Ohhh, Rod" or Monte or Kent or any of the boys when they get her goat. She has this thing she does where she twirls her hair with her right hand.  It is her classic MO. When I was in High School, I taped her on my reel to reel tape player.  I don't know how in the world I ever taped her without her knowing it, but she never noticed until I played it back to her.  She made me promise I wouldn't ever let anyone hear it. I'm pretty sure I erased it. I did get the opportunity, however, to tape her last Christmas when we were in Nebraska for Dort's funeral. She was on a roll and telling story after story. Perhaps one day, I will put some of her stories on here.

10 lessons we learn from journeys

When we embrace the journey and don't just live for the destination, 

we discover a deeper life. Jeff Goins

Thanks to Jeff Goins for his insight into the journeys we take even when we don't want to take them.

10 lessons we learn from journeys

Journeys are important — both physical ones as well as figurative ones. They help remind us that we are not done yet, that life itself is a trip that we can make the most of or completely miss the point.

So here are 10 brief lessons I learned from my trip. Maybe they'll help you on whatever journey you're taking:

1. No journey is perfect. Take one, anyway. You will grow regardless.
2. The destination is never quite what we expect. But without one, we wander aimlessly. So having a final arrival point is important if for no other reason than it gets you started.
3. Only when we let go of what we think we deserve can we really enjoy what we have.
4. Inspiration is everywhere. You just need eyes to see it. Yes, even in cornfields.
5. The hard part isn't getting from point A to B. It's paying attention to what's around you before you miss it.
6. A journey is less meaningful when traveled alone. We need community to make the most of all experiences, even if that means finding it along the way.
7. Art helps us process. A good book or great record not only helps pass the time; it gives language to an experience you might otherwise not be able to describe.
8. Gratitude makes any experience better. It's easy to want to be home or some place else but we have no control over that. Turns out all we can control is our attitude. So why not be thankful?
9. The best journeys have a purpose. But expect to be surprised and even see that purpose change.
10. If you accomplish nothing, see nothing, even feel nothing, take heart. Whether you realize it or not, you've changed. And this is reason enough to continue traveling.

What are you learning about life in the midst of whatever journey you're on?

The Chief

For the longest time, people referred to my dad as "The Chief".  He was actually one of the youngest soldiers to make chief at that time in the history of the Air Force.  These first two pictures were actually taken well before he was chief.  We lived in Guam at the time on the edge of the jungle.  I was only 2 at the time so I don't remember our first tour in Guam at all. My mom told me once that I was scared to death when my dad walked out into the water that day, but I always knew that I was safe when my dad was nearby.

My dad has always been an "in charge" kind of guy and a little bit of a control freak, but as he advances in age, it is becoming increasingly harder to maintain that edge especially with something that one can't control. My mother's memory loss is having a huge effect upon my father. Not too long ago during the middle of the day, my phone rang. My father doesn't usually call me during the middle of the day so I thought it odd that it rang once and hung up.  Thirty seconds later, it happened again. I dialed him up and asked him if anything was wrong. He was frustrated and then proceeded to tell me that my mother wanted my phone number.  However, being technology illiterate, he didn't know how to access his address book on the cell phone so he would dial me up, write down a couple of numbers and hang up until he had my complete number written down.  I said, "Dad, why did you need my phone number?" He then proceeded to tell me that my mom insisted that my Aunt Dort (who died this past December) needed my phone number and address and she wanted my dad to write it down so she had it ready to give to Dort when she called.

My father is a proud man and it is hard for him to ask or admit that he needs help. He is doing the absolute best that he can in a world that has moved far beyond his control. I've read about how the stress of the caregiver takes its toll on the caregiver's health, and this is also showing up at this time. Tonight, he went to my sister's house to have her look over his medicine because he was sure that today was October 20th and he was going to have a stress test at the cardiologist this Friday.

My father has lived in denial for a long time concerning my mother's memory.  He didn't want to see what we saw, but he is finally admitting that there is a problem. I'm sure to him it feels like he is going back in time to when my mother had her brain tumor, but this time he can't fix it.  He can't go back home to Nebraska and find a doctor who can solve the problem. He can't take her to the Fitzsimmons Hospital in Denver to remove a tumor because sometimes, no matter how hard you try...you just can't fix it.

Before tumors and memory loss...

This is one of my favorite pictures of my parents with my sister. This was taken in 1954 prior to my mother being diagnosed with a brain tumor. It really is a miracle that my mother has lived as long as she has considering the fact that doctors didn't know all that much about brain surgery in 1954. My mother's brain tumor was in her cerebellum. She was in the hospital for months and had to learn how to walk and talk from scratch after her surgery. She missed all the milestones of her first born. My sister learned how to walk while my mom was in the hospital in Denver.

As I've mentioned before, my mom's memory is fading...or regressing really. I called tonight and she couldn't tell me where they were at the time or what they were doing.  She has a hard time completing sentences, and when she does, it doesn't make sense. I asked her if she was going to meet Linda for supper, and she said, "Probably...would you like to come?" I told her I wouldn't be coming until Thanksgiving, and she said, "Are you in Ogallala?"  I said, "No Mom, I'm in Indiana.  She asked me what I was doing in Indiana so I told her I was driving home from work. She said, "Oh, did you quit your job?" I thought my mom's memory would still be intact when I get there in November, but now I'm beginning to wonder.

To and From...

Foggy start on my drive to work this morning. We're at the time of year when summer melts into fall and the temperature keeps bouncing back and forth from warm to cool.

Understanding Who We Were Helps to Understand Who We Are

This picture was taken on my first day of first grade. We lived on Calle Dened at that time in the city of Tucson, Arizona.  Miss Fox was my teacher.  She got married that year, but I do not remember her married name. Our school was just a couple of blocks from our house and we walked to and from school every day. Sometime after these pictures were taken,  my sister broke her finger. On one particular day, my mother had to take my sister to the doctor for a checkup to make sure it was healed. She left me at home with my lunchbox, and told me to walk to the school when the alarm clock went off. I wasn't the greatest at telling time back then. Digital clocks weren't invented yet so the clock my mother set was the old fashioned hands on the face alarm clock. Being the inquisitive kid that I was, I got bored and messed around with the clock sitting on the side table. Needless to say, the alarm never went off. I waited and waited and waited, but the alarm didn't do what it was supposed to do. Somewhere around mid morning, I opened my lunchbox and ate my Hostess Snowball, and later my sandwich, but still the alarm didn't go off. My mother was an Avon Lady so after dropping my sister off at school, she went on her route.  I was home alone for hours. Around noon I walked to the neighbors and Marian (my friend, Rachel's mother) met me at the door. She told me that Rachel just got home for lunch and wasn't ready to go back to school yet. I started crying and told her that I had been home all morning. That was the first time that my nerves made me physically sick. For reasons I still don't understand, Marian took me back to my house and put me in bed. Later that afternoon, my mother came home. Marian met her in the driveway and told her what had happened. That was the last time I stayed by myself for a very long time. I honestly don't think I stayed alone until I was in high school. Even after I got married, that feeling never left me.  It's funny how things from our youth affect us for years to come. I always thought it was so ironic that I married someone whose job took him away from the house at night, and I was alone most of the time. I overcame it because I had no choice. It took me years to overcome those feelings, and even today, when I'm not looking, it sneaks up on me.

I don't remember much about the first day of school, but I do remember these paperdolls in the picture above and the Kissie dolls in the picture below. We wore Oxfords in those days, and I remember how we had to polish them with white shoe polish every Saturday so they would look nice for church the next day.  I hated oxfords for years and years after that, but now the thought of them make me smile. It was a simpler time back then when kids could be kids. We were free to ride our bikes in the street because there wasn't much traffic on our street, and when there was, the cars drove slowly because drivers expected kids to be out in their yards and the street playing, not holed up in a house playing video games. 

My dad built us a playhouse in our backyard.  We thought that playhouse was the coolest thing ever! It's funny, but I don't remember the heat, and it must have been hot in that playhouse at times, but I don't remember that. The picture below was taken at my sister's birthday party in 1962. She was 9 years old and I was 5 1/2.We were playing some kind of game like "Red Light Green Light" OR "Mother May I?".

Banking on the Bike

This is how my husband does his banking. Another beautiful day in the neighborhood.