Happy Birthday, My Beloved!

Today, March 1st, is a special day we’re celebrating at our house. It is my dear Beloved’s birthday. He is my best friend, a mentor, and my respected spiritual leader. It’s almost impossible for me to recall a time when he wasn’t part of my life. Even before I knew him, I knew the kind of man I hoped (and prayed) my husband would be … and when I met him, I knew he was the one I’d been waiting for.

Beloved Patriot

In the picture above, I positioned his face over the image. Among his other fine qualities, I’m glad to acknowledge he is a patriot. The notion of patriotism has lost some of its sheen, unfortunately. But I’m pretty certain if he’d been alive in 1776, his name would have been included with all the other signers on the Declaration of Independence (maybe not entirely legible though) and he’d have been standing next to George Washington on the battlefields, fighting during our War for Independence. Continue reading “Happy Birthday, My Beloved!”

Coffee Time … All the Time

A few years ago, my Beloved and I decided to purchase a new coffee maker. In the process, we also decided we’d bite the bullet (so to speak) and purchase a package of what several websites recommended as the “best of the best” brands. When you plunk down cash for an expensive coffee maker, don’t you want the best coffee to go with it? It made sense.

Coffee Time
Image by Foundry Co from Pixabay

Sadly, we discovered it was impossible (for us anyway) to distinguish a significant difference between the coffee we’d been drinking for years and the highly-rated brand. Given the price of the highly-rated brand, we agreed to change back to our previous brand, a brand which produced a satisfactory cup of brew for our untrained palates. Continue reading “Coffee Time … All the Time”

Christmas Past

Discussion of a Christmas Past may evoke ghostly images from Charles Dickens’s novella A Christmas Carol. Since first publication in 1843, the tale of Ebenezer Scrooge remains an annual favorite. If anyone could dampen the spirit of Christmas, it was the old miser.

“Bah, humbug!” exclaims Ebenezer Scrooge.

But there are no misers in this Christmas Past. Nor does the tale about which I write wrap up as neatly as one miser’s timely transformation. This Christmas Past is for real people.

The central figure is generous, a young mother whose heart overflows with love and good will. Like Scrooge though, she had lost all enthusiasm for celebrating Christmas. Though Scrooge was beset by general grumpiness, this mother had reason for sadness. She’d been crushed by grief after the sudden death of an infant daughter. Christmas 1955 was close at hand and the mother’s precious babe had been in the ground less than six months.

With loss so fresh, how could anyone summon the strength to celebrate the Birth of a child – even the Holy Christ child? For months, she’d been going through the motions. Now, the thought of celebrating Christmas seemed almost beyond reason for her wounded soul. Continue reading “Christmas Past”

Christmas Wishes

At the Manger
Image by Jeff Jacobs from Pixabay

From the Bible, Luke 2:

While Joseph and Mary were in Bethlehem,
the time came for her to have the baby.
She gave birth to her first son.

An angel of the Lord appeared to the shepherds,
and the glory of the Lord was shining around them ….
The angel said to them, “Don’t be afraid.
I have some very good news for you –
news that will make everyone happy.
Today your Savior was born … He is the Messiah, the Lord.

Have a Merry Christmas! And may your New Year be one of meaningful blessings!

Reaching A Summit

Our dear friends celebrated their 50th anniversary last night, with a party organized by their three adult children (and spouses). It was a lovely tribute, acknowledging the admirable legacy this married couple has modeled for their children and grandchildren.

Image by Hire Me. Link in About Me from Pixabay

In my post Striking Gold from last year, I posted about my Beloved and I having achieved our own 50th anniversary. Our celebration (mostly by preference) was more subdued than previous milestones. So much goes on over the Holidays, having an anniversary rarely receives precedence when more urgent events intrude. Consider, last year I was eight days late with my post! Continue reading “Reaching A Summit”

Cinderella’s Last Date

My dad earned his livelihood by driving a truck. As a very young man, he delivered furniture. During World War II, he was assigned to deliver supplies to the troops. In the picture below, he’s the young man at right. When Dad returned to civilian life, he continued delivering furniture until he received a job offer from a friend (I’ll call him M.). The company where M. worked needed truck drivers, long and short haul. For the rest of his working life, Dad drove a truck under this company’s name. Continue reading “Cinderella’s Last Date”

Driving Miss Ruthe

When my parents married in January 1946 after the briefest of courtships, there would have been an ample supply of newlywed adjustments for both. This union was the joining of two individuals from vastly different backgrounds.

My dad’s forebears were mostly no-nonsense, hard-working midwestern people of German descent. Upon arriving in the US, Dad’s grandfather had settled in St. Louis. He and his family led lives of predictability – work, family, church, work some more – with few  distractions or embellishments. They were ordinary folks leading quiet lives.

Image by StockSnap from Pixabay

In contrast, my mom’s east-coast (Philadelphia) upbringing turned her into an independent, free spirit, a woman eager to embrace the waiting world. From age six (when Mom entered boarding school), familial attachments had mostly evaporated; only her mother remained and mother-daughter visits were infrequent. Living at school was doubtless a happy and wholesome environment, but sans family. Continue reading “Driving Miss Ruthe”

Together Again

Some years before my mother died, she made her wishes known about a funeral or memorial service. To each of her children, she gave instructions. I was expected to sing a song or two. In my younger years, this seemed an easy ask.

Image by Pexels from Pixabay

However, as both Mom and I aged, I realized my particular assignment would be an impossible task. Oh, I knew the songs. I’d sung each one many times. From my earliest days, music had animated me. I sang boldly with adult choirs even when very young. When my older brother learned to play the violin, I followed in his footsteps. My dad brought home a Hammond organ and I learned to play; I still own it, though it suffers from neglect, no, involuntary abandonment. Continue reading “Together Again”

A True Tale of Ricky-Robby

Great news about the recent recovery in Georgia of more than three dozen missing and at-risk children, thanks to the US Marshals Service and Operation Not Forgotten! Parents everywhere can rejoice knowing these children have been released from awful circumstances and returned home. Bravo to law enforcement for their diligence!

As a little girl, I knew children who had suffered neglect and abandonment. Maybe it’s just my impression (due to hazy memories) but in those days, it seemed to me the community took a more hands-on approach to difficult relational problems. Continue reading “A True Tale of Ricky-Robby”

Heavenly Valentines

Image by StockSnap from Pixabay

Since my mother’s passing a week ago, I’ve reflected on aspects of her life … and mine. As a writer (and a family historian), it’s always been important to me to keep written records and when possible, to match them with images (photos mostly).

This need to retain a written record appears to be a trait I inherited from my forebears – parents, grandparents etc. going back many generations. (Consider Der Stricker for further details.) So, when I get a bit nostalgic, I tend to look at the collection of resources that have come into my possession through the years.

In a previous post, I mentioned my dad spent his working life as an over-the-road trucker. He ended up with hours of dead time on his hands, waiting for a delivery to be loaded or unloaded. Being the contemplative person he was, he wrote poetry. Thanks to his impeccable handwriting, these poems are in pristine condition, many of them penned on motel stationery (wherever he happened to be staying).

The large majority of poems are personal in nature, small rhymed jewels to express his love (most often addressed to his wife, my mom). My dad had been deceased more than a decade in 2004 when I decided it was time to set his handwritten poems into book form. I had copies printed for family members and that’s where the project stayed … until now.

As an added subsection of the Blood Type / Stricker page, I’ve included a flipbook of dad’s poetry. Toward the end (page 50), there’s a poem titled My Heavenly Valentine. It’s written (obviously) to my mother. The final lines present a fitting coda to two lives well-lived … and now reunited in Eternity.