An Adventure Back into Memories

It is nearing 8 p.m., and our house, with the exception of the master bedroom and bar, is empty.  It is quiet and barren.  I am sitting here, enjoying the cool air after a brief shower, looking across the deck at my front gardens.  I had a plan for years of how this area should look and show off the front of the house.  In the last two years all our hard work, all five of us, has paid off.  It is lovely; exactly as I envisioned it.  The deck has become our outdoor living space each evening. 

The back patio was a labor of love and hard work.  It took an entire summer to lay the concrete cobble stone forms, paying for supplies as we went.  Each payday brought on work for the next section, and all five of us labored over leveling and planning, and pouring 65 bags of sakrete! The  water feature and surrounding landscape was a fall project.  The back border gardens, a constant struggle to keep perfect have all grown back to natural brushline, and I like it better than the sculpted look I kept fighting to maintain.

The yard. The back yard has been a place of many great and joyous memories.  The archery contests. The bocce ball and croquet tournaments, the time Coby used her play handcuffs to detain her brothers to the swing set.  Even the lopsided, exhausted clothes line makes me smile. Then there are the volunteer red buds that are now hardy trees, and the Bradford Pear that is huge!  I love my yard.

As I get up to move inside and write this blog, I wander the empty rooms of the main floor and am overwhelmed with the giggles of the past.  Mark dancing each week, in his P.J.s to the theme music of the "CSI" episode of the week.  I see Coby curled up on the old hand me down couch with the newest Harry Potter book.  There is J.T. at two years old, middle of the night, standing in his window clapping everytime lightening cracked across a spring sky, telling me it is God's firecrackers.

We have packed up the majority of our belongings, and the moving truck is packed solid. The men and women from our church community that came to help us today were a true blessing.  Their willingness reminds me of all the times the St. Peter Parish has been a cornerstone in our life in Fulton.  Donnie Kromschoeder and his family stopped by the night we were finishing the patio, and helped us lay the last six forms. Joe Fague has helped us numerous times with electrical upgrades, and Lew Beatty saved our bacon whenlur new light fixture in the bathroom wouldn't work. Roger was our go-to guys for any fix-it project. The years we all participated in the Corpus Christi procession, and an altar was placed in our front and back yards.  The number of St. Peter kids who have shared a meal with my kids in this house. The crew of Knights of Columbus members and their wives who came to load us out today; all are treasures my heart will always protect and hold.

When next I walk through the door into this house, I will virtually be a guest.  That is a startling revelation.  We have painted rooms, remodeled rooms, yanked carpet, laid wallpaper, changed out curtains, tied Christmas trees to window woodwork to avoid disaster, and shared many heartwarming memories.  Coby learned not to slam solid core doors, Mark learned that dessert is part of supper, so when no supper, no dessert, and J. T. learned that "make me" was not a phrase to speak to his mother.  We have had two dogs, three cats,  three goldfish, and for a short time Nicole Kempker's hamster share our space.  Deer mounts used to hang on the living room walls beside five compound bows and family pictures. Prom pictures were taken in mass in our yard, and the kids had friends over for smores, ghost stories, birthday parties, bachelor parties, and just old fashion 'bull" sessions.

My favorite memories will always be all of us crowded on a deck I had thought would be big enough and wasn't. beverage in hand, J.T. getting snarky and hilarious after a few Bud Lites, Coby keeping us all in line, Mark stirring the pot, and laughter so loud you could have felt the joy one county over. The hugs, the jokes, the tears, some sad; most happy, that given this old Ferrugia house life.  I wanted people to come to know this as the Jacobsen place, and yet today I heard a gentleman refer to the Ferrugia's as he was moving an antique secretary down the steep stairs from the upper floor.

And so, tomorrow, we take off to move me to Kansas, and I will say good-bye to old Ferrugia house.  I will say good-bye to a wonderful parish where I had the experience of growing in my faith and gaining some wonderful friends.  Keith and I raised our three kids in one of God's greatest treasures: Fulton, Missouri.

A Journey into a Fantasy Future

This weekend I spent some time writing a short story.  This is a futuristic fantasy, not a prediction.  Not my usual style, but something I became vested very quickly.  I hope you enjoy.

Waiting for the Dawn

By D. Jacobsen

It was a calm dawn at 6:32 a.m., September 2, 2032, as the sun peeked through the timber on the east ridge and bounced off the mirrored surface of the lake.  The west shoreline, full untamed timber, was reflected perfectly on the seven acre lake surface. No breeze, just peace.  A form was emerging along the southeast corner of the lake, sauntering along the shoreline, headed north.  A basket in one cand and a huge cup in the other.  Distinction as to man or woman was not easily determined.  Dressed in a rough wool sweater, baggy canvas pants, heavy scuffed leather boots, and a ratty baseball cap, the person seemed to be ready to tackle a task of physical labor. Posture erect and head held high, each step displayed a confidence that the day would be productive.

An owl hooted wearily to the south. Four cats came running out to play in the clearing east of the lake.  Taking a sharp turn to the east, the woman walked more briskly toward a large, unkempt building that had seen better maintenance in the past.  Paint was worn and faded on the dark green siding.  The deck that surrounded the upper floor was weather beaten and grey.  Lawn bushes needed trimming and the grass was nearly knee high.  Upon closer examination, one could see that other than signs of neglect, the house and its surroundings were bare of trash or abandoned appliances and farm implements. A blue heron gilded silently to rest upon the north shore on the lake among the downed willows along the lake dam.

The woman walked below the deck and through a rough wooden door into the basement of the dwelling.  She placed the basket of eggs on the work table to the left and quietly closed the door.  Draining the cold dregs of coffee from her mug, she moved deeper into the dark basement and moved to the farthest southeast corner.  There sat an old coffee maker on a makeshift countertop.  She refilled her cup and took a tentative sip of strong brew she enjoyed each morning.  Sighing, she moved to the closed interior door that led farther into the hillside beyond the apparent east foundation to the lawn. Opening the barn styled door, she reached in and turned on the interior light switch.  Her husband of 45 years slept soundly in the double bed across the small room.  His soft snoring brought a smile to her weathered features.  Sneaking up quietly to the bed, she placed her cup in the night stand and looked down at his features.

This was one of her favorite times of the day.  A moment to watch the man who was her best friend, confidant, husband sleep as if there were no cares in the world.  His shoulder length hair was wavy, grey, and thick.  The lines in his tanned face were deep, yet gave an essence of wisdom.  Behind the heavy lids were eyes of crystal blue that had begun to show worry and fear in the last ten years.  Those eyes always brightened when he gazed upon his sons and his grandchildren, and they filled with tears whenever he remembered his daughter, each and every day.

She leaned over and gently kissed his gentle mouth, and his eyes fluttered open.  He smiled.

"Time to rise and shine, my love.  Coffee on the table."  She turned, leaving the room as she heard hms rise from bed and head for the tiny bathroom off the bedroom. The day had begun.

The 69 year old woman moved quickly back into the outer basement, picked up the basket of eggs and ascended the wooden stairs to the main level of the house.  As she entered the kitchen, she noticed that the house was beginning to awaken.  A toilet flushed from a bathroom down the hall.  The floorboards from the nearest bedroom creaked as someone was moving about and getting dressed. She set the eggs on the counter and brought out the old "chandelier" made of a round cardboard oatmeal box and a bare light bulb.  Plugging in the contraption, she began to inspect each of the 17 eggs she had gathered earlier in the morning. This was a simple task, and allowed her to think about the day.

However this morning, her mind was wondering.  How did they come to this place in time?  How had all of them, everyone, allowed all these changes?  Would things ever be normal? She had the answer to the last question, hating to admit it. No, there was no "return" to normal.

All the eggs passed inspection, so she turned to the sink and gently rinsed each off and placed them on an old, thin dish towel to dry. Looking out the kitchen window above the sink, she could see easily across the lake and a soft wispy fog rose from the warm water.  It was always the coldest, and darkest, before the dawn.  She felt as if she had been waiting for the dawn for 12 years.  When would that dawn break?

A sharp nagging ache was settling into her left shoulder and down her arm.  With deep breaths and eyes closed, she was able to will the pain away, for now.  Rolling each egg of the old towel, she then placed them into a large tin bowl that had been left on the counter.  She moved across the worn, nearly colorless linoleum floor to the refrigerator and placed the eggs on the bottom shelf,  She then pulled out yesterday's bowl of eggs and placed it beside the stove. Two large ham steaks, peppers, onions, a chuck of sharp cheddar cheese and butter were all placed on the counter.  Two cast iron skillets sat on top of the old gas range, waiting for the morning ritual of feeding her family.

"Good morning, Mums." a sleepy voice from behind startled her.  Her eldest son walked up behind her and kissed the top of her head.  Her thin, short, white hair allowed his warm lips to touch her scalp and brought comfort to her troubled mind.  She had her family, she should be thankful. "Let me fix breakfast this morning," he offered.

"I think I will," she replied.  "I want some more time with the morning."  She smiled at the tall 40 year old man and walked out the screen door onto the deck.

The deck looked weathered and worn and in ill repair.  That was deliberate. In fact, the deck was strout, well built, and in excellent shape. Creating a realistic look of ill repair and no worth kept the raiders away.  Old farm machinery and appliances had been strategically placed halfway down the quarter mile long drive, seeming to block travel to the house. Weed, hedge trees, and wild rose bushes were grown among the rubbish to deter foot travel. No one with nice things or a nice house kept much of the “nice” from the raiders.  If the free lance band of robbers visited there was not much anyone could do except survive.  Resistance had met with death often in the last few years.

She pulled up an old lawn chair made of metal, sporting a faded cushion, and eased her sore legs into submission.  Sitting here, looking at her lake was the perfect tonic for her foul mood. Fish were breaking the surface at the shoreline below the house.  The blue Heron was still posed in the dawn laight.  No breeze, peace.

How did they come to this place in time?  She knew the answer, as did anyone older than twenty years of age.  That damned virus had invaded the world in 2020, and the world reacted.  Schools and businesses were closed in an effort to forestall the spread and higher mortality rates.  Dire warnings and predictions scared the world into a bizarre reality of social distancing and mandatory face masks.  God, she hated those masks.  Yes, they worked, somewhat, and even though it was now the "norm" to always wear the dreaded accessories in public, she still hated them.

The screen door screeched behind her, and tiny feet snuck up behind her chair.  "Mornin' Gramma." the ten year old granddaughter whispered.

"Mornin”, she whispered in return.  Soft, delicate arms wrapped around her neck from behind and a kiss was placed on her neck. The smell of lavender shampoo wafted across her face, such a beautiful smell. Then the waif retreated back inside, allowing the screen door to slam.  She smiled. 

At least she had her family, she should be thankful.  Well, she had most of her family.  Her mother-in-law, after allowing three generations to move to this old farm and live here freely, had died earlier this year, leaving a huge abyss where her 80 year old wisdom and wicked humor had lighted the darkest of hours.  A hard loss. They had mourned her passing, celebrated her life with the neighbors and a few townies who still remembered her, and then they had all buried her on the west ridge. Hers was the second grave on the ridge.  Ten years earlier a daughter had been returned to the family, in a casket, having been ambushed and beaten beyond recognition.  They had buried her in her uniform, queity, as police officers had become the enemy.  Her badge was in a special place behind a family portrait on the mantle, and her duty weapon was in her father's nightstand. Now, there were no police forces.  There were social intermediaries.  Most rural areas had a sheriff's department to investigate serious crimes, homicide, rape, robberies.  The state's national guard patrolled streets, roads, and old dirt lanes to keep order. She had most of her family, she was not feeling grateful.

After the 2020 election the world went straight to hell!  First came the riots across the entire nation.  Alaska and Texas seemed immune, but all other states had weeks of rioting in the bigger cities.  Rural America shook their heads and tried to understand the unrest.  Congress recessed for three months for safety reasons.  The military had to be deployed within the borders for the first time since the Civil War of 1861.  Militia groups became involved. The virus and the "war wounded'' overloaded hospitals.  The economy died.  Just died. In March of 2021 things began to calm down and there was hope for normal.  Short lived hope. A new virus visited across the nation. Alaska and Hawaii seceded. Washing D.C. became a state. More unrest, ore health scares, more military deployment.

The woman sat up straight in the chair and mentally shook herself. She could hear the hustle and bustle from the kitchen and dining room behind her. She should go in and help, be sociable, but she just didn't have the strength.  once again the squeaky screen door was opened.  

"Juice, Mother?" her husband asked as he walked up beside her share and held out a small, dark green glass filled with fresh squeezed juice. "We had to finish up the oranges today or lose them."  He smiled as she took the orange juice.  She hated juice.  "Added a little incentive for you," he chuckled and headed back inside.  She sipped the offering carefully. Yep! Gin! Gotta love a man who knows his wife. A cigarette would make this moment perfect. 

Why can't she just be happy with these blessings and let it go? Rising from her chair, she walked south down the deck, away from the morning noise and leaned on the railing overlooking the overgrown lawn to the lake.  Two large beavers swam south along the west bank. Good.  Maybe the traps would get them today.  Her youngest son ran traps here and along the river to the north.  Tanning out the hides was something he had taught himself to achieve back in 2022, and his pelts brought great compliments and rewards at the barter fairs through the county.  Bartering was their lifeline.  The economy had recovered weakly and then Congress had encouraged virtual money and eliminated actual cash.  Then the paranoia had set in.  Many didn't want their spending habits traceable.  No cash was a terrible hardship that led all of rural America back in time.

Farmers sacrificed everything possible to pay off land some and some equipment.  Others paid off mortgages , deleting their savings.  Anyone with any assets available converted it to gold and hid that gold.  Bartering began by the summer of 2023.  However, the electronic age of cell phones, computers, online shopping, and indoor hobbies had left two generations of citizens who knew how to do nothing to sustain a family off the land. The old county townships were once again organized and the "ole timers", like her mother-in-law, began sharing knowledge and teaching skills.  Not everyone learned the same skills, that was the brilliance.

Different families worked in different areas. Her family raised beef cattle.  Other families raised hogs or goats.  Butchering was done on the quiet at appointed times and places.  A one day event with everyone pitching in, bartering, and taking home meat to freeze.  Old time smoke houses were built and jerky became a stable.  Canning became commonplace.  The first few years of gardening had almost proved to be their undoing.  But everyone had helped where they could, and after three years gardens were treated like the meat system.  Her speciality was herbs for cooking and medicinal purposes. Her husband raised blueberries ,black berries, and an envious abundance of strawberries.  The Johnson sisters down by the creek east a mile built a greenhouse and raised oranges, lemons, and limes.  Everyone raised their own potatoes, green beans, peas, corn and squash.  If nothing else. they would eat.

Men, like her son, trapped for hides, hunted for meat, and tanned out deer hides. Hunting seasons still were enforced, but ignored if a family was truly in need.  Wild turkeys had greatly multiplied in the last decade, and a few feral hogs roamed loose.  The biggest wildlife worry was the black bear that had moved into residence in this part of the state.

Families worked part time jobs locally to keep electronic balances to pay taxes, utilities, and buying fuel. Most had converted gas fireplaces back to wood burning furnaces, as fuel was ghastly expensive. Fewer acres being farmed had allowed an abundance of timber to take over land, providing free fuel.  

The universal health care system had been in place for five years and wasn't terrible.  However, many people had sacrificed health during the virus in 2020, and nearly a generation was lost due to ailments not deemed urgent.  Trust for government run healthcare was thin in rural areas.  Midwives, retired nurses, military medicics made house calls and bartered services as possible. Only terminal illnesses negated a trip to the closest hospital in the next county.

Her juice glass was empty and she felt a little less rattled. Still wanted a smoke, but she hadn’t smoked in ten years, and it was illegal anyway. She had to get her act together.  Today was her day for homeschool.  The neighbors all homeschooled their children, as the small rural schools had never recovered from the massive shut downs in 2020.  Once a week those children came to her house, twenty in all from age 10 to 18, for instruction in American History and reading. The first part of the day was spent making sure everyone was solid with the state required curriculum.  Then an hour for lunch; everyone brown bagged it.  Afternoons were spent teaching authentic, truthful American History. The ugly events were examined as well as the courageous and brilliant.  There were children of color and children of ethnic backgrounds in Asian and Hispanic culture who came to her home for lessons, but the kids only saw their friends and neighbors.  There would always be prejudice, but it was not tolerated when exposed.  Everyone was basically in the same little boat, trying to make it through another year. 

Today's history lesson was going to be focussed on the U.S. Constitution, mainly the Bill of Rights.  It seemed as if several of those rights had been erased, especially the first amendment.  No one went to "church" anymore, each family worshipping in their own fashion on Sundays.  Sometimes they gathered with neighbors, sometimes not. Churches slowly closed throughout 2020 and 2021 as restrictions for gathering safely had continued to limit attendance and participation. Her mother-in-law had been a devout Catholic all her life and had baptised all the babies.  Certain prayers had been passed down through generations.  A Virgin Mary Statue stood protectively on the front deck.  It had been years since a priest had traveled through and said Mass. Now her husband baptised new babies and those who wished to be closer to the Good Lord.

Next week’s lesson called for instruction on the election process of the nation.  As a teacher in the 1990s, she had always loved these lessons.  Watching students understand the reasoning of the Founding Fathers when they created the Electoral College and how the process was designed for a step closer to true democracy was always a highlight of each year in the classroom.  Discussions ensued with the brighter and more engaged students, but even the shy student would ask questions and offer opinions.  Now there was no Electoral College, and because of large city populations, many rural citizens didn’t bother to vote.  Many of her friends and neighbors voted locally, but not in the national election. The general belief was their votes didn’t count.  How was she going to inspire these children that voting was so very essential, a vital importance? How indeed when she was tempted to give it up and not bother herself?

“Breakfast, mom!” a voice shouted out the back door.  Slowly she moved back towards the north end of the deck and slipped through the worn screen door.  Everyone was scrambling to get seated, and the noise level was almost at a fever pitch.  A normal morning on the Homestead. Her husband cleared his throat dramatically and silence was immediate.  

As all bowed their heads for prayer, she looked around the table and found a smile creeping across her face.  Her two sons with their wives sat on one side of the table, and the five grandchildren crowded along the opposite side.  Aged three to ten, this was the future.  Tow- headed, red headed, and one with coal black hair, reflecting his mother’s Asian ancestry, they were all part of one family, her family.  What would their future hold?

A shiver ran down her left arm as she thought of the dangers they faced daily, and the opportunities they may never enjoy. Would she live long enough to see this crazy world right itself and rebuild to be a great place to raise a family?  Would these five precious gifts live long enough to enjoy true freedom, freedom from fear, freedom from worry about the next safe night of sleep, freedom from the depressing stories of how the Americans destroyed their own liberties and freedoms by not being aware?

“Amen.” Prayer concluded. Conversations began as the meal was enjoyed by all.  It was a good, healthy meal. Ranchero eggs, biscuits and ham gravy, fresh berries, fresh milk, juice, and hot brown rice.  A warm, filling breakfast,  She should be thankful.  She reached up to rub her left shoulder that ached daily now.  Five years ago she had taken a bad fall and broken her arm just below the joint and it now ached with determination more times than not.

The daily conversations didn’t seem to alter from the usual details of the day ahead.

“Matthew, how did the camera cards look this morning?”

“No raiders, but a couple of scruffy kids snooping around. Didn’t make it beyond the trash heap below.”

“Today is school day!  I can’t wait to start our new books.”

“William is going out to run traps after breakfast, and I think I might go along.”

“Who is making a run into town for fabric and the paper?”

Everyone was lining out the day.  This was the normal of the times, but she really missed a different normal. She kept telling herself that things would improve; days would be better.  She really longed for internet use without a fear that others were monitoring her searches. Gone were the days of running into town to pick up a few things, spend twenty dollars, grab a soda at the local drive-in diner, and mozey home.  When was the last time she had gone to a nice restaurant? A trip to town to grocery shop would be heaven!   A day of no real work to sit by the fire and read a book and drink fancy coffee…

They had been ignorant and lazy!  They, her generation, had allowed the darkness to slowly seep into the light.  Liberties slowly eroded with mandates to wear a mask, social distancing becoming an accepted way to disengage, electronic distractions with social media and a cancel culture; gone was  free speech.  Then the general idea that basic good manners and human kindness were both outdated and unnecessary.  People felt the need to be mean spirited and intrusive if your views disagreed with the agenda at hand.  And her generation had bitched and complained, but had done nothing to change the direction the country was traveling.  Now the America she had known as a child wasn’t there.  All that remained was the dark shadow of a wonderful, although flawed experiment in democracy. 

Breakfast seemed to be over as the youngsters were clearing plates and serving dishes.  The adults were finishing the last of their coffee and looking at her.  No one spoke. Raised eyebrows, shy smiles, and worried eyes seemed to be galvanized in her direction.  What should she do? She knew all were wondering why she had been so quiet? She was usually the most talkative at the breakfast table. Why hadn’t she eaten any breakfast?  This was her favorite meal of the day? The concern and trepidation was almost too heavy to bear. Her left arm really ached this morning. She had to do something.

Taking the coward's way out, she looked out the window. “The sunrise was beautiful this morning. Air is getting a little crisp of a morning.  A frost will come early this year.” She stood and moved around the table, grabbing up placemats and used cloth napkins.

“Mother?” her husband spoke quietly but firmly.

“I’m good,” she turned with a smile.  “Just one of those days. I’m just sitting in a dark place”  She walked briskly down the hall to the laundry room and whispered.  “I am waiting for the dawn.”

July 17, 2020

An Unhappy Journey

Today started off with a very sour note.  All weekend I have been trying to follow the civil unrest in our country, as have the majority of Americans I am sure.  I have taken my daughter's calm advice and searched for many sources per news item to make sure I am getting a full picture of the events that have unfolded since Mr. Floyd's tragic death at the apparent hands of law enforcement. I refrained from commenting and even avoided social media until Friday.  I watched video footage, I talked with my daughter, a law enforcement officer with more than seven years experience, rewatched videos, and listened to numerous press conferences and interviews. Mr. Floyd was killed at the hands of another man, a police officer.  No doubt in my mind, and I usually am the one to tout "innocent until proven guilty", but I cannot see any reasonable doubt here at all.

The accused officer, and the other three present have been fired. Good.  The man who knelt on Mr. Floyd's neck for over 8 minutes has been charged with murder, and I am positive an investigation will lead to charges being filed against the other three officers present at this unnecessary death. So, I was quietly, from my safe living room in mid-America, supportive of protests calling for change and recognition of this man's life being lost without just cause. But, I was confused as to why the peaceful protests seemed to add to violent riots and destruction of property.

My son's fiance spent a good portion of the weekend explaining several aspects of this situation to me from the eyes of a person of color in her 20s in America.  I now have a clearer idea of what Black Lives Matter is trying to say, and I agree it needs to be said.  We visited about the reasoning behind rioting and civil disobedience. She never lectured or judged, and I felt like I was truly learning about some issues I have overlooked.  I don't know if or how to address those issues, but now the awareness is there.  I felt good about this conversation.

Then I read some information a cousin posted on Facebook, and I engaged with said cousin over two days, digging deeper into my feelings and emotions.  We had a very honest, and kind of awkward discussion about "white privilege", a term I find offensive as a middle aged white American woman living in rural America.  However, we joked about other things and continued a conversation I felt was making progress.  I even said I would do some research about protests in the Michigan state capitol, as we both had very different recall as to the facts.

So, I went to bed yesterday feeling like this is a really tense time in our country's history, but if others would take a breath and talk and LISTEN there is hope. Then I checked my Facebook page early this morning and noticed another cousin had weighed in on our discussion.  I was bluntly told my emotions were irrelevant, if I supported our President I was not family. The mean spirited language and the fowl language was a shock.  Now, I can cuss with the best of them, but I try very hard not to attack others who disagree with me.  This has been on my mind all day.

So, I am a person of white privilege, still not sure that I am, but for the sake of this discussion, I am.  So, I am the enemy?  Should I feel badly because my husband and I raised tolerant children and tried very hard to dispel prejudice and bigotry, because we could never do it correctly?  Never mind that as a woman I have had some run ins dealing with my intelligence and ability to do a job or think.  I do not blame all men.  I am of Native American heritage, but I do not blame today's military and Congress for what was done to my ancestors.  I  Irish Catholic , but do not blame other Protestants for the uprising in Philadelphia in the early 1800s. I know there are problems and issues and injustices that must be addressed.  However, I am not going to apologize for actions taken before you and I walked this earth.

The End of a Journey

The phone rings. Your husbnd is talking to someone.  You look at the clock; it is 4:28 a.m. The words being spoken on the other side of the bed are beginning to make sense.  A life journey has ended. Shock begins to invade the sleepy predawn hours.

A wonderul man left his life on earth suddenly today.  After 80 years of a full life, James Milton Jacobsen died early this morning.  After fighting a brave battle with cancer, and "winning the battle", as much as possible, his body gave up on him.

Jim was a bigger-than-life kind of man.  He was raised a farm boy in northern Iowa, a basketball star for Rock Valley High School, a graduate of  South Dakota State college, he went on to work for South Dakota DoT as an engineer.  Later, when I knew him, he worked in sales for 3M.  He loved, I mean really loved, golf.  Jim was very excited about the four, possibly five, hole-in-ones he achieved. His wife, Bev, and all of his children, as well as numerous grandchildren, shared his love of the sport. He was quite proud of the fact that he had played a round of golf BEFORE driving himself to the hospital with shortness of breath--the beginning of the battle with cancer, in June.

My father-in-law and his wife Bev raised four awesome kids: Joel, Brenda, Kay, and Keith.  All four grown children have very different careers and life plans, but get along famously, which is a tribute to how they were raised.  Family was extremely important to Jim. He was at the hospital moments after our first child, Jacoba was born, pacing the halls until he could see his first grandchild.  He was one of the first to visit each grandchild upon arrival into this world.

Nine grandchildren and two great-grandchildren will miss Jim's laughter and interest in what they are doing as they grow and change.  Recently, my son Mark was visiting Arkansas for work, and he and Jim had the opportunity to really talk about Mark's carrer as an exhibit technician for a children's museum.  Jim and Bev actually visited the local children's museum Mark was working with that week, and Jim was so excited to "see what Mark does! Impressive." He took great joy in visiting with his grandchildren.

At big family events, when everyone else pulled out expensive cameras or cell phones to capture a moment, Jim had his disposable Kodack camera!  He kept a photo album of pictures he carfully selected, some even printed from emails.  If he felt a picture was "book worthy", it was placed with honor in his picture book.  I was flattered to find that he had included a picture of my daughter, my mom, and me on our recent trip to San Antonio!

Keith and I were so blessed to have just seen Jim two days ago, and we enjoyed a nice visit.  I ran down and got the mail, just junk mail, and we joked about the possibility of him wanting a free burrito at a local eatery.  I will miss the poilitical discussions we used to have, the arguments, friendly-ish, about religion and my strict discipline of his grandchildren.  He was an honest man who wanted what was best for his family.  He could be stubborn and a little abrupt, but I never saw him deliberately hurt anyone. When I suffered loss in my life, he was always a claming influence who would really listen.

The dedication he had for his wife will be one of Jim's strongest legacies for me and my children.  He never claimed to be perfect, but he did strive to do his best when it came to Bev's care.  Recently, Jim and Bev relocated to Jefferson City as he continued to fight his cancer, and it was wonderful to have the last month of visits with him.  Shortly, we will celebrate his life with a Mass in Bella Vista, Arkansas, where he and Bev lived for 20 plus years of their retirement.  He will be missed by his family, and his golfing buddies. His grandsons will miss days on the greens, as will all of his children.

Today a journey in life came to a close, but I firmly believe Jim started a much more glorious journey, and I wish him safe travels.

* Photo by Allie Jacobsen, August, 2019

A Journey in Question

This weekend sees many graduation celebrations!  This important right of passage, whether it is from junior high, high school, college, or higher achieved degrees, is an important marking of hard work and dedication.  We should celebrate!

We encourage members of the next generation to aspire for high expectations, ensuring a solid future for themselves, and for future generations to come.  This class of graduates will produce doctors, lawyers, businessmen, teachers, repairmen, plumbers, construction workers, farmers, ranchers...all which have to potential to change our world.  This could be the generation that cures cancer, creates an environmentally safe pesticide for wheat crops, creates water saving devices for our homes, builds beautiful monuments, serve in Congress and create wonderful democratic policies, the possibilities are endless!

Why should we encourage these young, dedicated, hard working people to aspire to make change? Many, if not most, are leaving college with a lot of debt.  They must now begin to reach for the goal of employment and making a difference.  I would normally say, "Go for it!  Good for you!"

Today, I say, "Be careful, be very careful.  You could be judged in the year 2220, and your legacy will be for nothing."  Why so negative?  Our American citizens have decided that only perfect people can be honored, remembered, and respected.  We have become a citizenship of censor and judgemental posturing.

I recognized this with the movement to remove Confederate monuments and statues.  I could understand the discomfort of seeing some of these monuments if it were 1920, but that doesn't seem to be the case.  Even with that discomfort, these men, Confederate leaders and soldiers, were welcomed back as true citizens on that fateful day at Appomatox Courthouse when Genral Grant stepped onto the frontporch after accepting Lees surrender. "...The Rebels are our countrymen again."

Now it seems we are going to censor our founding fathers.  These were brave, passionate men, quite like some in Congress today, who wanted just and prosperous opportunities for future American generations.  These men of 1776 were not perfect, nor did they claim to be.  In fact, until we won the Revolution, they were traitors!  Yes, they made life decisions we would never agree with today, but it was not today!  Life was different, norms were different.  This doesn't mean those norms were right or moral.  That also doesn't mean that some of those founding fathers didn't  reflect on and rethink their lives and their decisions.  I am confident is saying, like all men (or women), these courageous men had regrets as they looked back on their lives.

So, today, we have decided as a "moral" people that we now need to remove names, monuments, etc...that recognize these men.  When will we decide that the U.S. Constitution was written by these "immoral" men, so it should be dissolved? Will we go back and punish anyone who is tied to historical figures who offend us today?  How dare we!  This is 2019, not 1776, not 1863, we have no idea the actual life steps and emotions these men experienced.  We can imagine, we cannot know.

I usally avoid anything controversial or political on this blog for fear of offending someone, but not today! I am not trying to start an arguement. I am wondering who is on our "moral outrage" censorship in the future.  Is it one of the graduates of today?

Journey Beyond Hallowed Halls

This is graduation season!  Always a time of celebrating, nerves about grades, commencements, family parties, and anticipation about the next step in one's future. For 30 years as a Catholic School teacher, I have been involved at several different levels of eighth grade graduation preparation and celebration.  It is always a hectic and rewarding time of the school year.

Today was no exception.  We celebrated Mass; the Big Shots (7th/8th graders) and their Little Squirts (pre-k & K) serving in all the ministry roles. Then there was 8th grade recognition and blessings, followed by doughnuts!  Who doesn't enjoy doughnuts on a beautiful spring morning.  The 8th grade posed for more pictures.  We wrapped up the morning with a tree dedication and planting; 8th grade preparing the hole and planting the tree.  More pictures.  Now the Class of 2019 is enjoying their send off party, hosted by the 7th grade.  It has been a wonderful day for all.

For many years, I have given my eighth graders a small gift or letter as a memento of their time in elementary school.  These graduates "CAN'T WAIT" to get out of elementary school.  It is the theme from December onward, and it is very prominent by April.  It is amazing to me that many of the students who 'couldn't stand' Catholic School come back to visit teachers, principals, pastors, and the school cook.

This year, as in the last three or four years, I am giving the graduates a final religion lesson.

A Final Religion Lesson

You are walking through the door into a large, wonderful world. At times it will seem awe inspiring, breathtaking, and beautiful beyond compare.  At other times, it will appear to be heartless, cold, and maybe cruel. Do not despair. Do not fret. Do not worry. Christ is walking beside you.

If you should stumble and fall, get up, brush yourself off,  and move forward. Christ is walking beside you. Trust your knowledge, rely on your moral compass. Lean on Christ, he is right beside you. When everything is going well, and life is grand, pause, take a breath, enjoy the moment!  You have earned it. Then look beside you—-Christ is there. When you study, when you play a sport, when you figure the area of a circle, when you struggle with transitive verbs, when you argue with your parents, when you are embarrassed by your peers, when you are crying over your first love—-own it. Accept it. Respect it. Learn from it. Move beyond it. Be thankful for it. Then turn and give praise, for Christ is right beside you. You are never alone.  Christ will always be right beside you. As the St. Joseph Class of 2019, Martinsburg, prepares for graduation Mass this week, may they remember everyone who stood beside them as they walked through these hallowed halls for nine years. Most of all, I hope they pause and smile, enjoying priceless memories and lessons.

Journey of Appreciation

Last week was National Teacher Appreciation Week!  As a Catholic School teacher, I usually am unaware of this week, as we quite often celebrate a Teacher Appreciation Day during Catholic Schools Week in January.  This year I had to take notice.

Last fall I began a new teaching job with the St. Joseph Catholic School in Martinsburg, Missouri.  This is a small, rural, conservative community, supporting a school for Pre-K through eighth grade and an early learning center.  The campus is quite large, hosting a huge church, nice sized school, and house converted for the Early Learning Center (my guess is the house was probably the convent in years past), and a large rectory. The students enjoy a nice playground area within sight of the rest of this rural town. The train rumbles by, a block and a half away, several times a day, and you can smell the grain dust from the elevator two blocks away.  Literally it is small town America! Heaven!

As the school year progressed, I found myself enjoying the art of teaching again, and have truly enjoyed my year as the new kid on staff.  Christmas brought very generous gifts and lovely cards.  The Home and School Association is very generous with their support, and not just financially. Parent teacher conferences are productive and, for the most part, uplifting for all involved.  The staff in very relaxed and easy to work with, working hard to raise the bar and teach the students to excel.

The 40 minutes drive to and from has been a blessing.  Beautiful country, lovely sunrises, and time for me to gear up for the day or decompress before reaching home.  I know where to watch for deer, which roadways freeze more quickly than others, what time to watch for the school bus in the morning, and what fences tend to let the cattle free range graze along the road.  Again, heaven.

So as the school year is coming to a close and things get hectic, I was not paying attention to Teacher Appreciation Week. Then the celebration began!  A hot homemade breakfast was delivered to the school office for all teachers to enjoy on Monday.  Each day afterwards a new culinary delight was presented for lunch!  Students and parents arrived with gift baskets of goodies and gift bags filled with items to show appreciation for me being a teacher in their school.  I felt so blessed each and every day.  Friday was topped off with the Home and School Association delivering hanging flower baskets, the largest I have ever seen, for each staff member.  It truly was like Christmas in May.

In response to the generosity I experienced, I was feeling very appreciative of this small community I found by happenstance last spring. It was a week like I have never experienced.  Thank you, St. Joseph School families.