Aunt Esther: stories left untold

When I was a teenager, she'd sometimes come with us to the department store the next town over. I don't remember if she shopped all that much, but this old fashioned store had a cafeteria. It was open to the rest of the store. The kind where you could've seen Flo working behind the counter with her beehive hair do. 

Esther, second from right, with her two sisters and cousins

The bar stools were on chrome poles with the spinning mushroom caps on top. My favorite kind as a kid.  These particular ones were teal blue vinyl. I'm sure they were installed in the 50's.

Esther would do her little bit of shopping at the department store. Probably for hair pins or the old fashioned hosiery that ladies used to clasp onto their girdles. Yes, I'm sure she wore a girdle.

Then, she'd sit on one of those bar stools at the counter of the little cafeteria and have a cup of coffee and a sweet roll or a slice of pie until my sister and mom and I were ready to leave.

If I could turn back time I'd have sat and had coffee with Aunt Esther at that counter top with spinning bar stools. I'd probably have spun around a couple of times during our conversation, too, just for kicks. 

Aunt Esther would have smiled. She loved coffee and conversation

Esther and her husband, Carl, didn't have any children of their own, even though for many years Esther was a boys' matron at the Christian Children's Home that many years prior to my birth, used to reside on the same property where I grew up. 

Esther taught my dad, the Swede, English when he came from Sweden at age 16. 

Dad, Uncle Carl and Aunt Esther in the early 1950's

She must have loved children, and jumped at the chance to have my dad come from Sweden to live with them and help them farm. After my dad married and I was born, I became like a grand daughter to Aunt Esther and Uncle Carl. They adored me. I still remember.

My First Birthday

I remember her showing me the Lily of the Valley that grew along the side of her house. Those tiny white bells on green stems. You had to crouch down to see them there in the dirt.

me, not wanting my picture taken

Theirs was the only yard I remember ever seeing birch trees in as a child. Such unique white bark, that I used to like to peel off with my little fingers.

Esther passed away when I was in my mid 20's. If I had a chance again to have coffee and pie with Aunt Esther, I'd jump on it. I'd take the time to listen to the stories that were left untold. 


Thanks for stopping by for a story left untold today!

Blessings to you!

~Anne

When you need to choose joy

I'm linking up at Holley Gerth's place today for Coffee for Your Heart. She has the prompt, "what brings you joy?" I'm also linking up at Three Word Wednesday. 

Here is my story.




When I was ten I got my first horse. His name was Prince and he was tall, dark and handsome. 

At ten years old, I thought he was majestic and I remember being a little terrified of getting on him. I was so short I couldn't reach the stirrup to climb up to the saddle, so my dad had to give me a boost.

Prince was a gentleman with his new cowgirl. When I nudged his ribs with my heels, he'd go forward. When I'd press the reins on the left side of his neck, he'd turn right. When I'd pull back on them, he'd slow or stop.

Oh, the joy and freedom I felt perched up on Prince's saddle!

But, I only had Prince a very short time.

I went to stay with my mom in Iowa, and when I returned the next season, Prince was gone. 

My dad told me that Prince had gotten out of his fence and gotten into a field of alfalfa, and had gotten deathly ill from eating that grain.

My ten year old heart was crushed. Even now, I feel the pang of disappointment.

Exhilarating joy, to crushing disappointment. Oh, what extremes our hearts endure in a lifetime! 

This current of highs and lows in my young life had already begun before this tragedy, and would continue from this moment on.

Highs and lows.
Joys and sorrows.

What do I choose to dwell on? 

If I choose to dwell on the sorrow of losing Prince, it overshadows the joy I experienced in having him. 

Healthy grief is necessary, yes. There is a definite place for that and I don't minimize that. 

But then, with time, my heart has to turn toward the light. 

Toward the memories that bring joy.

Joy should not be sequestered to the back corner of my heart and hidden away just because I've had disappointments and sorrow.

It is only in sifting through my disappointments and sorrows that I can learn to dwell more on the joy.

The joy that adds strength to my mind, soul and body.

When I remember my beautiful horse, Prince, I choose to remember the good.

I remember the surprise when my dad presented him to me as a gift.
I remember the love I felt from a father to a daughter.

I remember how I felt riding him, with my hair blowing in the wind.

I remember how gentle he was with me.

I choose joy.

Blessings friends,

When you just want to be like them

I so wanted to be like them. I looked up to them.

They were older. 

They were pretty.

My cousins Angie and Lori.

We played together in their toy room

 and I took many a reluctant nap in their house. 

We had overnights.

We sang in Christmas Programs at church.

I'm sure we played Barbies.

They had bunny rabbits in a cage on the back of their garage.

They also had long stocking caps with pompoms on the tip.

I wanted one like theirs, I remember.

Why is it that we always want what we don't have?

I was so young, 3 and a half, and I coveted their stocking caps with pom poms!

Then, I finally got one of my own.

I don't remember begging my mom and dad for one.

But, maybe I did.

Somehow, this long stocking cap with fringe made me feel like them.

It made me feel older.

It made me feel pretty.

Having a long stocking cap with fringe made the cold Nebraska wintertime a lot more fun.

*************************************

How about you? Do you have a story of something you really wanted as a child, and then received?

A farmer finds warmth in winter

The winter ground in Nebraska farm country sits frozen and fallow, but my dad did not. Winter was the time to fix broken machine parts, supervise cornstalks covered in cattle and have a few more cups of coffee. And, sometimes move mountains of snow.

When the big snow storms would come, Dad would have to break away from whatever else he was doing to push the huge bus-sized mounds of snow away from our cars and out-buildings. 

Our driveway was all gravel, so regular snow shoveling wasn't going to do the trick. Only the front load tractor would do.We were absolutely paralyzed by big snow storms without Dad and his front loader tractor. 

The front loader was ancient, but it still did the job. It had no fancy cab. No radio. However, it had a big bucket on the front end that Dad could scoop snow up into and move it wherever he wanted it. 

Dad on his Front Loader

After moving snow, he would usually go into town for his "therapy".

In Nebraska, farmers have this secret support group. You can tell it when they meet each other on the gravel road. When their pick-ups get close enough so they can see each other, they lift one finger off the steering wheel and point a hello at the other farmer with a concurrent nod.  

This is like their secret handshake.

For this support group, they meet up in cafe's around town, and even neighboring towns and talk "farm", "corn", "the Dow Jones market" and what is currently going on at The Sale Barn. 

I'm not sure which one was his favorite. The Cozy Inn, The Frontier, The Zephyr Cafe and the local Sale Barn were all in my hometown. Did he have different farmer friends in each place? I don't remember.

No matter which cafe he entered, Dad seemed to have an uncanny way of knowing the names of all the other men wearing seed corn caps. Jack, Bill, Hurry-Up and Loren were all in the secret support group.

Winter in Nebraska farm country may have been frigid and there may have been mountains of snow. 

My dog Sammy on a drift of snow

But, in the cabs of pick ups and the booths of cafe's all over town, the warmth of friendship and common ground abounded.


How about you? Do you have a story of how the warmth of friendship thawed out the winter cold just a little?


Blessings,
Anne

Dare to Be: Celebrate You {Day 27}

Ever since I can remember, my parents always bragged about me for two things. There were probably more things, but what they were terribly proud of me for was this.

1. I  could say my ABC's

2. I could recite the Pledge of Allegiance

And, I could apparently do both of these when I was two.

I have to say that is pretty impressive, but I can't remember that. 

me, age 2

I do vaguely remember my Uncle Carl dragging out his reel to reel tape recorder to record me saying or singing something though. I remember being made a big deal of. 

I vaguely remember that sweater, that doggie and that ball. I was standing at My Aunt Esther and Uncle Carl's house. 

Entering their house that evening, probably in my dad's arms, Uncle Carl likely greeted me the way he always did for as long as he was alive.

"Hallo, my little honey!!", said in his Swedish accent with as much gusto and enthusiasm as you can imagine. 

They celebrated little Anne Britt (my full name and what I was called until I was probably around 10, when I fell out of love with the second name).

I felt like the apple of their eye.

I felt like who I was and what I accomplished at this young age was celebrated.

****************************************

When did I reach the age where I no longer celebrated ME, or what I can do? 

What magic year was it where it was no longer acceptable to celebrate being me? 

I do not know.

But, I am in the process of learning to appreciate who I am and what I've accomplished. I know God made me and that I am the apple of His eye. I am His masterpiece! That is something to celebrate!

That's me on the right in yellow

Today, as I look at these photos of little Anne Britt, I am reminded to celebrate me. I'm reminded to celebrate the small milestones as well as the bigger ones. 

Today, I am celebrating the fact that I didn't eat the whole bag of mini snicker's bites, but I shared them with my husband and son. :)

I'm celebrating the fact that I am pouring fresh water on relationships that had gotten dried out and stale.

I'm celebrating that I started working out at a gym two weeks ago.

I am celebrating that I am enough.

How are you celebrating YOU? It's time!

Click on my button for a list of all 31 Days posts! Thanks for visiting Live the Silver Lining today!

This post is part of a 31 Day series on the topic Dare to Be and linking up with about 1500 other bloggers on hundreds of topics. Come on over to The Nester to visit!

How we met

This post is written for Five Minute Friday, where lots of writers gather at Lisa Jo Baker's blog and write unedited for five minutes straight. No edits. Just free flowing writing. Today the prompt is "together". Won't you come visit, and join in?

We were both just seventeen when we met on a trip to Apple River. 

Just babies really. 

And, I had my eye on one of the staff, not on him.

He jumped around in the middle of the motor home singing little bunny fu fu with a friend, and 

I couldn’t believe he was being so silly. 

Now, I realize he was just showing off. 

He and a friend, just letting it all go. 

No inhibitions. 

Funny.

Yes, I thought he was fun. 

And funny.

He asked for my phone number after that motor home trip.

He called and asked me to go to a Bible study that a mutual friend was starting.

So began our first summer.

Walking on my block at night.

Hanging out with campus life friends.

Softball.

Talking until we didn’t think we could talk anymore.

Then, I went back to another state for my last year in high school.

He didn’t think he’d ever see me again.

Kevin writing me from his dorm room, my Sr. pic on his desk

We wrote letters.

400 of them over the next 4 years.

Long distance,

 before email, texting, facebook, twitter.

And, we are still together.

Rough patches and all 

and even some times where we wanted to take different ways when the fork in the road came

 making us make decisions that were hard.

Making us grow up to who we are today.

(*29 years of marriage)

~Anne

Thanks for stopping by to visit! I believe God weaves a silver lining all through our stories.

Because she could let go

Today, I'm linking up with a community of encouraging writers at Lisa Jo Baker's blog for Five Minute Friday. The prompt is "she". Writing for just five minutes straight. From the heart. No need to be perfect, just sharing our hearts through words.  Won't you join in?

I only saw her three times in my life. 

Grandma Edith in a sea of flowers

She raised my dad until he was sixteen and then somehow, some way, said good bye to him as he followed his dream. His dream took him across the vast ocean to the land of “freedom rings” and the home of the brave. How could her mother heart allow that? How could she watch her oldest son leave and not know when she would see him again?

I only saw her three times but she has taught me much. 

Even though the three times I saw her, there was a language barrier . She speaking Swedish and I speaking English. My dad was the translator.

She smiled.

She laughed big. 

Her voice was warm and loving. 

And I knew by the letters she sent my dad in America that she loved him more than I can explain.

I’m not sure how she could let him go. Her oldest son. But, she did, and I am here as living proof. I’m glad she let him make the trip.

Grandma Edith, Dad and Grandpa Gustav on one of  Dad's visits home

From her I’ve learned the art of letting go of someone you love in order to let them find their dream. 

I’ve learned of love, grace and love of God.

Blessings to you Grandma Edith. Until we meet again.




How about you? Do you find it hard to let go? I do.

I have a post about my dad's trip to America at age sixteen here at my blog, A Ready Listener.