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

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.

Why silver linings?

One day, quite recently, a friend came to lunch at Panera with a huge grin on her face. She said, "I'm putting my life story on a blog now!" She immediately inspired me and got my wheels turning.

I have a boatload of photographs from my childhood. And other old photos of my family members who have gone on before me. I often look at these old photos, and emotions and thoughts and memories start to bubble up from the archives in my soul.

Most of them aren't profound. But, I have found that looking back, reflecting on, and uncovering "what was" (whatever it was), is very healing. It is a great starting point to understanding "what is".

Me, age 3 and Dutchess

I look back and not everything is peachy. There is the good and the not so good. But, all of it makes up my life and my history. And, through it all, God has had His hand on me. His goodness, love and protection is that silver lining that draws my attention upward. Up to grace. Up to healing. Up to goodness.

I'm looking forward to digging into that pile of photos I have. I hope you'll join me in exploring that silver lining.

We each have one.

I hope you will be inspired to start seeing the silver lining  in your own life.

You can read more of my thinking behind this blog up above under the "my story" tab. Thanks so much for stopping by!



P.S. My friend's life story blog is:Footprints of My Life.

P.P.S. My other blog: A Ready Listener, is where I pause to see God's beauty in the every day.