Mable Bunker

Before I tell you about Mable, I need to tell you about Dick. Dick is her husband of over 60 years. About a year and a half ago, Interfaith asked me to give rides to Dick from Turtle Lake to a "day care" for Alzheimer's patients here at a Amery church. I found Dick to be a delightful guy in his 80's. I never got even a hint that he was not tracking. Oh, he did mix up a daughter with a grand daughter once in conversation, but big deal. That can happen. I was then told that they had put him into Judy's Cottage, a special unit at Golden Age nursing home for dementia sufferers. He would not take his medicine and Mable could not make him.

Mable is his bride. Interfaith has asked me to give her a ride from Turtle Lake to see her husband on Tuesdays. She gets to see him 3 times a week; T., Th, and Sundays for church. She is quite hard of hearing. She wears hearing aids but I wonder how much good they do. For a long time, I found myself yelling at her for our conversations and to avoid hearing, "huh?" It got to a point that I would find myself yelling at the first person I came in contact after letting her off. I got quite frustrated a few months ago and just refused to yell at her anymore. For the next few rides, there was not much conversation. She is such a neat gal that I did not want this situation to persist. I got the phone number of one of her daughters and had a visit with her. She suggested that I lower the pitch of my voice and talk slower. Next trip with Mable and Voila, it worked.

Since then we have many interesting visits and I want to recall a few with you. She gives a little laugh after about everything she says. It is not irritating at all. She has made me laugh out loud several times: Last spring we were riding in our 4x4 truck over the heaving country roads and in one place we both sort of got launched up into the air straining against our seat belts. I apologized and she remarked, "at least I know I'm moving!" During the summer, coming into Amery, there was a long haired, long bearded man walking towards us carrying a weed whip. When she saw him she remarked, "he should take that weed whip to his hair and face!" This from a sweet old lady.

I asked her how hard it was to know that Dick and she will not be living together again after 60+ years. She got choked up and said it was very difficult. Mable is a "glass half full" kind of person and she immediately commented that at least she still had him to visit.

Back to her riding in the truck. You would not believe how she gets up into the truck; no problem and she will be 89 this June. I told her our last trip that I know no one that is as limber as she is at that age. I was reminded that she was a farm girl and had been active all her life. That her relatives had all lived to a ripe old age. She went on to say there were 6 children in her family and that she was the second youngest. Only she and her younger sister were left. It was her job to drive the team of horses on the farm. Her Dad did not get a tractor until much later.

She had to walk a couple of miles to her school. When she got to high school, they needed to walk across a field to a neighbors house where they caught the bus into Turtle Lake. In the winter, they skied across the field. At this point she laughs and states that she spent more time on the ground then she did on the skis. They would leave the skis at the neighbors until after school and use them to return home.

Speaking of school, she told me that school was always quite easy for her. She was 5th in her class of 40. I asked her if many went on to college and she said no. A few may have gone to a normal school. (These were 2 year schools, post high school where one could get a teaching certificate) She was always good in math so she worked in offices in book keeping after graduating.

She and Dick had three girls. One became a teacher and I'm not sure about the others. She has 6 grandchildren. One of her girls lives in Turtle Lake which is a blessing to her for she lives alone.

Our rides always have conversations about farms or crops in them as we drive through the country side. You can take the gal our of the farm but not the farm out of the gal, I guess.

I gave her a Christmas card with a personal note inside and she gave me a box of candy. (Just what I need)

After walking her into Golden Age, I go and see my friend Don Bruckner that I have written about earlier. A note about Dick, here; he is doing quite well but still is not allowed to live with his wife. She lives about 200 ft. from him in the assisted living facility, connected to GAM. He does not know why they will not allow him back to live with his Katie. Only that neither can take care of the other and they both need help. It seems that something could be done so that they could spend their last years together. I took my lap top into his room the other day and showed him the old pictures from the resort and he so much appreciated them.

These seniors that God brings into my life are such a valuable addition/resource to me. A walking, living history book, filled with wisdom; God knows I need all the wisdom I can get.

Birthdays

Birthdays can be a confusing day, at least for me. You see, it is like you want people to know it is your birthday and you don't. I used to think it was one day out of the whole year that was about me. Tomorrow won't be, shouldn't be. Yet, to be just about you is sort of narcissistic, don't you think? Life should not be about me.

I received many well wishes on Facebook and then wonder, how many of them are just automated. Oops, glass half empty.

It is time for reflection. Another year I survived, and year closer to "graduation". I am so grateful for good health; I can still do most things I could do as a young 40 year old, just not as well, as fast, as quick, for as long etc. Well, I don't know if I can still do a cart wheel. I haven't tried. Someone is always looking when I think of it.

That 16th birthday is a big one; Now I will be able to drive, freedom. Trouble was, I got grounded the day I got my license. Yes, there is story there. Then there was the Gentile Bar Mitzvah birthday, occurring at age 18. Now I could drink beer legally, vote, marry and get killed in Vietnam. I can remember sitting in a bar in Watertown, NY in 1972, thinking, man, I am a quarter of a century old. That being old. Now my youngest child is that. 50! Half a century. Yes, I am a little hung up on my age and century comparisons. Next big birthday will be the medicare birthday at age 65. Oh, and at 68 there is the 50th class reunion. Wait, wait, I'm getting ahead of myself.

Presents and banana cake and sometimes a family gathering. More blessings. With a birthday right after Christmas, you don't get to spread the presents out over the year. Blast! My poor family just finishes buying presents for me for Christmas and then they have to buy again for my birthday. Blast for Them! Mom just sort of saves a Christmas present to give to me for my birthday. Good planning.

Then there is the whole old age thing. A friend of mine, Tom Perkins, used to say that "age was mind over matter, if you don't mind, it don't matter". I always liked that. I have tried to keep doing the physical things that I always have done. I hope to continue to do so, with God's continued blessing, until I just plain can't.

Christmas Traditions

Our Christmas eve service is being held at 6 pm again this year. With this time being smack dab in the middle of our Christmas celebration, I was reminded of the way it used to be: the way my family celebrated and the way our children were used to celebrating.
As a child, my parents would take me and my siblings to an early (4 pm) candlelight service. I would like to digress a minute if I might, to tell one of my favorite stories about my father.
My Dad prided himself as a good dresser. His job required that he dress well and he did. Expensive suits and , dare I say, clip on ties. They were the rage at that time. This particular Christmas, he had his best suit on and we were all sitting in the pew towards the front of the church. He must have been chastising me for the condition of my shoes. (We needed them polished regularly) Shortly after, attention was drawn to his shoes. Imagine his horror when he saw that he still had on the shoes he had on earlier in the day when he was painting. He had on this old brown, scuffed, white paint spotted shoes on to go with his expensive black wool suit. He panicked. We sort of did too because we could not stop laughing, silently of course. Silent night and all. Our shoulders were all shaking and people behind us must have wondered what we were all so joyful about.You all know what it is like when you aren't supposed to laugh and something occurs that is hilarious. After the service, he had his family literally surround him as we made our way out of the pews so no other church attenders would see his shoes. Being faithful, we all did as he asked.
After the service, we would drive around Rice Lake and look at the Christmas light decorations. They did so much more with lights in those days. We had a Christmas eve dinner and then opened presents from aunts, uncles, grandparents etc. because Santa would bring presents at night. This led automatically to the worst nights sleep of the year. Santa was coming, Santa was coming. Of course, waking up waaaayyyy before any one else, was a given.
The Christmas I most remember was the year I hardly got any presents. I was so low, moping at all the presents my siblings were opening. We took turns opening so I had to be skipped time after time. Finally, a note was found in the tree addressed to me. It led me on a "treasure hunt" and the tradition began. It had me go all around the house, only to find a note to where to look next. Finally! I said; FINALLY I was in the basement and there wrapped up was the most beautiful pair of skis. they were so much nicer than anything I thought I might get. They had steel edges, ebonite (plastic) bottoms, ski free bindings, ( so I wouldn't break my leg)
Mother would always fix a wonderful roast for dinner and then we would play with our new toys, or put together puzzles of car models.
The traditions that my wife and I started with our own children mimicked what I had been brought up with. Her catholic family would open presents at night and then go to mid-night mass. I knew that would not work with our kids so we adopted the same sort of tradition: church, lights, meal, followed by presents being opened. Christmas Day found us traveling to Rice Lake and have our Christmas with Nana.
A Christmas with my children that sticks out is reminiscent of my "skis Christmas". Mom and I planned on giving Don and Brian Nintendo for Christmas. This was an expensive gift for us, so not much else was planned on for the boys. Don did not handle it too bad but our sensitive Brian was just devastated. No presents, except maybe some under wear and socks. Finally, FINALLY, there was this note in the tree that led the boys on a treasure hunt with the Nintendo at the "end of the rainbow." Talk about elation, talk about extreme low to high of emotions, skyrocketing like a firework on July 4th.
Now, with most of our children married, we must share them with the in-laws and that is just the way it must be. So, we trade off holidays. If we get them for Thanksgiving, the in-laws get them for Christmas and visa versa.
So, the excitement still builds for me. I still have trouble sleeping right before Christmas but the cause is different now. My excitement now is the result of my anticipation of our children coming and I know laughter and fun will soon follow.
Lastly,the older I get, the more I try with some success to realize that Jesus, is indeed, the reason for the season. Merry Christmas to all.

Thanksgiving of a Life

During my prayer time this a.m., I was thanking the Father for my blessings that He hears from me about every day; Salvation, family, health, etc. My mind went back to the previous hour when I was reading the paper and saw a picture of a young girl sticking her head out the door of a hut. She obviously lived in deplorable conditions. Then I thought of my life and how much more I have had and failed to give thanks for. It brought to mind the saying, "There but for the Grace of God, go I".
The country that I was born in. The richest country in the world and one of the freest. The mother and father that God gave to me. A young couple that truly loved each other and were not afraid to demonstrate that to their kids. We never said, "get a room!" A standard of living that provided myself and my siblings with all our needs and some of our wants. We always had the best health care. Mother was a RN nurse. She even gave me shots of penicillin when I would get sick and "mothered" me to healing. A work ethic; My mother "forced" me to go down town and find a job when I turned 16. A college education was provided for me. A trip of Europe with the college choir was paid for by my parents. After the USCG service, my widowed mother bought our first home and provided the financing for it while I finished up my education degree. When we moved to Amery, she again was my mortgage holder and we paid her what we could afford. As a result, the mother of my children could stay home and raise them. We were blessed with 5 healthy, normal children and two others we will meet someday in Heaven. My Father led me to Amery where I could work, and provide for my family for 28 years. Now these children are on their own and continue to enjoy God's ever-present blessings.
So, rather than the usual "thank yous",during my prayer time, I have come to realize I need to go back much farther than the present. I have been blessed every single moment of my life.
What did I do to benefit ALL these blessings? Not a dang thing. I could have been born in the Sudan, the Congo or so many other places where life is so hard. But I wasn't. Do I have anything to complain about? Not a dang thing.
And yet, I look forward to so many more blessings but let me never ever, ever, forget the origin of them all.
When thanksgiving is given, there must be a recipient of that thanks. For me and really for you too, it should be to the origin of all good things. God the Father.

Grandparents

A month ago I was at the cemetery in Illinois where several of my relatives are buried. The occasion was the internment of my Mother's youngest sister, Jean. Aunt Jeanie's children placed flowers not only on their mother's grave but at several aunts and uncles that are buried there also. One set of headstones, prompts this entry and that was of my mother's parents. Jeremiah Porter Duell and Jennifer Halverson Duell
My Father's parents really were not in the picture of my childhood. I have pictures of them holding me as a baby but they did not come up to the resort to visit, maybe once? I have no recollection of them in my memory what so ever.
My Mom's parents, however, were quite involved. They would come up to the resort and pitch right in to help with projects. Grandpa, especially was handy. I think one had to be for one of his jobs was part owner and greens keeper of a golf course in Illinois. I remember him making steps up a hill to two of our cottages. He used boards and dirt to make steps. When it would rain, I used to like to watch the water come cascading down his steps. It was grandpa that got me interested in sports rather than my Dad. Grandpa would pitch this white,soft b-ball size, sponge rubber ball to me and I would hit it. I can' remember who would fetch it. He would have been in his early 60's, at this time I would guess.
A big event in my young summer life was where my parents would put me on a train and send me down to Grayslake for a week or two. (Out of their hair for a bit) This is where my grandparents lived and two sets of cousins all within one block of each other. Another family lived out of town on a farm and a fourth family in a nearby town. Oh, what great times we would have. I love to hear my cousins tell stories of my grandparents of which they has so many more than I do. They were around them all the time and for me, I only had a couple of times a year.
My grandparents had a shower stall. I had never saw a shower stall before. What an odd thing that was! What sort of games could you play in a shower? Grandma was a large woman and a shower was much easier for her to get in and out of compared to a tub. I would pick up things living with them those few weeks and then take these experiences back to my home. They were not always welcome back in my own domicile. Two things I remember specifically, that did not go over well with my mother at all: Grandpa used to mix his mashed potatoes, gravy and vegetables all up and then eat them. He would say, "They all end up in the same place anyway." When I tried this new eating practice and quoted my grandfather, I was told that would not do that in this house. Jeepers! I mentioned that Grandma was a large lady so when she would shake rugs, she would take her foot and roll the rug up. Seemed to make sense to me. I did not have to bend my little fat body over so much or for as long. However, when I tried this new found technique at home, I was promptly told that I would not roll up rugs that way even if Grandma had done it that way. So much for learning from senior citizens.
Grandma gave me my first Bible. It was a King James. Of course! She once told me, and I have not idea why, that I would make a good pastor someday. I remember thinking, No way! I would have to give up golf and my love of sports. Pastors don't have any fun. I think she put in some spiritual seeds in me but I can't think of anything specific except the suggestion of being a pastor. I know her favorite Psalm was 71 but I don't know how I know that either except it was recorded in an old Bible of mine. I really got no spiritual input from my folks like I have stated in my testimony entry.
If our family would happen to be there on Christmas eve, I could hear Santa's reindeer bells ringing outside. And were supposed to sleep that night with presents opened in the a.m.? No kids seemed to notice that Grandpa was missing during the time we heard the bells. Oh, we wanted to believe sooo bad.
My cousins tell me that Grandma ruled the roost. I don't recall observing that but then again, they were around them so much more. I do remember them both being kind, especially grandpa. He died the spring I finished my first year in college and I was there for the funeral. Grandma would write me when I was in the coast guard and she died when I was still enlisted. I did not come to her funeral. My Mom buried my Dad and her own mother in the same year, I remember.
Just looking through old pictures reminds me of a different era, a slower pace, for sure, a greater degree of innocence. Sigh!
(A word about the pictures: The 40th anniversary sure does look like a sad couple. Mom and I are coming up on our 40th. I'm glad we don't look that old. The second pix taken in 1957 looks more like I remember them. They were not a grumpy couple as I remember)

Don Bruckner, my friend

I need to give some background before telling you about Don. I have been giving him rides from his apartment, that he shares with his bride of 63 years, to a location 1 mile away where he needs to go three times a week for dialysis. I enjoy his company so much that I wish the trip was longer. He is funny, bright, has good hearing and good memory and visiting with him is like visiting with a live history book. (Actually, that is why I like visiting with the elderly- They have first hand knowledge/experience of what the "old days were like")He fell a month back and has a deep bruise so they moved him into Golden Age Manor, a nursing home connected to his assisted care facility. Last week I was visiting him in the nursing home and the subject of his military came up. When asked, he told me that he was stationed in France and Germany during WWII. I asked him if he was part of the Battle of the Bulge. He said yes. I was intrigued because I had seen the HBO series called THE BAND OF BROTHER. It was about a group of men who fought in the Battle of the Bulge. So I started asking him questions. I needed to leave so I said that I would see him next week to visit more.
Yesterday, I tracked him down at the dialysis location and spent over an hour with him. Here is his story.
He was born 3-27-1925 in LA, Cal. He went to high school in Fairfax, CA, graduating in 1942. Right out of high school he worked in a machine shop but the war had started so the following year he joined the service. He said that his Dad had him enlist instead of being drafted to avoid being in the infantry. Don is only 5' 6". He said with a smile that he got volunteered for everything while in the army. He was shipped over to France and served three years. His job was to take target locations from reconnaissance and then phone in directions to operators of the big artillery guns. His job was "relatively safe". At night they would stay in billets. I asked what they were and he said they were homes. They would take over the home for the time they needed to be there. His guys always treated the homes with respect but others would steal from the homes. When they moved on to their next location, the home owners would return. A good thing to come out of being over there was to see places like France, Belgium and Germany that he had never seen before.I asked if he had ever gone back. He said he had not. I asked if he had wanted to and he answered yes.
One other good experience of being over there was the relationship he had with 10 other men he was close to. He told me that he was the last of them to be alive and he wondered why. We hear that all the time when there are survivors of a bad accident and they wonder the same. The worst thing was to see the death of the men that would be brought in.
After discharge in 1946 Don went to work for a telephone company back in his home area. After all, he was experienced in that field. I said you have seen the telephone come a long, long way in your time. He smiled and said "back then they were basically tin cans connected by a wire". ( I took his picture with my cell phone camera)
While at the phone company, he noticed a gorgeous (his term)girl that he would ask to go on a hay ride with him. He was drawn to Catherine's openness and friendliness. He could be himself around her. They had a 6 mos. courtship, (no use wasting time) and were married. They lived in the gambling town of Gardenia, CA and Don worked for the phone company for 37 years,retiring in 1980.
They had one son, Tim,and in 1985 they followed him to Wisconsin. Tim had married a "Badger" girl and they have settled just south of Little Falls. Tim is a sculpturer who specializes in making small clay figures that companies use for models for one purpose of another. I have not met Tim yet but he and his wife had two children that went through the Amery school system but I did not know them.
I asked Don what he and Catherine did for fun in their early years. He said they would have couples over and play games like Scrabble, Monopoly and a few card games. He also liked to bowl and play beach volleyball. I think of beach volleyball as a recently invented game. Guess not.
He says often how much he hates it in the nursing home because of the others there. Unlike himself, many are in advanced stages of dementia and he just does not picture himself belonging there. The big thing, however, is not being with his Katherine. She is very hard of hearing but he says, they don't have to talk but just being close to each other is what he painfully misses. She can walk over each afternoon to visit him but to him, that is just no enough. Plus, it is quite an effort for her; for she arrives out of breathe. Perhaps that is why the Bible states that "the two shall become one".
I don't know how much longer we will have Don. His kidneys are not good. Plus, he is a "bleeder" and they cannot let him out of the dialysis clinic until he stops bleeding. That is not always a quick process to take place. I do relish and so much enjoy the time I do have with him.
So, now Don Bruckner has been introduced to you!

Cloud shine 09

We maintain it is NOT our age. Sonshine has changed and not necessarily for the good of the festival. Opinion? Of course.
Too much plain ice cream is not a good thing. Different toppings to that ice cream can greatly improve the experience. So it might be with the festival.
It was not so long ago that there was a great variety of bands, playing music that entertains and edifies the Lord, the over all purpose of the festival. Celtic, latino, SKA, swing, jazz, spoof groups etc. Now, we have three: HM, Hip Hop, Rock. To borrow a phrase from my Mom, lots of "Bangety bang". It just seems that so many groups try to be like each other. Where is the creativity? small Cities and DDCW have more creativity. Why can't they invite blue grass, country gospel, Jewish style and like what was mentioned above? Now that would be a MUSIC festival.
I get such a kick out of these guitarists that a gyrating all over the place like they are putting out extreme effort to play their chords. When you look at their hands, they are playing the same chord or just a few, yet you think by looking at them that they were really putting out. You get these old guys that are playing in "old" groups, (Newsboys) and they are just playing and playing very well without all the theatrics.
There was a booth in the center selling old CD's and tapes. I bought an Undercover CD and Bash and the Code. What waves of nostalgia washed over me. Mylon Lafavre and Broken Heart, DeGarmo and Key, Petra, Geoff Moore,etc. What fun that was to look at all those groups. I still have many in record from and there will be days during the winter that I will get out several and let them go throughout the house. Can anyone say: Imperials!!??
I wonder what Keith Green would think of the Sonshine Festival? I think he would be most disappointed. So many of these groups appear to be glorifying themselves instead of the ONE whom the festival is named. If they at least mention God's name, it is like: there, we have done our duty, our responsibility to qualify as a Christian band. There is not one that comes close to Keith's style of performing and his dedication to the Lord, at least from what is presented from the stage.
Lastly, Mom and I cannot go to Sonshine without reminiscing about when we came with all 5 our cherubs in the pick up camper. When we see a young family, we tend to look at each other and sigh. Ah yes. We think we have been going for 24 years. The festival is 28 years old. Will we go next year? We will have to see. We would have to end a very long tradition for us.