Memories – Page 8 – Valerie's Voice

A Color I Remember

I bought this orange art glass piece for my parents in the sixties.

A writing companion and I meet monthly. We assign exercises and come prepared the next month to share our work. One recent exercise was to write about a color, specifically it was: Blank is the color I remember.

I am posting my essay below…with photos. I went back to look for evidence of what I remembered….so I’ve included some pictures that I found.

The slide viewfinder surrounded by a few slides.

There were a couple of slides in the mix and I wondered how I could post them…then I thought to put them in our slide viewfinder and try taking a photo of the image inside the viewer. Much to my surprise it worked fairly well. So here goes…

Blank is the color I remember…

I have always loved color. And I enjoy collecting colored glass. There is evidence I liked it when I was younger too…In our living room I display an orange glass art piece I remember buying for my parent’s anniversary when I was a teenager…at the JCPenney store in Apache Plaza. It was on a glass shelf in the back corner of the store, by an outside door. It’s interesting to think I remember those few details so vividly.

However, what came to mind when I read the assignment “ Blank is the color I remember” I thought of the house I grew up in on McKinley Street in Northeast Minneapolis. My dad built the house and we moved into it in 1953 when I was six-months old. Of course, I don’t remember moving into it, but from when I can remember our house was painted a rose-pink color. How that color was decided I’ll never know, and unfortunately I can’t ask my parents anymore. I do know my mom always loved reds and pinks so I’m sure she had a lot of influence as to the color choice. I remember telling friends, when giving them directions to my house, “it’s the rose color one.”

Our rose colored house in the background. This is a picture from my confirmation. I am standing between my two grandfathers.

The color of our house never bothered me, and I really didn’t take notice if the color was out of place in the neighborhood but I think it must have been, especially when I remember the houses surrounding us in the new neighborhood. I would not choose to paint my house that color today.

Thinking of my rose colored house prompts a memory of the house directly across the street from that house; next door to our good friends the Soderman’s. It belonged to an old man and, as children, we thought is was kind of a scary place. There were tall bushes that lined both sides of his property and he lived alone in this shack; an old, scary, unpainted, one-room house (as I remember it).

The old one-room house in the background. It doesn’t look so scary in the photo. It must be getting ready to be demolished. The bushes on each side of the property have been taken down in this photo. That is me and my childhood friend…apparently going somewhere with large suitcases! This is a photo from the slide viewfinder.

The one-room house was off to one side of the property and a ways back from the street. I think we always subconsciously picked up speed when we walked by it. At one point in time the bushes were removed and the shack was torn down and a new house was built in its place. I wonder what happened to that man? Did he die? Did he move away? I don’t even know his name.

Which prompts me to remember the old play shack my dad and brother built for a playhouse in our own back yard. It was much smaller than our neighbor’s house across the street. It had a big open window (no glass) in front (and one on the side?) and a front door. The roof was slanted and it had a built-in ladder on the back where we could climb to the roof and sit and watch the neighborhood. I don’t remember the color of the shack but it wasn’t refined. I wonder if it was even painted? I wonder if there is a picture of it somewhere?

I found this slide showing the shack in our backyard. It was painted to match the house. This photo was taken from the slide viewfinder. In the foreground is my childhood friend and I sharing a rain coat!

The house of my childhood eventually got re-painted but I don’t know what year. My parents changed the color to gold. That was a little more conventional. With that gold color they also painted the wooden crank-up camper, my dad made…which matched the new 1965 Ford Galaxy my parents owned. It was a big deal getting a brand new car.

Me in the back of our house, painted gold.

The ’65 Ford Galaxy is the car we took (pulling the heavy wooden camper) on a road trip in to Yellowstone National Park. I remember feeding the bears (legit to do back then I guess) and one stood up on the car door with its paws inside the window nearest me (!) and left a scratch mark on the black, interior fabric…hmmm…

The bear through the window at Yellowstone National Park.

The bear in my window at Yellowstone National Park. I can’t believe I took a picture…well maybe I can. HA!

So the phrase “blank is the color I remember” took me on a fun, crazy path down memory lane and I found a few pictures to go along with the story.

Time to Say Goodbye

The time came to say goodbye to our son and daughter-in-love and two beautiful grandchildren.

They were here and enjoyed decorating the Christmas tree.

They were here and enjoyed rolling out and cutting out and decorating gingerbread cookies.

They were here and enjoyed decorating graham cracker houses.

They were here and enjoyed playing in the snow and building a snow fort.

Peeking through the windows in the fort.

They were here bringing much joy.

Now the cookies have all been eaten.

The tree trimmings have all been put away.

We have been “charged” to take care of the snow fort as they head back to their home.

But the wonderful decorated houses will remain on our dining room table to remind us of the fabulous time we had together.

It was hard to say goodbye.

So grateful for our time together.

A Christmas Festival

Christmas Festival took on a whole new meaning this year… when I hear those two words together “Christmas Festival” my mind immediately thinks of the 100+ year old annual Christmas concert at St. Olaf College. But this year the Bollinger Family held its own Christmas Festival…created because of the pandemic as a safe way for celebrating Christmas together with multiple families and young energetic children.

My daughter-in-love came up with this great idea and it was fun planning it with her. She worked hard to make it happen. We helped where we could ahead of time.

The day of the festival we gathered together early one December afternoon, which ended up being a very mild day…almost 40 degrees and no wind…a beautiful blessing. The weather was tolerable for staying outdoors for five hours! We had propane heaters in one area to warm up if necessary… the adults used it a few times but not the kids – they were active enough to stay warm the entire time!

The yard was decorated with garland, lights and lanterns, and a Christmas tree which came to life at dusk…on one of the shortest days of the year.

The table was covered with a red tablecloth and decorated with lights, mini-trees and ornaments for the crock-pots of chili.

There was games and activities and a very special Nativity Story Walk all planned out for the children, which they hardily enjoyed.

Painting a Happy Birthday banner for Jesus.

Find the stars – a Story Walk to the manger scene.

Towards dusk we started fires in two fire pits. We enjoyed eating our chili dinner from compostable bowls around the bon fires.

We brought along our roasting sticks to roast marshmallows and make s’mores for dessert…all with Christmas music sounding through speakers in the back ground.

The grandchildren (and grand-dog Charlie) had a good time celebrating together while social distancing and masking up. I trust the grandchildren will remember this Christmas Festival for years to come. I know I will. The adults had a great time too!

Merry Christmas!

2020 St. Olaf Christmas Concert

We’ve put up our Christmas tree, added some decorations around the house, readied Christmas cards for mailing and finished our Christmas shopping.

And, this past Sunday we listened to Christmas from St. Olaf, an online, digital concert featuring St. Olaf College music ensembles and a compilation of songs from previous Christmas Festivals. It was created as an offering to replace the beloved in-person St. Olaf Christmas Festival which couldn’t happen this year because of the global pandemic.

The concert didn’t get off to a smooth start. But then it is 2020. Things are not going well this year.

The screen display on computers for the 2020 *Christmas from St. Olaf* digital concert.

As a previous ticket coordinator for this popular event we had our share of problems when we first offered tickets online so the concert glitch brought back memories of my time at St. Olaf… the difficult but also the good… friendships made and festivals attended, all bringing a sense of gratitude for my time on the hill. As many concert goers told me over and over and over again, the Christmas Festival was the start of their Christmas celebrations. It has become that for me.

The technology was worked out and we were able to connect to the digital concert and hear some beautiful, hope-filled music. The signature finale “Beautiful Saviour” was included and that made everything right. I now have a sense the Christmas season has begun and we can start celebrating the birth of Jesus.

God Remembers Me

The room where we met was the kitchen…wallpaper – circa 1970.

We sat at the vintage kitchen table in the new addition of the old farmhouse. There was plenty of light; one large picture window facing south, that overlooked the driveway and the cornfield. Out the other window, facing west, you could see the barn and other farm buildings. There were always a lot of cats hanging around outside the back door by their food dishes, and birds at a birdfeeder right outside the front window. There was life.

The farmer and his wife, really a city girl converted to a farmer’s wife, were in their late 80’s when we first met. We attended the same church but we didn’t know each other until we began our coffee visits. We started to meet regularly.

The coffee cups were cracked and mismatched but we didn’t care. The coffee itself was very strong but ready upon our arrival to their place. We always provided sweet treats, which they liked. After awhile I started to set the table when we arrived, and served the coffee, since it was getting harder for them to get in and out of chairs. We settled into a comfortable routine.

It all began when I heard he wanted a regular visitor for his wife. He had been living with cancer for over 30 years. Mayo considered him a miracle. He was starting to have other health issues; she was in the beginning stages of memory loss.

So I called to ask her out for coffee. In our initial conversation she asked, “Just me and you?” I laughed and said, “Well, I think my husband would enjoy visiting with you and your husband, how does that sound?” “OK.” And so our visits with the four of us began.

They were engaging folks…they had a lot of interesting stories to tell and yet they were always curious about our lives too. We met for a couple of years on a regular basis. We enjoyed each other immensely. For my husband and I, it was nice to have elders in our life once again since all our parents had passed away.

As time went by they slowed down more and more until he died at age 90 leaving behind his wife of 69 years! They had four children. Their son was their neighbor, living conveniently on the next farm over. The other three daughters lived in the cities but were able to come down often to visit and care for their mother. She was loved.

I continued to go and have coffee visits with her after her husband died until Covid-19 reared its ugly head. She moved into her son’s home and we were all in lockdown.

After March 2020 I tried calling her but I usually had to leave messages on her answering machine…she picked up once or twice and the conversation was just a few minutes long…”how are you? fine”…and I know she understood the pandemic situation. Then that stopped. She didn’t pick up any more. I would send her notes telling her I was thinking of her so she would know I hadn’t forgotten her.

I had her son’s phone number. Six months went by and one day I called and left a message with him. His sister, one of the daughters, called me back. She said their mom was doing ok, had more bad days than good. Thankfully she did know all her children and grandchildren but unfortunately, according to her daughter, she no longer remembered who I was.

And that changed everything. I confirmed to her daughter that I would no longer call or send notes. It felt like a rejection. In my head I know it’s not but in my heart I was very sad.

It was hard to think that my special friend no longer remembers our conversations about her 35 dresses in her closet when she was a child, and about the Young-Quinlan Store in downtown Minneapolis. We shared memories of both growing up in the city of Minneapolis, and then she moving to the farm and I moving to a small town near her farm and our paths crossing at church. She doesn’t remember showing me the photo of her dearly beloved grandfather E-V-E-R-Y-T-I-M-E we were together…”He was born in 1856 and died in 1955, just think of all the changes he saw in his lifetime” she always said. She no longer remembers our chats about her beautiful dishes…and our mutual fondness of dishes and her showing me all her dishes.

But I remember…I remember hearing the stories of this city girl who grew up to be a strong woman…she liked to drive fast cars and she was one of the first women to work at the air traffic control center in Farmington for 27 years. She was also a farmer’s wife, fixing tractors and driving tractors and helping on the farm. Oh what a life she led…

She knitted beautiful sweaters. She learned to knit in elementary school – quilt squares for soldiers in WWII – and she never stopped knitting. She had four children who “she never had to worry about.” I was privileged to get to know her story a little bit…and I grew to love and care for this woman very much, never realizing the sadness it would cause when she didn’t remember me any more.

I cherish the memories. I smile a little when I remember our good times together, then I cry a little when I remember she doesn’t remember them, or me, anymore.
I have more empathy for those sons and daughters whose mothers do not remember them.

But thank God – He remembers me, and He will never forget me.

Lilacs

The fragrant smell of lilacs is a delight this time of year. I wish it could last a little longer.

There is such a brief time to enjoy the beauty of the lilac’s purple blossoms, and have their sweet scent fill the air.

I have two lilac bushes. One is a Miss Kim, a fragrant, smaller bush that is more tame and works well for the spot I tucked it into – just outside the side window off the kitchen. It is a late bloomer.

The other bush is the “old-fashioned” lilac bush that grows huge and spreads and is wildly wonderful. It is in our back yard and is blooming right now.

I have cut branches of lilacs off this bush to bring its loveliness indoors.

This wild and wonderful bush is offshoot of the lilac bush that grew in my parent’s yard at the house I grew up in. Years ago, when Gary and I moved back to Minnesota, after a short stint in Ohio, my mom was still living in that house. I thought it would be fun to dig a sucker from the lilac bush and plant it in the yard of the house we bought in Burnsville when we moved back. It took off and grew into a wild and wonderful bush.

Fourteen years later when we moved from that house in Burnsville to our new home Northfield, I dug up a sucker from that lilac bush to plant in our new yard. It, too, grew into a wild and wonderful bush, and is still growing. We’ve been here 25 years.

So when I place my purple, aromatic lilacs in vases and put it them around the house it not only brings beauty and fragrance into the house, but also brings back some special memories.

Bringing lilacs indoors…in the entryway.

On a different note: below is a photo of our crabapple tree in bloom right now, in our front yard.

Mother’s Day

My mother’s hand, my hand, my son’s hand.
Missing my mom who died in 2009.

Happy Mother’s Day to all mother’s during this unusual time during the pandemic.

May God bless the work of your hands and your loving touch…(however possible these days.)

Slow, Leisurely Walks

Over the weekend we were with my 92-year-old uncle. Uncle Bob is my dad’s youngest brother. He’s never been in the hospital; he’s never been in a car accident. He lives with his wife of almost 70 years (August 2020) in their own home near Brainerd, MN. My Auntie Joyce will be 90 in April. Bob sometimes gets his dates confused but Joyce will chime in with the correct ones. They have had their share of hardships over the years but they have weathered them well together. What a joy to be with them…in their beautiful home up north.

Trees line the driveway up to Uncle Bob’s home.

Gary and I went for a walk with Uncle Bob (Joyce stayed back). It was a slow, leisurely walk. As we walked I thought about leisurely walks with our two-year-old granddaughter up north last fall. Those walks with grandchildren are precious in a different way…they are slow walks because of their curiosity and exuberance.

92…2: opposite ends of the spectrum…both slow, leisurely walks but for different reasons.

Uncle Bob and Gary stop on our walk to clarify something.

Although Bob is in good health he has slowed down a lot (but he’s happy he doesn’t need a walker). We really enjoyed slowing down and walking with him, and visiting as we walked. My father died at age 55 and Uncle Bob tells us stories of their childhood and a lot of the kindnesses my dad showed his brother and others (and also about a few pranks he played too). Gary never met my father and has told Bob he thinks of him as the father-in-law he never had.

I am so grateful for these times together. Uncle Bob wanted us to come to visit them and talk about our upcoming trip to Norway and the family ties. Now they want us to come back after our trip to hear all the stories we’ll have. We certainly will. It’s such a gift to have Uncle Bob and Auntie Joyce in our lives.

A beautiful sky over the snow covered field on Uncle Bob’s property.

Reading Time

Some people my age tell their fond memories of reading the afternoon away when they were children. I do not have those memories. However, I do have good childhood memories…we lived in a close neighborhood full of kids. After chores in the morning we’d go outside to play until lunch. After lunch we’d go outside and play until suppertime. After supper we’d go outside and play until dark. At least, that’s the gist of it. But back to reading…

I don’t remember when I first started to like to read but I am grateful for the people and teachers in my life who taught me to read. In elementary school I remember reading The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn (or was it Tom Sawyer?) and also Trixie Belden mysteries.

Now I love to read, and I read daily, and have for most of my adult life. I continue to enjoy adventure stories, mysteries and biographies.

I also love children’s books. I loved reading books to my own two sons when they were young and now I enjoy reading to my grandchildren. All three of them like to be read to. (I have been known to read children’s books to adults too.)

When Zoey and Ezra were here for ten days we read multiple books multiple times. How is it they want to read the same story over and over and over again? It’s so fun!

It was a blessing to sit on the loveseat, between the two children snuggled in blankets while they were engaged in looking at the pictures as I read the story. I treasure those precious moments, and all moments when I can read books to any of my three grandchildren. I love the warmth and closeness, and bringing adventures and love to them one book at a time.

Cards, cards and more cards

In the past couple of months I have had two friends lose their husbands. I’m sorry for their loss. It is so incredibly sad.

One of the friends asked for memories to be sent to her, of her late husband, who was not very old. She wanted to compile a booklet for her young grandchildren to remember Grandpa. I thought it was a wonderful idea. It will be a very special gift to her, and her children and grandchildren, now and in the future.

Although I was 20 years old at the time when my dad died (young), I do not have a memory book about him, but I sure wish I did.

So I got the idea to go and look over the cards my mom received in 1974 when he passed away. I thought I had them, but I guess I don’t. I asked my brother and he doesn’t have them either. I do have cards from when Gary’s mother, father and brother passed, and when my mom passed. I read through them the other day. It was a special time of remembering people, however most cards offered loving condolences but few memories.

As I looked around the different places I might have stored the cards from my dad’s passing I found so many other cards I’ve kept over the years. I asked one friend what I should do with them and she said, “toss them!” I think I might…it’s hard…but I’m not sure of alternatives…

One of two boxes of cards from family and friends.

One box I call “love notes” – special cards people have sent to encourage me or thank me. One box is cards Gary and I have given each other over the years…that one I will keep for sure. Another box is sympathy cards, one box is wedding invitations over the years (fun to look at!) and two boxes are of random cards from family and friends, including some birthday cards…and that’s a whole other category.

A treasure chest of wedding invitations.

So, I’ll continue to figure out what to do: how to organize the ones I keep, and decide which ones to toss. And I’ll be asking others… what do they do?