"You'll Be Coming Back For More"...by Gina Waite

It may be a HUGE understatement when I say that parenting is a job I wasn't completely prepared for. I remember reading the "what to expects" and how to apply "love and logic" when parenting, books and boastfully thinking, "I got this!" ... In reality, what "I got" after becoming a parent was a healthy dose of sleep deprivation, the ability to speed dial my Mom in one-point-two seconds and a BRAND NEW RESPECT for my own parents. Yep, within the short time frame of nine months my level of understanding about parenting, AND THE REASON MY OWN PARENTS ACTED THE WAY THEY DID, deepened with every passing day. I completely understood why my parents did what they did for me! Without question or hesitation, my parents would risk life and limb to bend over backwards for a worthy cause to help anyone of their children out. EVEN if that meant staying up into the wee hours of the morning to help a sick, somewhat mentally deranged, daughter with a Creative Writing Story that she had to finish for school while recovering from the flu...true story.

My health as a child was relatively sound. I had issues with the joints of my skeletal system (easy dislocation of my shoulders, knees and several sprained ankles) but for the most part...I was a very healthy child. That is...UNTIL the fourth grade! 1982-1983 offered me the loveliest of it's Ammon Elementary teachers. Miss Jensen was beautiful, trendy and single...all qualities that aided in her occupational creativity and devotion...and aided in my desire to wanting to be just like her. I loved going to school that year, most especially for story time. In Miss Jensen's class we each had one of those carpet rectangles. You know the ones... acted as consumer carpet samples for Carpet Stores to loan out UNTIL carpeting styles changed...only to be turned over to educators as free story time pads. Teachers would then assign each one of their young charges a carpet pad to take with them into story time. I was excited the times I'd get the more high piled carpet pads, as for the most part, I don't think the carpet pad offered much PADDING. It was noted that the confines of the rectangular carpet pad you sat on were, in fact, the boundary of an invisible force field keeping your arms and legs tightly kempt so that everyone could enjoy the story....except for that one sugar-sensitive child that everyone experienced in one of their classes while growing up.

I sat on my carpet rectangle, wide-eyed, rounded back and slightly slack-jawed listening to stories like, "Where the Red Fern Grows," and "James & The Giant Peach." I grew to love literature that year and with it, grew to love creative writing. They say avid readers are the BEST writers...and though I concur with that idea, I ONLY wish it would also apply to viewing art. I cannot illustrate worth a darn! Miss Jensen encouraged each of us to begin a Creative Writing Notebook. One that she could offer a writing prompt on the chalkboard in hopes of letting our pens flow with fun ideas and story lines. I remember her writing the prompt, "Today it rained..." on the chalkboard one morning. I'm certain I had an incredulous look on my face when I first read the writing prompt. "What else would it rain but water....or is that the only option from a cumulonimbus cloud," I thought to myself. Hmmmmm... Cumulonimbus Cloud...could easily become a Cotton Candy Cloud, and a Cotton Candy Cloud could definitely produce Orange Soda Pop. The creative juices started to flow and the four walls of my classroom gave way to the Candy-themed World I was beginning to create in my mind. The only distraction, that day, in the designated 20-30 minutes of Creative Writing Time, was a sharp pain in my stomach which resulted in repeated, hard swallows to keep gastric acid out of my esophagus and mouth.

  

When the flu hits...it hits hard, fast and furious! I left school early that day, saddened at the prospect my body had succumbed to the flu. If I hadn't been writhing in SUCH dire gastrointestinal pain...I could have stayed and finished that fantastic beginning of a story. As I had finished my writing prompt time with the unpopular mishap of throwing up in the classroom...my classmates were happy to say goodbye to me and allow my angel-of-a-mother to take me home and hopefully, rid myself of the unpopular mishap before returning. Driving home with my Mom, EVERYTHING SEEMED TO HURT, I think even my eyes hurt in the happy and bright surroundings of the day. I consoled myself with the idea that if I could just make it through the day...surely I'd be able to return to school and finish my story the next day! ...TWO WEEKS LATER...I was still spiking fevers and finding it difficult to do much other than vegitate in my cozy jammies, Don King-inspired hairdo and flannel blanket that had replaced my colorful and wonderfully coordinated school clothes and accessories. Now that I think of it...it may have been the first time I knew what it felt like to have depression. I also think my Mom realized this as she walked in and sat next to me on the couch and suggested we finish my Orange Soda Pop Story! "NAH," I grumbled under the blanket that I pulled tightly to my chest...pretty sure a virus-induced, green cloud floated from lips as I uttered the grunt.

My Mother was a loving and determined woman. In fact, you're currently reading this story from a fb page and blog my Mother created...writing wonderful memories and ideas that she shared with her readers EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. of the work week for five solid months. She was planning to complete a year's worth of daily writings but that goal was cut short by her graduation into the Spirit World. (Now that I think of it...her blog might be her encouraging her children to continue her fb page and blog from the other side...Clever Girl!) Back to my story...she sat next to me in silence for several minutes. My Mom then got up off the couch, went over to her little desk in the kitchen and brought back a pen, notebook and a Diet Pepsi...all tools of a talented writer...and recited while she wrote, "The Day It Rained Orange Soda Pop," by Gina Terry. My glance toward her was indifferent as in that moment I had no idea who Gina Terry even was! The silence continued as my Mom looked my way and rested her pen on the tablet. I'm pretty sure I tried to avoid making eye contact with my Mom in that moment as there was some magical softening of my resolve when my green eyes met my Mom's, chestnut browns'. I think I took a deep breath and uttered the words, "One day I stayed home from school..." and the rest, as they say, is history! We finished that story in the wee hours of the following morning and I was able to take a completed copy back to school with me...ONE WEEK LATER! I missed a consecutive month of school that year....but attended class in the creative corners of my mind. Now I'd love to share my story with you but in honor of my Mom's legacy, I plan to post it on her Blog so you'll have to take the link below to the, "In a Nutshell' blog to read the rest of my story! Like my Mom, I'm a very determined lady and I hope you enjoy our, "The Day it Rained Orange Soda Pop." ...Yep, I predict you'll like it! So much...you'll come back here in the future, for more!

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HERE'S MY INFAMOUS 4TH GRADE STORY CALLED, "THE DAY IT RAINED ORANGE SODA POP!"

"One day I stayed home from school because I was sick and it was one of those days you don't want to stay in bed.  No great t.v. shows were on, no little brothers to tease just a really boring day!  The weather didn't help, either!  It was even worse than I had originally thought...it looked as if it might begin to rain.  

Just at that moment, the lightning started crackling (but PINK lightning?) ...And the thunder clapped (but with a beat?)  Then it began to rain.  As I looked out my window I could hardly believe my eyes.  For instead of the silvery mirror-like drops of water I was used to seeing I watched as huge, round, orange-colored rain drops hit the ground running together to make rivers of Orange Soda, everywhere!  I watched from my window as children shot off the bus like bullets with their mouths, wide-opened, to catch as much of the sticky goodness as they could. 

What a dream come true...better than Christmas, Easter and the fourth of July rolled up into one!  No One could stay in one place too long as their feet started to stick to the ground. Laughingly, the children bumped into one another, screaming with joy, gurgling and taking this orange colored miracle in stride.

All too soon it passed and a peppermint stripped sun peeked out behind a pink, cotton candy cloud.  Did I say, boring day?  Silly me!!!!!"

See...Told you!  I'm a no-talent artist!   

HAPPY MLK DAY

"I HAVE A DREAM..."
Isn't it time for all of us to come together as one?

HAPPY NEW YEAR 2017!!!

MAY YOUR NEW YEAR BE FILLED WITH HEALTH, HAPPINESS AND HOPE! 

WE WISH YOU ALL THE BEST IN THE YEAR TO COME!

♦ Hope you'll let us share your stories and photos here at our residence "In a Nutshell." Email us at nutshellstories@gmail.com. 

"In The Memory Bank"...by Jim Terry

As I sit here and stare at my Christmas tree that was set up for this wonderful holiday, I can’t help but to think of where this year went. Doesn’t it seem just like yesterday we were welcoming in the first day of spring, enjoying the warm summer nights or even ushering in the first days of fall?  And as quickly as time seems to pass, it also astonishes me that my brain, at least as far as I can tell or maybe remember, processes or stores most of those experiences I have into my “memory bank.” 

Memories also seem to manifest more easily in certain environments and surroundings, I have found. Have you ever just sat quietly in your living room during this time of year with Christmas music on on, witnessed the smell of pine or cinnamon in the air and stared into your Christmas tree?  It always surprises me that when I do this, that the longer I stare at my Christmas tree, each individual light eventually merges and becomes one big warm glow of light where the defining edges of each light, or even the shape of the tree, become fuzzy and are lost. It is at that moment, that I find myself flooded with memories of Christmas’ past. 

It was December 2009 and I was flying home for the holidays to be with my family in Boise, Idaho.  It was a journey that started with a flight that was delayed for ninety minutes but was made up for with a flight that was full of…well…really quiet cheerful people.  

As we approached Boise for landing, the captain came on and said that visibility was “very low” and we may not be able to land due to the “fog and the amount of snow” that was falling on the ground.  Needless to say, there was a short, sweet and humble prayer said in my heart that night that we would be able to land in Boise. They always say, “The third time is the charm,” right? Well, it was on our third and final attempt at landing in the inclement weather, and just before we would be diverted to Salt Lake City, which we bumpily, yet safely touched down and taxied to the gate in Boise.   

About two months prior to my trip, I had reserved a “mid-sized” car.  I quickly made my way to the rental car company’s counter as soon as I had disembarked the plane. Once I reached the counter, I then offered my name and reservation number to the employee.  There was a bit of hesitation before he spoke and I could tell there was something not quite right because of his awkwardness and body language. It was the very same type of awkward silence that one may experience when you try and crack a joke that you think is funny and as you await the laughter of your listening audience, hear nothing but crickets in the background. Once the crickets begin to fade, this is what I heard the employee tell me.

“I’m sorry sir. We just ran out of the type of car you requested and I do not have anything available but an economy car.”

I guess that’s what happens when you arrive on the 24^th of December at about midnight. So with a firm discussion on why we, as patrons, make reservations and a heavy discount from the rental car company, I gratefully accepted the keys of my new ride for the week and walked out to the parking area where my vehicle was waiting for me.

As I stepped outside, I could not believe how MUCH SNOW was on the ground. It literally was about 18” and still snowing heavily. The few cars that were left in the rental parking area looked like a giant mounds of snow verses anything resembling a vehicle.  As I walked past each mound, I kept hitting the unlock button on my car’s keyless remote to identify which “mound” was mine.  It wasn’t until I walked almost all the way to the end of the lot that I heard that familiar “chirp” of a car unlocking its doors and saw the red glow of the taillights through the snow that was heavily covering every aspect of my vehicle.  

Once I found the door handle under the snow and opened my vehicle, I immediately found the snow brush so I could start the daunting task of cleaning all the snow off of the car so I could make it safe for driving.  As I continued this task, the first thing I noticed concerning my car is that it was definitely red.  Secondly, what once appeared to be a descent sized automobile, slowly disappeared and became one of the smallest cars I had ever seen and certainly ever driven.  It was almost like there should have been a sign on the car that states, “You’re on candid camera” or “Welcome to “Driving 101 in snow without snow tires and in a Toyota Yaris.”

I left the airport and got onto I-84 and headed west. As I was traveling towards my parent’s home at about 35 mph due to the road conditions, you could literally feel the snow pass by on the undercarriage of the vehicle because it was so deep. Also in some areas on the road where the snow was deeper and more compacted, you could even feel the car be pushed and moved around due to how light and small it was. 

As I pulled into my parent’s cul-de-sac at just past midnight even with the flight delays, the weather, the downsized rental car and all of the hassles of traveling, I was rewarded when I saw their home and felt a certain stillness, tranquility and peace there. With the quiet crunch of the tires on the snow as I slowly pulled in to park, I noticed the inflatable snowmen on my parent’s front yard waving hello. Each Christmas light that adorned their home and the bushes outside were covered with snow, creating a familiar multi-color glow through the surface of the snow fashioning, what could be, a perfect Norman Rockwell painting. And finally as I stepped out of my car and took in a deep breathe of that familiar winter air, I noticed the silhouette of a concerned loving Mother, way past her bedtime, peaking out from behind a partially open front door welcoming her son home.  This easily made my surroundings…well…undeniably serene and beautiful!

The next day was Christmas Day.  The morning was the same as always…lots of fun, laughs, tears and the joys that one may experience when your family is around and spending time together. After the opening of the gifts and seeing what Santa had brought us in the morning, we had also planned on going to a movie in the afternoon. 

As we all walked outside to go to the theatre, three volunteers stepped forward that wanted to ride in the very small car I had rented.  It was my Mother, my brother Mike and I believe my Dad who had enough courage to ride in my little car. The brunt of the jokes, all that morning amongst my family and eventually some of my friends I met later in the week while I was in Idaho, was my rental car.  They had nicknamed it, “the Shoe” because of its “smallness.”

So something to know about cul-de-sacs or any roadway that is constructed that meets a sidewalk.  As I’m sure most of you know, there is a bit of a slope or grade on the roadway towards the gutter so that when it rains or the snow melts, that the water runs off of the road and into the storm drain which then leaves the roads clear.  Well it was the slight grade of the road that day and the weather the night before, which created one of the best and funniest memories I have of Christmastime.

We all got into the vehicle, my three volunteers and myself, and put on our seat belts.  Also just before we got into the car, I had told all of my family that we were going to do some “cookies” or “doughnuts” in the cul-de-sac and to “watch my amazing skills.” I then started the car and jokingly revved the engine of the car, before I put it into reverse.  This elicited some giggles from those in the car and those of my family that witnessed the “rev of the engine” on the exterior of the vehicle. It wasn’t until I put the car into reverse and applied the gas, that the laughs really began.

Overnight and by morning, the road’s surface under all the snow and under the tires of my car had frozen and created what most of us know as “black ice.”  So as I applied the gas and because of the road being frozen, the slope of the road towards the gutter and having no snow tires on the vehicle, we went absolutely NOWHERE…the wheels just sat there and spun.  As the laughs continued about the mighty “Shoe” that was our transportation to the movie that day, I finally could feel the car gently start to move and rock, just a little bit, as the wheels continued to spin.  It was finally getting a little bit of traction on the surface of the road below us. And then it hit me how we were to get unstuck…I told my Mom, my Dad and my brother Mike to “rock with the movement of the car” and that should get us unstuck “eventually.”  So as the rest of the family stood on the driveway watching with smiles on all of their faces, this is what they observed.

They watched four adults in a car, just the right size for four rodeo clowns, rock back and forth inside of the vehicle and observed what some call a “Christmas Miracle.”   The car went back…the car went forward…the car went back and the car went forward again…It wasn’t until after about twenty to and fros with the movement of the car and the clowns inside, that the “Shoe” was ultimately freed from the icy road and the gravity that inhibited it from moving freely from the curb.   

Have you ever laughed so hard you cried? Well this was one of the instances that I not only did this myself but watched the tears of joy run down the cheeks of all those involved both inside and outside of the vehicle. This moment definitely brightened our Christmas Day and has become one of the warmest, fun and heartfelt memories I have of Christmas with my family.

And as the shape of the Christmas tree in my living room once again becomes defined and the lights on the tree are no longer just one big warm glowing mass of light, as I slowly come out of my meditative Christmas’ past trance, I am slowly reminded of the many gifts that I already have...I have my health…I have many remarkable friends…I have my family…and I have my life. And as I age, I also find out that the most important thing at Christmastime, or anytime of year, is “To Be Together” (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jlsM1H2s2Y8) with those I love so that I might experience, recognize, appreciate and store those experiences, amongst all the others I have, "IN THE MEMORY BANK."

"MERRY CHRISTMAS 

AND HAPPY HOLIDAYS!!!" 

(The link to the great song above is for all of you but specifically to my sister Angie and my niece Savahnna. Thanks again for going to Amy Grant's Christmas concert with me, so we could "be together.") 

♦ Hope you'll let us share your stories and photos here at our residence "In a Nutshell." Email us at nutshellstories@gmail.com. 

"My Brother"...by Jordan Waite (Introduction by Gina Waite)

I think pretty much EVERY Mother I know is happy the day she can see growth and understanding in her child. The type of growth and understanding that is attained by learning from someone else. The idea that it, "takes a village to raise a child," has become increasingly more important to me the older my son got. Jordan has been blessed with wonderful family and friends. Family and friends that have loved, taught and supported my son into adulthood. As a Mother, I ALWAYS hoped to have another brother for my son, Jordan, to rough-house with. I ALWAYS hoped to have another sister for my daughter, Paris, to confide in. I was happily blessed with one boy and one girl and knew I would have to rely on the goodness of others to share their children as "adopted siblings." I can never express the gratitude I feel for those "adopted siblings." Today, I'm so happy to share with you a beautifully written excerpt from Jordan's thoughts about his "adopted brother," Jaron Whipple. Jaron is serving a full time church mission in Peru for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints and is supported and missed, every single day.
(For more information about missionaries visit https://www.mormon.org/missionaries.)

"There are some people who come into your life for a reason. Usually a reason greater than your own comprehension. The people who have been sent your way by a greater being, with your greater interest in mind. These companions influence your decisions, therefore influencing who you are, and who you will become. They influence your life for the better. They teach you valuable lessons through their actions and the way they interact with you. I can think of no greater companion than my best friend and self proclaimed brother, Jaron Whipple.

From a very young age I always wanted a brother. Those of you who know myself and my family also know that I was the only boy born to my mother. I don’t have a brother. Don’t get me wrong, my little sister, Paris, was an amazing substitute for a brother, playing football in the mud, wrestling, running all over the place, and usually getting into trouble. Despite the amazing efforts of little Paris I still somehow knew that I needed a brother. At this point, I’m sure you can guess who that brother ended up being.

I did not, however, expect to meet that brother in the 7th grade, and I definitely did not expect my first words to my future brother to be “you bastard!”. (Me, being myself, started being mischievous and troublesome. Jaron, being himself, had told the teacher that I was breaking all the rules!). I’m sure you can imagine how glowingly warm our relationship started out! Not at all warm, while not sworn enemies, we did not really like each other that much. Not until junior year of high school did we finally become friends. Best friends. Brothers. The countless memories and experiences we share together will be treasures in my memory for the rest of my days. I love my newfound brother dearly. He is and always will be irreplaceable in my heart.

I am a few months older than Jaron, and I am about 60 lbs bigger. We always jokingly referred to ourselves as master and apprentice. Bigger brother and little brother. Myself being the mentor and big brother, Jaron being the learner and younger. As reluctant as I am to give up my master status, I must do so. While he may be smaller and younger, Jaron will always be, to me, an older brother and teacher. His selflessness and kindness remind me of that of our Savior. He has taught me so much through his example and actions. I might be taller than him, but I will always look up to my brother Jaron. I know I will always be able to look to him for guidance. His impact on my life will remain until the end of my days. I will never forget the kindness he shows his friends and family. I will never forget the long hours spent working hard together, his shoulders never drooping, and his ethic never swaying. Most of all, I will never forget how much happiness he brought into my life as a friend and teacher.

As mentioned in the quote in the beginning of this writing. It is our journey, our decisions in life that make us who we are. Not the beginning or end result. I know that my brother is making the right decision. His choice will only make him better, and I know that he will return an even better man. Despite the beginning or end result, Jaron has not only made his own life great through his decisions and actions, he has influenced many along the way for good. 

To Jaron...I know you have made the right choice. I know you will be a valiant warrior of light in a world full of so much dark. I know that this is not easy for you. It isn’t easy for any of us. But all of us know that you are doing the right thing. You are meant to be in Peru. There are families there, lost in the darkness of the evil and cruelty of the world. They will have no one to look to for rescue, no one to look to for comfort or kindness. And then they will meet you. You will bring them the answers to their questions. You will show them the path to happiness and service-oriented life. The children whose hearts you touch will tell their own children of you after you have long returned from your mission. They will talk about the young man who showed them the way. The young man who will be, for generations, a loved and respected figure among the quaint people whose hearts he touched and lives he blessed. Be safe, my brother. There are many adventures still left for us to have. I love you more than words can describe. You will be in my thoughts always. Your lessons and example always in my mind. You are and always will be the greatest friend I have ever had. See you in two years!

Your Brother, Jordan"

♦ Hope you'll let us share your stories and photos here at our residence "In a Nutshell." Email us at nutshellstories@gmail.com. 

HAPPY THANKSGIVING

We hope your holiday was filled with family, fun and memories to last a lifetime.

Hearts Returned And Full...by Ryan Terry

The trek to join the official third Terry Family Reunion started in Meridian Idaho at nearly 80 degrees and just a little after 1 pm in the afternoon. Natalie, my wife, and I had loaded the car full of games of all kinds, canned goods, 4 pans of freshly baked french toast casserole, snacks, soda, luggage, bedding, and of course an iPod playlist to entertain us on our 5 hour drive to south eastern Idaho. The drive went famously until we had just reached the outskirts of Twin Falls when the heavens decided to drench us the rest of our journey. Hail and raindrops the size of small water balloons pummeled our Toyota Camry as the window wipers furiously worked to keep the never ending sheets of water and ice out of our view. To relieve the tension of bad driving conditions, we played a game I now call Alpha-Topic. The game is played by choosing a letter of the alphabet and then a topic where you have to name something under that topic that starts with the letter of the alphabet you chose. For example you could say the letter is “P” and the topic is “birds”. Peacock, penguin, and parrot are all correct answers and the game ends when after, going back and forth, someone can’t think of another answer. It was incredibly entertaining and elicited tons of laughter…and a few arguments that Siri had to settle.

Nearing Fort Hall and under heavy black clouds, we could see that traffic was at a standstill on the freeway. Ahead of us the line of cars and their burning red brake lights seemed to stretch on forever. Curious people were getting out of their cars hoping to catch a glimpse of what was causing the backup but the rainy mist and diminishing light kept any clues out of sight . For nearly an hour we inched our way toward Blackfoot and finally found that all traffic was being diverted off to the old highway that connected Blackfoot to Idaho Falls.

After another 40 minute drive, we reached Idaho Falls and decided that we wouldn’t make it for dinnertime so we stopped at the Wendy’s on Broadway. As we pulled in to park, we both were shocked to see sleet mixed with rain falling heavily on our windshield. I was still wearing shorts and a t-shirt and quickly glanced at the temperature reading on our dashboard. 40 degrees…REALLY…we had left Boise near 80 degrees? I was born in Idaho Falls so this weather shouldn’t have surprised me. It was after all…September. Steeling ourselves against the cold, Natalie and I darted into the Wendy’s to get some warm food before hitting the road again.

Soon the city lights that illuminated the roads and clouds above faded and we were driving down dark twisting roads that led up to the cabin we were staying in at West Piney.

Around 9:30 pm we pulled up next to the familiar cars my siblings drove parked outside the cabin. Warm yellow light poured out of the windows, illuminating the rain drops that were still falling, and we quickly unloaded our car with the help of our family. Relief washed over me as I walked into the cabin to see my family, gathered in the large room that served as a movie room, game room, and dining room. A few were playing corn hole (made by Dad and our step mother Kathi-and painted a bright BSU blue and orange) while others were seated and talking near the fireplace. Lora and Glenn arrived a few hours after we did but I still had this nagging feeling that someone wasn't there. Jim, Mary, Ben and kids, and Savahnna weren’t going to make it this year but even knowing that, it still felt like someone was missing that should have been there.

On the fireplace mantle, set by a candle, was the last picture that was taken of my mom Marlene while at the Idaho Press Tribune. In the photo she is smiling magnificently, her head tilted a little to one side, with light and warmth beaming from her. In my mind I could hear her say, “Hi Fred” as she always did when I saw her. I immediately got choked up seeing her there, looking over all of us, and I realized then that the nagging feeling I was having was because I had not yet accounted for my mom. Now mentally noting her attendance, I was able to fully relax and enjoy myself.

The few days we had together seemed to hurtle by at the speed of light (my Mom would have noted that it is still much slower that the max speed of the Star Trek Enterprise) and it was filled with hours of playing Guesstures, Rollick, Uno, & Rummikub. If you ever need a good laugh, ask Richard to act out the word “figure” or Dad to act out “square dancing”. Angie set up a championship Farkle tournament where the winning player got their very own Farkle game (congratulations to my wife Natalie, who made a come back and scored 8000 points on one turn to win).

There is a giant slide that drops a couple stories down the mountainside and beckons everyone to take at least one ride on it. At the top of the slide, fear nearly keeps you from taking the plunge as you peer down the long slide to the bottom below. Warnings to keep your hands off the sides of the slide only increased the fear. When you finally go for it, there is a temporary feeling of weightlessness as your body begins to pick up speed past the initial drop and is best expressed as a guttural groan like my brother Mike did as he whizzed by, “Grrunnnungh….” only to be sharply reminded of your weight when you hit the near 90 degree bend at the bottom of the slide. Luckily you have to climb up two stories worth of stairs to work out the pain in your rump before doing it all over again. Hearing and seeing Mike’s experience recalled why Gina had to sign a release form for all of us to use the slide.

Everyone had an assigned meal to provide for the entire family. It worked well until we fired up the huge grill that we found out quickly has only two heat settings…off and BURNING FLAMES OF HELL. The pancake batter barely touched the heated surface

before it had to be turned, and the fat in the bacon evaporated almost instantly in an angry sizzle leaving shrunken strips of charcoal. It took some getting used to but we soon were able to wrestle the demon grill into submission long enough to provide some really good food. In the midst of sweating over the grill while helping Lora and Glenn cook breakfast, my nephew Andrew came up and tapped my arm. With a large smile on his face he said, “Uncle Fred…Reeeeeellllllaaaaaxxxxx!” as his hand, much like a gesture Vanna White would make when a puzzle was solved, revealed in large block letters the word “RELAX” printed on his t-shirt. Andrew has a way of making everyone forget about their troubles and just laugh out loud. I heard him deliver his wise words to a few others who needed it, laughing every time I heard it.

Gina had arranged for family pictures and while our photographer was very good, there is always some discomfort in the ritual. You spend a good part of an hour pressed together like Pringle chips all while trying to put a pleasing and natural smile on your face. Cajoling good behavior out of our clan is fruitless and it took many takes to get one where we were all smiling, open eyed, and looking at the camera. Years form now I know I’ll be looking at this picture and long to be back in that meadow, shoved close together with my family. Angie pulled out her phone and played an old voice mail Mom had left while on a church history tour. Her voice rang out as if she was there in our midst, thanking us for the gift of sending her there, the importance of family, and her love for all of us.

Soon the last night together was upon us. A few of the family had to leave for work and school demands but the majority of us still were there. We gathered together by the fireplace, under the picture of Mom, and I brought out a surprise for my family. It was a book I gave my mom several years ago that prompted her to answer questions about herself and then, once she has answered them, give the book back to me. I had nearly forgotten about it when several years ago on my birthday she and Dad had gifted the filled out books back to me. Looking up at my Mom, I then began to read in her handwriting the precious memories she had written down for me in the book. We laughed as she recounted her youth when she attempted to be a trapeze artist from a rope that hung from the apple tree in the backyard, built a raft too big for the canal it was set to sail in, got pulled into the ditch by the “Water Woman”, and cried when her “older, skinnier, and more popular sister” Kaye Dawn told her she was adopted. We learned how she was a combination of her parents: her dad a poet and an amazing story teller, and her mom a skilled seamstress, a diligent supporter of her children, and a candid advice giver. She related an experience of how as she was just about to head out the door to a church activity in a dress without a slip when her mom Hattie said, “If you don’t wear a petty coat under that dress, everybody is going to see your ass.”

She told us about her aspirations to be a mountain climber and an airline stewardess. We were all surprised to learn she had had a black leather jacket switchblade phase in which she called herself “Frankie”, was “tough”, and loved hoodies. Thankfully she grew out of it, became a real dish, and decided to try out for a school marching team called the Sparta Pep which she made. She rocked out to The Everly Brothers, The Beatles, Neil Diamond, and Gary Puckett. We were all warmed by her retelling of her first date with Dad that included a burger, a cherry coke, and a kiss at the local drive in. We marveled at my mother’s wit when the question “What are some of the things you would still like to accomplish?” was answered by “Look like Raquel Welch in the movie 10000 BC (That won’t happen…but it’s a great dream!)” We all dreaded the inevitable turning of the last page and reaching the end of the book. Her last words, “I love you very much!”, while intended for me, touched every one of us similarly.

We all hung on to every word, laughing and crying, fully immersed in this beautiful gift my mother had prepared for us years earlier. It was an amazing experience to see my mother through her own eyes and to refresh our memories of her as if she was there telling the stories herself. Since my mom’s passing, there has always seemed to be an uncomfortable hole in my heart that never seemed to fill, even with the family all around. In reflection I’ve realized that it isn’t a hole exactly. A hole is something that can be filled by something else. What happened with my heart is that my mother took a part of it with her when she passed away. It is hers. This doesn’t mean my capacity to love others has changed or became less, it just means there is a part of my heart that belongs solely to my mom. This moment I had with my family was a sacred memorial for her and her words seemed to pull us all closer together, almost as though her arms had us all in a huge hug.

Driving to the cemetery the next day the sky was full of brilliant sunshine and cool autumn air. We gathered together around the beautiful headstone my father had created for her. Mike and Gina work hard to keep it clean and beautiful throughout the year. The grass surrounding the gravesite was green, weed free, and trimmed and a comfortable place to sit and think. I sat down, directly over where I knew my mother was buried, imagining I was sitting down next to her. I looked up and carved into the back of the headstone is the simple phrase, “Families are Forever” and to the right of that all of the kids names are listed together. I was struck by that message deeply and it nestled down inside my heart. 

I am so grateful to know that our family is forever and I am so grateful for the memories we have that bind us together. My family and every member of it, with all of its flaws and strengths, its miseries and joys are completely irreplaceable. Those that surround us as family are truly our greatest and most valuable possessions in this life. I look forward to the family reunion where we can all be together again, with the pieces of our hearts returned and full.

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