Bio First Real Snow

Unsplash: Martina De Marchena@letstakeapicture

During the night the wind howled. We woke up to a thin covering of snow on the ground this morning. It is not only cold outside, it looks and feels cold even inside. Part of that is knowing what cold feels like. After all, I was born in Minnesota and lived my first few years in Canada, Minnesota, and Wisconsin. These places had very long winters with deep snow and short summers with lots of irritating mosquitoes.

My sister’s birthday is in September. She was always disappointed if the first snow didn’t hit before her birthday. Karin loves snow. She wasn’t happy when we moved to eastern Wyoming where there wasn’t much snow. To her horror, we didn’t even always have snow for Christmas. When we did have a good amount of snow, it didn’t stay. Warm chinook winds swept down and melted the snow away. Which was OK by me.

It’s not that I minded the snow. I liked having some around in the Winter. I didn’t like having to bundle up in heavy coat, mittens, hat, and scarf, not to mention boots. I could scarcely move all bundled up. I did enjoy sledding down steep hills, creating snowpersons, and lying down to make snow angels.

I like the layer of snow we have today. It will be gone soon. But when real deep snow comes, I’ll leave playing in it, even walking in it, up to the younger set. I’m not the fan of snow my sister is, but I can enjoy it from behind my large front window. Then I am thankful I can stay unbundled, inside—and warm.

© 2022 Carolyn R Scheidies

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Blog Bio I said “No!” to repainting the walls

Photo by JOSHUA COLEMAN on Unsplash

As I sit at the dining table with my laptop, I look up at the walls. From here I can see parts of the kitchen, hall, and living room walls. While I have an office, I prefer working here where I can look out the window at the park and not feel closed in.

A while ago my sister was helping me decorate and said she’d be glad to repaint the walls. I shook my head, “No!” I’m not ready to change my walls. While faux painting might not be the latest fashion any longer, I love my walls. Looking at these walls brings back many positive memories.

When the walls were painted, our kids were teens and didn’t need all that much supervision. We also were headed out to a Fredrickson Family Reunion in Northern Minnesota. In fact, we took over the whole resort for the week. It was a wonderful week of food, family, boating, swimming, games, and, of course, shopping.

While we were gone, our friends made plans. Paul, the PA for my orthopedist, and Paul’s wife were both close friends. At that time, we had a circle of close friends. Since I would be coming home for surgery in the near future, which would keep me housebound for a while, our friends decided our house could use a makeover. While we were gone, they cleaned did some minor repairs, and sponge-painted the walls, and, from what they said later, had a fun time doing so. Our friends had planned to finish up and put everything back before we arrived home.

We had no idea our friends planned to do this. We also had planned to take our time coming home, breaking up the fifteen-hour drive into two days. But, once we got on the road, we didn’t want to stop. All we wanted to do was be home. We took food and other breaks, but we didn’t stop for the night.

It was late by the time we arrived home. I think our son Chris took the key and opened the front door. We followed him in. We stared at our house. Remember furniture hadn’t been put back in place as yet. In confusion, we backed out again and checked our address. Was this our house? Yes, it was. Entering again, we stared at all that had been accomplished that week. It felt like a new house.

How could we even begin to thank our friends for all they’d done for us? We couldn’t, but we could give thanks and accept the blessing they’d provided. Our friends were so excited to see our response. No, I am not ready to repaint my walls. I may have those memories stored inside my heart but seeing them every day also reminds me to give thanks for friends and their willingness to take their time and effort—and money—to redo our home.

Despite the hurts and sorrows of life, we can look up and be thankful when we take time to remember those walls in our lives and count our blessings.

Published in Kearney Hub as my column 11/08/2022

© 2022 Carolyn R Scheidies

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Blog Bio Rain, Rain, and More Rain

Photo by Nick Nice on Unsplash

I was a preschooler when we lived in Clitherall, Minnesota. (My father was a minister.) After it rained, I’d plop down and play in the large puddles lining the dirt roads by our house. I had a great time splashing until, one day, my older sister Karin spoiled it all by pointing out I shared those puddles with worms that rose to the surface. Yuck! So ended my puddle splashing.

I remember dancing on the lawn during a gentle rain shower in Siren Wisconsin. I preferred being outside, even in the rain. Other times, I splashed through puddles secure in my rain boots.

Wyoming was different. It didn’t rain much. Only one creek ran most of the year. The others only filled and swirled with water during a long, hard rainfall or during Spring thaw. They were mostly dry creek beds suitable for exploring. It wasn’t fun being out in the rain that turned the ground into muck, ripping shoes off feet as it sucked and tried to drag the wearer down. The ground became almost, but not quite, quicksand consistency. A person needs to take care. Once while down by the rushing Lance Creek, I got stuck and lost a boot before my friend help me to safety.

Every place we lived had differences. Kearney Nebraska has long dry spells. It also may have days and days of almost freezing rain even in the last of May. After several hot days, we turned off the heat only to turn it on again when the temperatures inside were more like January than May.

I like rain—for a day. Too many days of gloom and rain drag down my mood. I need sunshine and light. If the ceiling light doesn’t give off enough, I turn on lanterns and flashlights. After days of rain, I remind myself the farmers need rain. I pray the rain will soak into the ground and not runoff. I pray for good crops. And, I hope the rain will stop for a while and come again another day.

© 2022 Carolyn R Scheidies

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Blog Bio Christmas, Jesus and Santa

When I was a preschooler, my pastor father served a church in Clitherall, Minnesota. Originally, we lived in a house too small for our growing family. The church bought the bank building on main street to use as the church until they bought a church building, moving it in onto some property they owned.

The bank building became our new home. It was a beautiful red brick building with double entry doors and a fancy ceiling. Several rooms were created on one side for three bedrooms--right next to the still functioning vault, my folks were careful to keep locked. There was a room at the far end that was turned into our kitchen. It also held a large fireplace.

Since this was in the 1950s, the building had no indoor bathroom. We had an outhouse out back. But come Christmas, the fascinating aspect of our house was that fireplace. I don’t think I ever saw it lit. However, we knew the story of Santa Claus and the need for a fireplace so Santa could leave gifts.

With our Swedish heritage, Christmas was Christmas Eve for us. Early on, our folks started traditions that included Dad reading the Christmas story before we each gave thanks for our blessings. Only then did Dad hand out our gifts--one at a time so we could appreciate each one and the giver.

Back then, we did not have much, and every gift really was appreciated--mostly homemade. Our folks were careful to make sure we understood the true meaning of Christmas was Jesus coming to earth to live, and die a martyr’s death--sacrificing His life for all the wrongs we did. Then He rose again conquering death itself to offer life in Him both now and forever as we bowed before Him.

But that was Christmas Eve. My sister and I (our brother Paul was born when we lived in Minnesota and was way too young) went to bed excitedly anticipating our gifts from “Santa” the next morning. Early the next morning we rushed to the kitchen area to see what was by the fireplace. Yes. There were gifts. I remember a huge coloring book and some smaller items. It was exciting to think that Santa remembered us.

Karin was older by 3 ½ years and didn’t want me to have illusions about what Christmas was all about. “Mom and Dad actually gave us these gifts,” she told me. What! Even at my young age, I knew it was difficult for our folks to buy us gifts. And these were extra gifts--not from Santa?

Karin explained that Santa was fun, but not real. That Jesus was real and the true reason for Christmas. Some families are all in about Santa and Jesus plays only a minor role. Other families ban Santa altogether.

My folks took a different approach. They helped us realize Santa is a fun myth and allowed us to embrace that aspect of the holidays. But, they also made sure we understood the center of our celebration remained on the truth that a very real Savior did come to save and set us free for one reason--because He loved us.

What helped me put our traditions in perspective was a graphic that circulated some years ago. It was a picture of the manger, with Santa on his knees before the baby Jesus.

As the angels told the shepherds, “Behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy which will be to all people. For there is born to you this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord…” Luke 2:10b-11 NKJV

Let us worship at the manger this Christmas.
Merry Christmas!

© 2021 Carolyn R Scheidies
My Kearney Hub column 12/20/2021
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Blog Bio My house, my home--wherever it is

Our Kearney home

My father was a pastor. For us that meant we didn’t stay in one location for more than two to four years. How long we stayed and how often we moved depended on when another church would ask Dad to candidate and whether or not my folks felt God leading them to a different church.

My childhood was spent in Canada (my folks drove across a frozen lake in January so I could be born in the US), Minnesota, Wisconsin, Wyoming, Kansas and Iowa. In Clitheral, MN we lived in two places: a small house with very little room and a former red brick bank building that stood on mainstreet and still had a working vault. It also had a path out back.

Our Siren, Wisconsin residence was next to the church and held secret passageways. In Wyoming, Dad doubled the size of our home by adding on the old rectangular church building when the church bought the facility of a shop that went out of business and remodeled it for a church. The only way to get from one part of our house to the other was through a connecting back porch.

The Kansas Country church provided a large farmhouse on a farm worked by the members.

Iowa also had a farm-style house next to the church. But none of these houses were ours. In fact, since the church owned the buildings, my folks had to ask permission for changes--sometimes large changes, sometimes to simply add a nail on which to hang a picture.

We moved to Kearney, not for a church, but so I could attend college. My disabilities meant I needed to have family close. After renting, my folks bought a house and I could understand Mom’s joy at being in charge of her own home.

My parents planned to retire in Kearney, but then  Mom died suddenly of a stroke. At the time, Dad had been called back to a church in Canada. When Mom died so did their dream. Dad stayed with his church in northern Minnesota, met and eventually married a widow.

When Keith and I married, we rented apartments and then a house. We prayed for a house of our own, but didn’t have the resources until a government program was announced--and we qualified. My contractor brother Paul had wanted to build us a house, only neither he nor we had the financial resources.

But with the government approved loan, Paul was able to build a house specially designed for my disabilities. It is a one level plan with no basement, no stairs, and easy accessibility.

Friends helped us move in in 1979, just before the new year. It was just in time. I finally had a home that was ours. We brought our first child home from the hospital early April.

Today, I look around my home. The design hasn’t changed though it has been repainted, recarpeted, re-sided, had two new roofs--thanks to the weather--and had assorted other repairs.

We raised our children here, our grandchildren have spent countless hours with us on visits. This house has seen us through illnesses, surgeries, birthdays, and too many holidays and celebrations to count. Every nook and cranny holds memories.

I look back with gratitude for those who pushed us to apply for the loan and walked with us through all that entailed. And we still use the heated front walk Paul added as a Christmas surprise. I was also glad when not long after Keith retired, we were able to finally pay off the mortgage and make the house truly ours.

Now that we’re geezers and slowing down, that one-level plan is a blessing. After living in so many places, I am far from moving on from a place that has been a real home for so long. I also look forward to making many more memories in this, a home of our own.

© 2020 Carolyn R Scheidies
Published Kearney Hub 2/23/2020
Read more of my life in my bio The Day Secretariat Won the Triple Crown
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