Remembering—Memorial Day 2022

The first Memorial Day I remember was as a first or second grader in Siren, Wisconsin. We were given flags and taken to the cemetery. We watched as the uniformed veterans stood proud and brave for a 21 gun salute. My dad Rev. William Fredrickson, a WW II vet, stood with the other vets. He’d explained why. Back then our people and culture understood the sacrifice. We honored those lost.

While we don’t worship our ancestors, as some cultures do, Memorial Day has expanded to include all our departed loved ones—not only our veterans.

My brother was the youngest of we three siblings. Paul Fredrickson always felt he had to watch over his older sisters. Yet, January 8, 2019, God took him home first. Suddenly Karin and I were two instead of three. We, his wife and our families were devastated at the unexpected loss.

Friday, hubby Keith and I bought a basket of red and white flowers to put on his grave. Yes, my brother and I would argue, sometimes even yell at each other. But we loved each other. He was there in so many ways when I or our family needed him. Flowers seem a small remembrance for a life time of memories.

Miss you, Paul.

Carolyn R Scheidies

Blog dangers of historical ignorance

My brother Paul’s birthday is June 22nd. Since his passing in 2019, we remember him by taking his widow out to eat. This year, my sister Karin from Kansas chose to join us. But she had another reason for visiting.

When Dad died in 1988 in International Falls, MN where he made his home, my sister, brother, myself and his wife and family went through his things to make choices for our families. Some items, such as his pastor's collection of books, were given away to other pastors, with other items going to his close friends. We were far from home and needed to return home so much of dad’s things were packed up.

Paul brought them home with the idea Karin, Paul and I would go through the boxes later. Only we never did, and years passed by.Then Paul died and now we had to deal with his things and Dad’s things. Two years later, we’re still going through things.

Part of Karin’s trip to Kearney included going through items from World War II he collected while he was overseas as well as Minneapolis newspapers Mom saved from the end of the war.

We divided pictures and got rid of negatives we would never turn into photos. We found any number of Bibles. one was special. It was a small worn Bible with a zipper that Mom gave Dad and, we suspect, the Bible went through the war with Dad.

There were maps, and books to help soldiers make their way around a foreign country. Dad was a medic in Italy and North Africa right behind the front lines. These soldiers went overseas to protect their own families and nation from the evil perpetuated on European citizens, especially Jewish people, evil that included torture, starvation, experimentation, and death.

At great sacrifice, American and other soldiers defeated the Nazi dictatorship that threatened the entire world. Yet today, and especially since many schools do not teach actual history, many individuals have no clue of the importance of the World Wars to keep America free, It gets worse.

Before Independence Day I heard a reporter ask regular persons on the street what we celebrated on July 4th. A great many had no idea. Our young people aren’t turning away from our Constitutional principles of faith and freedom--they’ve never been taught about them.

Many in schools are taught a form of history that is twisted, bigoted--such as the Critical Race Theory (CRT), and altogether false. If a nation loses its history, it loses its foundation and a nation without a foundation will crumble. There are far too many in places of education and government who are hoping for this result.

I was thankful that we had Dad’s reminders of what Dad fought for so long again. I was even more thankful, that when I contacted our kids and grandkids, they wanted those WWII mementos.

As long as we have citizens who care about the past and share it with the next generation, America might actually survive.

I pray the sacrifices of our soldiers have not been in vain.
© 2021 Carolyn R Scheidies
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Biographical Blog We appreciate instant access with cellphones

I don’t leave home without my cell phone. Having the phone, especially since we’re geezers, gives me confidence that if we have a car or health emergency, we can quickly summon help.

I have a reason for being uneasy. Years ago, after our daughter graduated from college, she spent a year south of Branson working with at-risk youth in a leadership program. She was in charge of putting together a weekend for parents to come and learn about the program.

It was a long drive from Kearney, but we planned to do it all in one long day. However, our car died south of Kansas City. Without my cell, we would not have been able to contact AAA for assistance. Our car was hauled to a nearby town.

We hoped it wouldn’t take too long to fix as we were on a tight timeline. After carefully checking over the car, we were told the car was dead. No amount of “fixing” would make that car go. The garage helped us get ahold of Enterprise.

Thankfully, the garage agreed to keep the car until we returned in a couple of days. (We ended up buying a car to get home.) We made it to the opening function in Branson while everyone was still eating.

When we lived in Wisconsin in the 1950s where my father pastored a church, we were thankful to have one phone in the house. When my father took a church in a dying oil town, Lance Creek, Wyoming, north of Lusk, there were no phones when we arrived.

The town consisted of small settlements named after the oil companies that owned them. Other than housing, there wasn’t much more than a filling station, a garage, a café, a bar, a Walmart-style store (groceries and much more), a Catholic church with a once-a-month service, “downtown.”

Our church, next to a lumberyard and another grocery store, further west in another enclave, served a wide area. Even further west was an elementary school, a lumberyard, and an IOOF Hall.

If we needed to contact dad at the church where he had his office, one of us had to walk or ride a bike the uphill mile and a half to the church. Mom didn’t drive and dad had the only car. We were often out of contact with dad when he visited the ranches in the area. He’d be gone the whole day.

A few times I got to go with him. We went from paved to gravel to almost footpaths at some points. We found few bridges. We crossed streams that during rainstorms would become impassible.

The ranchers were glad for a visitor. At times Dad comforted, counseled, or simply listened, finally offering a passage from God’s Word and prayer. What if it had stormed while he was gone? What if he’d had an accident? No one would even know where to look for him.

I viewed those trips as adventures, never considering the possible risks Dad took back then. It did not matter to him. He was a pastor who cared about the needs of people, even if they never darkened the door of the church. For many ranchers, Sunday attendance was just too far and complicated.

I look back with a shiver as I slip my cell phone into my purse before heading out the door. I can’t help but wonder how today’s generation would handle the inability to readily connect. I am thankful for my memories because they remind me to be thankful as I turn on my cell and let our daughter know we’re on our way.

© 2021 Carolyn R Scheidies
The original version of My Hub Column published 4/12/2021
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