Blog Bio Cowboys, Horse, a different Dream

My dad often said as soon as I began to crawl, I’d head toward the nearest horse. When my folks went to the hospital to have my younger brother, I got to stay with a farm family who had a horse. At four years old, I thought I’d gone to heaven when they allowed me to ride. God was good.

In Clitheral Minnesota, we didn’t have a TV set, but I walked across the street to a friend’s house to watch westerns such as Roy Rogers and the Lone Ranger. I even had Roy Rogers paper dolls. (Not for me sissy girl paper dolls.) In Wisconsin, I had a longer walk to watch TV. I prayed for a horse of my own.

When Dad told us he’d taken a church in Wyoming, my older sister groaned. I couldn’t wait to go. The parsonage was across the street from the home of a friend who had his own horse, Rocket. Both Karin and I got to ride the paint horse with our friend. Rocket was a gentle ride unless you tried to force him into a trot when riding double. Then you’d find yourself on the ground—often on one of the many cactus patches. We still did it. (Kids don’t always do the smartest things.) Riding Rocket gave me experience.

Finally, when we moved to a country church in Northwest Kansas, I was able to get a retired show mare through the 4-H program. I took care of the horse. I rode the horse. The deal was that after breeding the chestnut mare, the resulting foal was mine to keep. Finally, in 7th grade, my dream came true. I had my own horse. God was indeed good.

Unfortunately, at about the same time I contracted Juvenile Rheumatoid Arthritis. I spent the next ten years in a wheelchair rather than on a horse. However, having the horse, and having to plan how to train my foal, kept me motivated to live instead of quitting when I could see no future but pain and limitations. My thought went more to a question. “What are you thinking God?”

Eventually, we no longer lived where I could keep my horse. I agreed to sell my horse as a polo pony out East. I kept my horse interest by reading books—fiction and non-fiction with and about horses. I followed the Triple Crown. Secretariat’s story helped me as I dealt with massive reconstructive surgery and to finally walk again. If Secretariat could become a victor maybe I could as well.

When I began to write and sell books, many historical in nature, I could write with authenticity about horses. Though I really never rode horses after I got sick, my love motivated me, helped me through rough times, and assisted in my chosen career. I may not have become a jockey or a horsemaster, but I learned and grew and walked again, at least partly, because of my obsession with horses. I can’t help but smile. Guess God did know what He was doing after all. God is indeed good.

© 2023 Carolyn R Scheidies

Hub column published 2/22/2023

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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 Energy, age and learning what's important

As a child, I had endless energy. I wooshed through my days. In Siren, Wisconsin, I walked from one end of our small town to the other, though I was only in first and second grades. I visited friends, played with pets, and told imaginative stories.

At home, I had chores, such as making my bed and helping to keep things clean. Dad patiently showed us, kids, the proper way to make a bed with the covers smooth, and corners just so. That meant I needed to learn to slow down and not just tug my covers up and forget them.

In Wyoming, I was allowed to wander the hills behind and around our home, in daylight hours only. I carried a pocket knife and my father taught me how to stay clear of rattlesnakes and what to do if I could not.

In Kansas, as a young teen, I contracted Rheumatoid Arthritis. Pain and exhaustion became my companions for years. But thanks to prayer and effort, I entered a more healing phase and regained some of that energy. In college, even from a wheelchair, I actively entered into going places and doing things with friends. After college, extensive surgery got me back on my feet. I married my husband I started my married life.

While I continued to have surgery and I often needed to rest in the afternoon, I was involved in home, church, and community activities. This only increased when our children arrived. Sometimes I was incredibly tired, but I still kept up a schedule of home, writing, and everything else. When my books sold to publishers and were available everywhere, organizations began asking me to speak, adding another layer of activities. I got very good at making and keeping schedules. Sometimes I got stressed out, but I also enjoyed my life.

After the kids left home for college and to start their own families, I settled down to writing and speaking and church activities. My career was going well. I landed a good contract with Harlequin’s Love Inspired brand that’s sold at most book and department stores. Yet, I needed more effort to get everything done on my list each day. I realized I needed to pare down that list. Still, my days were full.

The big change came with a bad fall that put me in the hospital for 2 ½ months, with a trach and feeding tube. While I was eventually able to lose the trach and feeding tube, it took me over a year to fully recover. Now things were different. My aggressive edge was gone. My energy was quickly depleted each day.

Each year, I find it more difficult to complete a long list of things. In fact, it seems to take more and more time to get less and less done. My list is often things that I need to do as well as things I don’t want to forget.

I realized my writing would pass away as would most everything else I did. What mattered was my relationships with Keith, our kids, grandkids, other family and friends. Now, a phone call from family or friends takes precedence over my daily list. I am thankful we are relatively healthy. I am thankful I am still writing and selling. I also still find the energy for those things that matter most. my faith, my family, and the freedom to honor both. I am blessed.

(c) 2022 Carolyn R Scheidies

Kearney Hub Column 5/30/2022

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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 Good Memories of Growing Up with Dogs

When we moved to Wyoming, Skipper, a large yellow dog, was already waiting for us. He refused to leave with the last pastor’s family. Though he scared those feeding him, he took right to our family and was our companion until he died.

Topper was a small, short-haired lovable mutt. Together, we explored the creeks, valleys and tunnels behind the parsonage in Wyoming. I had a freedom to wonder we can seldom afford kids today. I had to carry my pocket knife and be home by dusk when the night creatures, like bobcats, started hunting. Topper had a litter of puppies. One survived. Cutie was a long, curly-haired, black and white puppy—rather like a dusty mop.

We took Topper and Cutie with us when we moved to northern Kansas for the Lund Covenant Church. Six months later Topper died in trying to have another litter of puppies. I mourned my dog. Then we only had Cutie. He would have been but a mouthful for the ever-present coyotes. But somehow, he identified with them and his coyote howl would send chills down the back. Cutie loved wondering as far as thirty miles away. Eventually, everyone got to know him and would bring him back, letting him off in the driveway. He loved the car rides and loved getting home. Strangely enough, the coyotes never bothered our little dust mop.

After I got sick, Cutie would leap on my bed and snuggle with me. He lifted my spirits. Cutie was my brother’s dog until Paul got a “real”—a larger black dog. Cutie was too much a wanderer to take with us to the church in Iowa. We left him with a farm family who let him wonder. 

In Iowa, we had an adult cat who thought she was all that. When Paul got a Golden Retriever puppy, the cat baited him, jumped on him, and made his life miserable. Then the dog grew up.

Usually, we made sure our dogs and cats got along. This was a whole other situation. The dog knew he wasn’t supposed to hurt the cat. Instead, he’d wait until no one was looking, grab the cat at the neck, and shake until, at times, he broke the skin. He never tried to kill the cat,, just bully her as though getting revenge. We had to be vigilant.

When Keith and I raised our kids, each of them chose a pet when they were seven years old and proved they would handle caring for a pet. Our older son chose a Black Lab. Our daughter, two years later, chose a feisty black cat with a white snip across her nose. They were part of our family until they died of old age—the cat at 19 years old.

Since then, we spoil the pets of our friends and family, leaving us free to visit our kids and grandkids in Lincoln and Omaha. Once on her own, Cassie took in a rescued dog who was a sweet little dog. Melvin dog accepted into their home Kurt when he married Cassie and then their two children. It was hard when he died since he’d been so much a part of the family.  

More recently our son added to his family of three almost-grown kids. With his daughter leading the charge, they added a beautiful Husky named Bear and then, as a companion, a white dog nicknamed Candy.

Dogs are wonderful companions. They give unconditional love, listen when you share secrets, and simply want to be loved in return. I’m thankful for my memories and glad our kids and grandkids can make memories with loving pets as well.

Many of our dogs were rescued animals. They make wonderful companions. Looking for a dog (or cat)? Check out the nearest shelter. You’ll be glad you did.

(c) 2022 Carolyn R Scheidies

Hub Column published 05/02/2022

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Easter more than baskets, bunnies and eggs

When my dad pastored a church in eastern Wyoming during my elementary years, we had traditions for celebrating Easter. We had new Easter outfits. (We probably needed them since we grew all the time out of our clothes and shoes.) Before the big day Karin, Paul, and I colored eggs with Mom. (I’m sure she had to scrub down the kitchen when we were finished.) We knew that later, after dinner Dad had a hunt planned. No, not for eggs.

Our parents bought each of us a large chocolate something, a cross, bunny, egg, etc. He’d hide them in the living room, and we had to find and claim one for ourselves. Since dad was into health, we were allowed to enjoy some of the chocolate, but only in moderation so the chocolate lasted for several days. It tasted all the better for eating it slowly.

Before sunrise Easter morning, we, followed by others from the congregation, drove up the hill to the former church location where the large cross still overlooked the small oil town of Lance Creek. When the sun rose, we had a beautiful view as we listened to dad share about that glorious first Easter morning.

From the sunrise service, we drove west to the Covenant church where the ladies had prepared a breakfast guaranteed to fill up even the hungriest person. The church service was one of rejoicing with songs such as, “Up from the Grave He Arose.” Dad’s sermon brought us from the commercial aspects already creeping into Easter celebrations to the true meaning of the day.

The baby born in the manger didn’t come simply to give us a joyful Christmas holiday, He came for a much more serious reason. Jesus, the Creator God, came to bring hope to a people living in darkness. He came to bring light. As an adult, he healed, raised the dead, and set individuals free as He shared His love and compassion with His creation.

He wasn’t afraid to confront the religious leaders who made all sorts of regulations, but used them not to help, but to separate their people from their finances and their God. Most of them hated Him for uncovering their actions. Others hated Him for calling out their greed, pride, selfishness, and other sins. They hated Him enough to conspire to torture and murder Him with the extreme cruelty of a crucification.

He was a man. He was God, but He willingly sacrificed His life. Why? Because there are always consequences for wrong choices and actions. He died to take the consequences we deserved. He died to offer a better tomorrow. He did more, He rose again, conquering death itself. He rose to offer forgiveness instead of guilt and a personal relationship with the Creator. To those who accepted and followed, He offered light in the darkness, life for death, and the assurance that we are never alone.

Beyond the new clothes, baskets, candy, and more, all of which are quickly discarded, Easter is about Jesus who loves you and me so much, He gave up everything to offer the one thing we need more than about anything else, especially in today’s world, --hope.

Happy Easter!

(c) 2022 Carolyn R Scheidies

Column published in Kearney Hub 2022 April 4

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Blog Bio Dogs, fosters, adoption and love

Recently my seventeen-year-old granddaughter told me she’d been cleaning up the backyard because they planned to foster a Husky dog. She was so excited to bring home a shelter Husky named Bear. I could tell she was already loving that dog.

I can’t blame her. Several years ago, our daughter Cassie had a friend who fostered dogs. She told Cassie about a little dog foster that had been rescued from a puppy mill. The young dog had spent his life in a cage.

Cassie ended up adopting Melvin who proved to be a sweet dog without a mean bone in his body. His main anxiety was not wanting Cassie out of his sight. She had Melvin for many years, giving him special attention as he aged.

She married and Melvin adopted Kurt as part of the family and then included two children. When he died, the family grieved.

My brother pretty much always had dogs—usually larger dogs. He brought a dog into his marriage with Lorene and throughout their marriage, they adopted several dogs from the shelter. Their dogs were their kids. Finally, they decided not to get another dog.

At least, they thought they both decided that only to discover both were, on their own, checking out dogs at the shelter. That did it, they adopted another dog who needed them.

This dog was big, gentle, and huggable. He also thought he was a lapdog. When they settled in their recliners, Franee would jump into a lap and snuggle down. Paul walked the dog up to our house, but often they walked Franee at Yanney Park. They loved that dog.

Then Paul had a massive heart attack and was gone. The love she and Paul shared with a needy animal came back to sustain Lorene as she dealt with Paul’s loss. Because they were willing to adopt, she received a gift of Franee’s love that has helped her through her grief.

We usually had dogs and often cats when we grew up. Since dad was a minister, we moved every few years. Some places were more conducive to pets than others. Wyoming was a great place for pets, but we didn’t buy them. They came to us. A dog or cat who needed a home found our place. If they looked hungry, mom fed them.

Some moved on. Others stayed and became part of the family, though the restriction was that their main home was outside. (Dad built a dog house.)

One of my best memories is the day we moved to Lance Creek Wyoming. Mrs. Wilson who ran the motel for truckers just down the road had the key to the parsonage. We walked over with her. Mrs. Wilson pointed out the huge dog on the stoop.

She started explaining most were afraid of the animal, but he had refused to leave with the last pastor. Members threw food over the fence for the dog. She wasn’t sure what to do, but Paul, a toddler, before anyone could stop him, opened the gate, marched up to the dog, and hugged him.

I followed, leaving the adults stunned. Skipper had adopted us. He proved to be a wonderful dog. When he died, he left us with many good memories. I could tell many more stories of dogs who met a need for those who adopted them or whom they adopted.

Looking for a dog? Instead of paying through the nose for some fancy breed, consider a shelter pet. These dogs are so ready to give love and are often brave, smart, ready to love the individual or family who reaches out,

© 2021 Carolyn R Scheidies
Published in my Kearney Hub Column 2021 November 8
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Blog Bio Home, mice, snakes and perspective

I loved cowboys and horses. So, when my minister got a church in Wyoming when I was in elementary, I was thrilled. I didn’t much care about the house. Mom did. Especially when she began hearing persistent scratching behind their closet wall. My mom freaked when a rodent emerged. Turned out to be one huge rat.

Dad quickly dispatched the unwanted visitor and made certain that would not happen again. Except for that exception, mice stayed away from our house well-guarded by several cats that considered our place home.

When Keith and I married we first lived in an apartment house. One day I found evidence of an unwanted visitor in the kitchen. We bought traps and I put food in plastic containers. I was in the kitchen when our visitor dashed across the floor. I screamed for Keith who rushed in and stomped on the mouse--in his socks. Grossed me out. Mice became a problem.

I was relieved when we moved to another, larger apartment on the other end of the mouse-infested one. Then we moved to an older house that had any number of insects and rodents, Traps became a way of life. Mice made me cringe.

Thanks to a government program, my brother Paul was able to build a house geared toward my limitations. Nice, clean and accessible. Yet, in the fall, mice seemed to find a way into the house, probably from the attached garage. Again, traps were a way of life. At least only one or two got in each year.

After our kids were in elementary, Chris got a dog and Cassie got a cat named Cutie. With Cutie in the house, mice had no chance and they disappeared from our lives. Unfortunately, our mice problem turned into a snake problem.

In fact, for many years I wrote at least one article each year about my adventures with snakes that found a way into the house. Eventually, the snakes also disappeared--at least inside the house. Then we had some siding work done.

About that time, we discovered a mouse in the house. This time we got traps that held poison. The traps took care of that mouse. So much for the mouse problem.

Recently, my sister called early in the morning as I walked into the kitchen from the bedroom. In the semi-darkness, I noticed movement on the ground. At first I thought it was a cricket, Then I scared my sister when I started screaming for Keith.

That movement was a mouse crawling along almost flat against the floor. Gross. Gross. Keith rushed in, took a look and slammed his cane down. I had to explain to my sister as Keith got rid of that dying mouse.

I was thankful, we’d never picked up the poison traps we’d put down last year. Thankfully, that seems to be the only mouse that managed to get inside. Over the years we have had either mice or snakes.

As much as I dislike both these creatures, when I see what is going on in our world I realize how small my problem with mice or snakes really is. Those bigger problems put things in perspective. I guess I can deal with snakes and mice—especially if Keith is near.

© 2021 Carolyn R Scheidies
Published in my Kearney Hub column 10/25/2021
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Blog Bio My sister, my sibling, my friend

On September 21st, Karin turned 75. Karin’s retirement is as busy as when she worked for Senator Pat Roberts. She is actively involved with her grandchildren, her other family, and many friends. Faith, family, and friends are the most important things in her life.

Karin, born in 1946, is the oldest sibling, I followed in 1950. Our brother Paul was born four years later. As adults we visit, call, and email regularly. However, Karin and I weren’t always friends.

More often than not, we had to share a bedroom. (Our father was a minister who got called to a different church every few years.) Karin wanted a room that was tidy and always looking good. She’d stuff things in the closet or under the bed.

I like organization. If things aren’t perfectly aligned or in place, as long as long as I knew where to find everything, the rest didn’t matter. She pulled shades at least partway down on the windows, preferring a darker room. I love sunlight. I zapped the shades up. We glared at as we tugged the shade furiously up and down until, invariably, the shade broke, and we were in trouble.

Due to how and when we moved, Karin ended up in grades above her classmates. (She was fifteen when she started her high school senior year in a new school.). I preferred the outdoors. Karin was all girl—except she could smash a baseball out of the park. We fought. We argued.

I pushed Karin through a wall Dad was repairing. She kicked me off the bed during nightly devotions with Dad. Oops! We lived in Kansas when Karin left for college. For all our wrangling, I missed her.

Then my life took a turn downward. I contracted Juvenile Rheumatoid Arthritis and within months was in a wheelchair that I did not escape for almost ten years. Those years were difficult years for my family as my parents sought prayer, answers, and medical care.

During those years, Karin was my encourager. Paul was confused with my up-and-down moods due to pain, and frustration. Karin married after college and remained in McPherson, Kansas where she’d gone to college.

We moved to Iowa for a pastorate where I finished high school and started college. In my second year of college, our folks moved to Nebraska so I could attend a four-year college. Though I was in a wheelchair and often required assistance, I graduated.

Mom and Dad bought a house in Kearney planning to retire in this welcoming city. When Dad was called to a church in Canada, this time, Mom, Paul and I stayed in Kearney. After all, Paul and I were in college.

Unexpectedly, at Christmas, Mom died my senior year of a stroke that left Dad and Karin, Paul, and I devastated. In time, Dad married a Canadian lady and settled in International Falls, MN.

Paul and I settled in Kearney. By then, Karin, Paul, and I had become friends. We were close enough to visit now and again as we married and raised our families. Always Karin and Paul were there for me through my many surgeries to get me up and keep me up and walking.

Each of us had to deal with first Mom’s death, then dad’s death when our children were young. We walked through life's difficult circumstances lifting each other up.

Paul’s death in January 2019 of massive heart failure left a huge hole. He was our younger brother. Yes, we have our family, our kids and our wonderful grandkids, but it isn’t the same. Three became two, but with the loss, Karin and I talk more, make sure to pray for one another and each other’s families.

We are different individuals in so many ways and yet we share a heritage of memories, faith, and love. Gone are the days I fought with my sister. Instead, I give thanks each day we still have our faith, our families—and the blessing of one another.
© 2021 Carolyn R. Scheidies
Published 10/11/21 in the Kearney Hub Column

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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