Norm

 

Norman Carl Zielke
23 Feb 1946- 8 July 2021
In his Happy Place

I lost my brousin this week. Yeah. My brousin. A term I've created myself to describe a cousin who was always so much more in my life. He was a brother in many ways, made even more so after he married my best friend.

Norm was the youngest child born to my Uncle Henry and "Miem." In spite of their age difference, Dad and Unc were very close,  as were Mom and Miem. Combine that with the fact that Norm was born in 1946, between my brothers Bill (born in 1945) and Al (born in 1947), it was only natural that I grew up feeling like I had three older brothers instead of two.

Cowboy Norm on his Birthday

I recall my mom frequently talking about how much she loved Norm's brown eyes; almost made me jealous! Recently, as he was trying to write out memories of my mom for her 100th birthday memory, one of his most vivid memories of her had been of her calling him her "little brown eyes." 

Norm was a lot of things to a lot of people. This past week, as I've read kind words about him on Facebook and seen the reaction of family, friends and neighbors to his passing, I've come to realize that no matter who they were or how he knew them, he made everyone feel that they were important and loved. It's kind of funny for me to say that he made people feel loved, because he wasn't one to throw that word around lightly. He might not have said it frequently or to many people, but he showed them through his many selfless acts.

Norm & I
May, 2020

I think I shocked him the first time I went to visit him after he went on hospice when I gave him a hug and told him I loved him. It wasn't a term we necessarily used, but we knew it. As his sister, Marilyn, lay in the hospital earlier this year, dying of Covid, Norm was prompted to tell her he loved her before ending their phone conversation. Those were the last words he got to say to her, and he was glad he had, choking up when he told me about their conversation.

Norm with his brothers, Don & Dave
 & sister, Marilyn
Summer 2020

How do I even begin to verbalize all the memories floating around in my head when I think of Norm? Even random, insignificant memories have left their mark on my life forever. One day my mom and I were visiting Miem. I was sitting on the floor in their living room, doing a puzzle and eating some sort of treat. Norm came in and asked me what I was eating and if I was going to share. Smart aleck Carol appeared and replied, "No. Why should I? You never share with me." The expression on his face, told me how very wrong I was, but he didn't scold me or remind me of the many times he had. He just turned away and headed to his bedroom. I doubt he even remembered it, but as I write this now, I feel horrified that I didn't run after him to share and that I never even apologized.

Norm: Pre-contacts
with Marilyn & Dave

Then, there was the day he got his contact lenses. That was a big deal back in the '60s! I was playing with my dolls in the basement of our big house on 4th street and I saw him come running in the back door like something was chasing him! I called to him and he changed direction from heading up into our apartment and came bounding down the stairs. He ran up to me and bent down to look me in the eyes. I asked him what he was doing and he just said "Look!" as he pointed to his eyes. Well, I didn't see anything and didn't even realize he wasn't wearing his glasses! Slightly exasperated with me, he had to tell me he had contact lenses and didn't need to wear his glasses anymore. I might  have gotten more excited for him if I understood what that meant, but I don't think I had even gotten my glasses yet, so it  didn't seem such a big deal to me. Slightly deflated, he headed upstairs to show my mom and anyone else who was home at the time. I hope they gave him the reaction he was looking for.....

Lanie, Norm, Randy & I had our kids in a perfect time frame together. Lisa was 9 months older than my Megan; Brian was 3 months older than my Sami; Michael was 6 weeks older than my Brooks and my twins were 9 months older than Laura. Visits between the Zielkes and the Sloans were always an adventure. My kids LOVED going to visit "Uncle" Norm to play with their cousins and see what new "toys" he had in his basement, whether a pinball machine, a pool table or whatever, they always knew they'd have a good time at Uncle Norm's house. 

Norm getting the fire going
in Ashland, Ohio 1987/88
Looks a bit like a preschool!

After we moved to Ohio, our visits to their home became less frequent, but then they came a time or two to visit us there. At the Sloan house, the kids spent more time outside, playing in the woods,  in the creek and building campfires with Uncle Norm. I loved it when they came to visit us in Ohio or Utah, except I always felt guilty that it never seemed like much of a vacation for Norm. From the minute he walked in the door, it was like he was a magnet drawn to whatever was broken at my house and he just took over and fixed it! And, if he needed a part to fix it, he never let me pay him back. I have no idea how many toasters and other small appliances he fixed! And, the last time they came to visit in Vernal, UT I had just begun repainting my kitchen cabinets to give the kitchen a facelift. As would be expected, Norm (and Lanie) dove right in and before they left I had a nice new look to my kitchen.

And then came Lizzie! I was going through my divorce, learning to navigate our family on my income only, when Megan was in an accident that totaled the car we had for her. I was visiting them when Norm offered me their old Dodge Caravan minivan. I remember protesting that I couldn't just TAKE their car for my 16-year-old, but somehow, he turned it around and almost made me feel like I'd be doing HIM a favor by taking it off his hands! His powers of persuasion were definitely admirable! In spite of burning oil, windows that didn't work and a side door that flew open when they'd turn a corner, that car lasted through all of my kids learning to drive and was still chugging on after they had all purchased their own cars to replace her. 

Norm and Lanie Dating Years
Mid 1970s

My favorite thing about Norm is that through him, my best friend came to be a part of the family. Although Lanie was just 13 when I introduced her to my cousin, it was obvious to anyone with a pair of eyes in their head that the two of them had a special connection. Norm was 9 years older than us, but he never treated us like the kids we were. Maybe that was because we were the only people under 40 he had to hang around with in Cornucopia. As we hung around together and had fun adventures, it became even more evident that the two had something special and Lanie developed a huge crush on Norm. I knew from nearly the beginning that they were meant to be together and did my best to encourage it and arrange time alone for them; I even tried my hardest to convince Lanie to invite Norm to our Senior Prom! When they had their first date, shortly after our high school graduation, I don't know who was happier, them or me. At any rate, they did end up together and I'll have them both as part of my forever family.

The fondest memories I have of my brousin, though, revolve around Cornucopia. Somehow, I've always felt that Corny was just a bit more magical for Norm and I than it was for the rest of the family. Maybe it goes back to the first summer when our parents bought the cabins together. Maybe it was that first arrival, near midnight, Memorial Day Weekend 1967, when we ran down the "steps" (that were then railroad ties and dirt) to the porch of the big cabin and caught our first glimpse of the moon shining down on Lake Siskiwit. 

Maybe it was observing as the cabins truly became "ours" as our moms and dads worked tirelessly to improve the cabins and the land. Maybe it came from the gradual acquisition of "toys:" the homemade bicycle boat given to us by a neighbor,

Manmade Beach and Pier with
the rowboat & Miss Rita

Norm's Miss Rita, my dad's two boats (that were NOT good investments), Norm's Suzuki motorcycle... 

Maybe it was the new adventures of shooting fireworks from the end of the pier for the 4th of July or going to the dump at dusk to watch for the bears. 

Lanie on the pier as Carol docks 
Miss Rita

Maybe it was the lessons learned on the lake: swimming, rowing a boat, canoeing, driving a boat for water skiers, Zip sledding, water skiing, replacing a broken pin on a  boat motor in the middle of the lake, perfecting driving the boat up to the pier...

Norm and the Sloan Crew
Lake Superior 2019

Norm continued to share the wonder of Corny with my family in recent  years. While my son, Barton was doing his residency in Milwaukee, Norm and Lanie invited him to go for a vacation, which  then inspired Barton to arrange a partial Sloan family reunion at Lake Siskiwit as a Christmas present for me to go back in 2019. It was wonderful to be back there again. Even more wonderful for me to see my kids and most of my grandkids experience the magic of Corny. But the best was seeing Norm interact with them all so that they saw the best that Corny had to offer.

Norm & Sloan Crew
Ice Cream in Corny

Whatever the magic, I know that is something I have always had in common with Norm. My heart ached for him all last summer, the first summer in 53 years he wasn't able to go to Corny and spend a majority of his summer at Lake Siskiwit. I knew how he felt, because I've felt the same way since the summer of 1975, when I had to face the fact that the cabins were no longer a part of my life.

I didn't really know why God was directing me back to Illinois in 2018 when I was first contemplating retirement. I knew I was coming to help Pop (my ex-father-in-law) who was alone and nearing 90. I knew I was useful in my church ward as I took over as president of the Relief Society (the women's organization). But, above all else, I know now, without a shadow of a doubt, that God brought me back to Illinois to  enable me to be here to spend time with Norm and to be here for Lanie. Although I wasn't good at making the three hour drive from Decatur to see them when I first moved back, from the time Norm went into hospice I decided I would try my best to make a monthly trip up to visit. For the most part, I accomplished that goal. Each visit helped create more special memories of time spent with two of my favorite people. My brother, Al, joined us this spring and we got to watch my parents' old home movies that I had left with Norm decades ago.

Norm, Al & Carol
Spring, 2021

One visit, we played with a plaster mold kit to create a clasped hands memory for Lanie to keep for years to come.

We got to celebrate Norm's 75th birthday with blue teeth....

Celebrating #75
February 2021

and we played Dominoes! I don't know that I'll ever be able to look at a set of dominoes again without thinking of my final visits with him.

With all these memories, they don't even scratch the surface to describe the man Norm was. He was a true disciple of Christ, exemplifying the pure love of Christ in his actions. He was active in his community and his church. He loved to experience technology and had to have the latest gadgets; Alexa was one of his closest friends. He provided well for his family and was always there to help a friend. He loved his family and making people laugh. He was made for "Dad Jokes," did a perfect impression of Gomer Pyle and frequently reminded me of Cliff Huxtable. And, seeing the light in his eyes, whenever he put a smile on a child's face melted my heart every time. 

Norm with Millie Sloan
Lake Superior 2019

No blog can do justice to the man who was my brousin. No words can pay him the tribute he deserves. What a blessing that he's finally been released from the mortal body that betrayed him so in recent years and that he's been welcomed home by Jesus Christ and our Heavenly Father; that he's able, once again to see his sister, his parents and all the other Zielke-Staffedlts who were there to greet him on the other side of the veil. I'm sure, my mom was even there to greet her "little  brown eyes" with open arms. One thing we can be certain of, he'll make sure everything is working in our heavenly homes when we get to join him there. I love you, I'll miss you and your kids and I will all take good care of Lanie for you, Cuz...

'Til we meet again...

Remembering Mom 50 Years Later

50 years ago, with tension, fear and resignation in the air and family all around in our home, I was sent downstairs to my brothers apartment to go to bed. My protests were overruled as everyone took the opportunity to rationalize with my practical side and I was told there was nothing I could do; that someone needed to be downstairs with my niece and nephew; that I needed a good night's sleep because I had school in the morning. We all knew they were lies, but I finally conceded and made me way down the back hall stairs to my brother's apartment in the family home and crawled into his bed.

Shortly after midnight on February 24, 1971 as I lay in the bed and heard someone coming down the back stairs with my dog, to tie her out, I knew that was it. I knew it was over. I knew I would never see my mother's smile, hear her laugh or be able to tell her how much I loved her ever again. The breast cancer had won and our family lost. And I sobbed. And I sobbed; until I finally cried myself to sleep.

She fought long; and she fought hard. I still remember that day in February, 1969 when I was in my mothers bedroom with her. She was acting a little odd and I didn't understand what was happening when she asked me to feel the side of her right breast. Could I feel it? Could I feel those three, small, marble-like bumps? Yes. I could. But I had no idea that those three little lumps were about to change my life and the dynamic of our family forever.

Doctor appointments began. There was a thing called a biopsy, but at that point, I had no idea what it all really meant or what the diagnosis of cancer was. I had never known anyone who had cancer, but I was about to learn more than I ever wanted to know. But I did know one thing. I KNEW my mom was going to be okay. Because she was my mom. She had fight. She had determination. And she could do anything; including beat this thing called cancer.

At that point, my life began to change as well. I always knew I was "smart," but I knew that my mom knew how smart I was when she began to teach me how to do all the things she usually did for our family. I began to learn how to cook. I learned how to write checks, pay bills and balance the checkbook long before the rest of my friends in Consumer Education. I learned to be mindful of my maiden aunt and grandfather who lived three blocks away; to jump on my bike and go do whatever I could to help my aunt and relieve her of some of her burden, caring for the rental properties and my grandfather. I learned to do the laundry and while I had a great support system in my parents, my brothers and their wives, my aunt "Miem" and my BFF Lanie, I learned that I needed to be responsible for myself. My successes, my failures, my grades and my life plan were all results of making my own decisions.

Mom with Miem

But, this isn't about me. This is about my mom and how well she prepared me for the day she would no longer be there for us. She never once played the "woe is me" card around me. I never saw her cry about the cancer. Because I didn't see her fear, I didn't have fear either. I learned how to do everything she taught me because she used the approach of "Do you want to learn...?" Or, "Let me teach you how to...." She knew me so well, she knew exactly how to prepare me for what was to come.

My mom was an amazing woman! Well, to me she was. She was intelligent; she was always able to help me with my schoolwork if I needed it. She was athletic, at least in her younger years and loved to play baseball, tennis and field hockey when she was in school. She could play the violin (although I never heard her) and she could play the piano by ear. (She claimed she couldn't read music, but I know that's not completely true, unless she played the violin by ear too.) She was chauffer, not only for us kids, but also for her parents and sister and for "Miem" whenever she needed a ride somewhere. She was always the room mother at school, president of the PTA, volunteer for anything and everything that came up at the schools, president of the Band Boosters, and den mother for my brothers' cub scout dens. She attended all of my brothers' baseball, football and basketball games to support them and cheer them on; and if there was a baseball win, you would probably find us at the A&W Root Beer stand to celebrate afterward. She was also on a bowling league and Monday nights, when she went bowling, became my bonding time with my dad. As the family klutz, I always felt like a disappointment to her when I couldn't hit a baseball, but I remember wishing she was still alive when I got an A in gym class during our tennis module!

Mom with Aunt Grace

She wasn't perfect by domestic standards. She hated to cook. Cookies came from refrigerated dough or the store shelf and cakes came from a mix. She was too busy to fuss with housework that could wait. I remember one of the first gifts I ever picked out for her myself was a plaque that said "My house is clean enough to be healthy, and dirty enough to be happy." And it was. She apparently wasn't great at driving with a clutch either as I watched my father fly off the hay wagon more than once when she was driving the tractor for him.

She could have a fiery temper and I remember watching her chase my brother around the dining room table with a belt for some offense. When I cried because I was afraid he was going to get hurt, she made him come into my bedroom to console me and let me know he was okay. It was probably that experience that enabled her to discipline me with just an icy stare from those blue eyes. I only remember being spanked twice in my life and, I'll admit, I deserved both of them. I probably deserved more since I had a terribly smart mouth and regret the verbal abuse I bestowed upon her from time to time.

I remember one day when Mom scared me to death! It was in the midst of all the racial unrest of the 60s. We were walking home from a doctor's appointment when she stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, kind of hunched down and began walking very determinedly toward two black women who were walking toward us. I saw the initial fear in their faces as my mother jutted her chin out toward them and I whispered "Mom, what are you doing? Stop it!" Suddenly she smiled, looked directly at one of the two and said "Don't you recognize me?" At that, the other woman looked closely and squealed just as the two women jumped into one another's arms. This woman had been my mother's best friend when they were children. Even though I had had black friends myself, that moment cemented in my mind "red and yellow, black and white, they are precious in his sight" forever.

'Mom had thin, straight hair that was a constant challenge unless she had a perm. We joked about the one good thing to come from her chemo was an excuse to buy a wig. She had a dimple in her chin, a slight hook on the end of her nose and an uncanny ability to wiggle her scalp; which she loved to do when I was trying to put curlers in her hair to make me laugh. She was a petite woman; just 5'3" and until she had children, she was very slender, weighing in at 112 pounds on her wedding day.

She read me stories; taught me legends of the native Americans and the Great White God whose return they awaited; taught me goofy little songs; and introduced me to The Bobbsey Twins and Mother West Wind's Animal Tales. She had a fun, goofy sense of humor and taught me to laugh; even at myself when necessary.

She taught me about adoption; how she and her twin brother were given up and adopted by my grandparents. She went through her young life believing she was a year younger than she was, because of incorrect information her parents were given at the time of the adoption. This year on May 1st, she would have celebrated her 100th birthday, although legally, she would only be 99. She shared with me her desire to find her birth family one day and even showed me the beginning of her book which began with her vague memories of the orphanage where she lived the first few years of her life until her brother died and she was adopted out after her birth mother was supposedly told that both of the twins had died. The Covid-19 pandemic has provided one major blessing in my life as it gave me time to focus on my family history and I was finally able to track down her birth family. I have been blessed as her family, although shocked, has accepted the fact that there were two more children that the family never talked about and they have generously shared pictures of her family; making it all more real as I see the family resemblance to my mother and even some traits in the rest of my family.

Mom's birth siblings
Charles, Ruthie & Eleanor

Mom was a fighter. At times today, I regret insisting that she fight her battle with cancer so hard. Understanding the dynamic behind terminal illness and death, I know that she stayed around as long as she did for me. When she was bedridden those last months and we had to treat the wounds from the radiation therapy that had burned holes all the way through her body, I still insisted that she wasn't going to die; that she couldn't leave me. And she stayed. Much, much longer than she should have. She lived with the cancer that should have taken her in six months for two years. 

My mom hated to be "on display." One time I asked her why we always had to sit in the back at church. Her response was that she didn't like to  have people looking at her and if we walked up to the front of the church to sit, everyone would be watching her. Because of that, I had my first REAL argument with my dad and brothers. They were planning her viewing and funeral and I piped in saying that we would NOT have an open casket. I knew she would not want people looking at her unnatural looking wig or her swollen arm with the elastic sleeve on it. As I explained my reasoning, we reached a compromise to have an open casket for the viewing the evening before, but closed for the funeral.

Grandma Zielke with her 3 
Daughters-in-Law

A few months after the funeral, Dad and I had to return to the cemetery to choose the headstone. We decided to get a double headstone, so Dad's would be already placed, but then we had to choose the style. The Lily of the Valley that decorates the stone? That was a no-brainer for me; they were both born in May. I didn't realize the real significance of the stone at the time I picked it out and told my dad that "this is it," but as soon as I saw the scrolled "Together Forever" between the names, I knew that was the one that had to be on their combined graves. 

Dad, Mom & Me

Although I didn't have my mom very long; she died 8 days before my 16th birthday, I was so blessed to have such a wonderful example in my life. I learned how precious the time we have with our families in this life really is and I hope I did her memory proud as I raised my own children. She never had the opportunity to meet seven of her grandchildren and her 31 great-grandchildren and 3 great-great-grandchildren will never have the joy of having known her in this life, but I pray that as she looks at her family from above, she's pleased and keeping a watchful eye over us all. I love you, Mom; and even after 50 years, I still miss you. But, I know we have eternity.

I Pray that I'm Wrong

 This morning, it was announced that Joe Biden, former Vice President of the United States, was officially declared to be the new president elect over incumbent President Donald J Trump. In spite of how much I hoped and prayed for the opposite election results, I've known in my heart for months, that this would not be the case. Yet, I also knew which side of the debate I was supposed to be on. Some may question how I can say that "I knew." Let me explain.

In the Bible we are taught that all are given spiritual gifts. Some may be blessed with more, but all are promised at least one. I am blessed with the gift of discernment. Through that gift, I have had a strong sense of recognizing truth from lies and right from wrong. I have been blessed with recognizing people who are to be a positive influence in my life and learning to not despair over not fitting into the lives of others who would be less than a positive influence in my life. I have also come to learn that I am blessed with a sense of euphoria or lightness when something I hope for is going to happen and a sense of  sadness or despair when the thing I hope for is not destined to happen. It doesn't keep me from hoping; I'm just better prepared for the disappointment.

I don't like to declare myself to be a member of either political party. I was deeply affected by the horror of the assassination of JFK. I adored Bobby Kennedy in my teen years and fancied myself a Democrat. In college, the thought of communism sounded rather good. What could be better than ALL working together for the common good and the government providing equally for everyone? As I grew older, I began to lean to be more conservative and about 30 years ago, I was fed up enough with politics that I promised myself that if ever a non-lifelong politician EVER ran for president, they would have my vote. I voted for Ross Perot, I voted for Mitt Romney and I voted for Donald Trump, twice, and I don't regret it.

So, does that mean I LIKE Donald Trump? No. I didn't like him in the 80s and 90s when Randy was obsessed with Trump's financial success. Do I like a lot of his rhetoric and his personal insults? No. Had he been my son, he would have been getting his mouth washed out with soap on a regular basis and taught to quote my favorite Disney character, Thumper: "If you can't say something nice, don't say nothin' at all."  Do I like the fact that he seems to have no filters that prevent his thoughts from coming out of his mouth? No. BUT, I'd rather hear some things I don't want to hear than hear the smarmy lies of life-long politicians who say what they know everyone wants to hear, just to get ahead in their personal lives.

But, do I believe that he loves America? Yes. Do I believe that he has fought EVERY DAY of his presidency to help make America a powerful nation once again? Yes.  Do I believe he worked to make life better for ALL Americans. Yes, even though he was blocked from achieving so many things he could/would have done with the support of a congress that was truly working for the American people rather than for their own self-interest or party platform. (That is not a "dis" on the Democrats. There are just as many Republicans who are equally self-serving; which is why there need to be term limits for all politicians. Serve your term, then be ready to move up or move out!)

But, I digress from the topic of this blog post. Why do I pray that I'm wrong? I don't have anything in particular against Joe Biden. He's just another life-long politician who's gotten remarkably wealthy in "public service."  I could tolerate Joe as well as I've tolerated every other president, with very low expectations that they're going to deliver on their campaign promises. My fear comes from all the socialist jargon that has become common-place over the past two years.

Now, don't get your knickers in a twist, if you're reading this and you're a Biden supporter. I don't believe old Joe is a socialist. He is, however, affiliated with the party that spouts all the socialist rhetoric and I can't help but believe that more and more socialist values and thought processes are going to slide into our republic under  his leadership due to the strengthening pressure to adopt "democratic socialism." I fear that my children in the health-care field won't be able to run their businesses as they see fit for the benefit of their patients and their futures. I fear my grandchildren won't recognize the sense of accomplishment after hard work to gain an education in their chosen field. I fear that my grandchildren won't be able to proudly fly an American flag or sing the National Anthem or may feel pressured to hide their belief in God. I fear that my grandchildren won't be motivated to work harder for a paycheck, because a higher paycheck only means higher taxes. I fear that my grandchildren won't be able to have a gun to protect their homes and their families from the criminals who don't follow the rules and manage to obtain all the guns they want illegally. I fear that my grandchildren will have no place of refuge as did their great-great-great grandparents who fled Germany prior to the Nazi regime, when they chose to come to America. I could go on and on...

But, I pray that I'm wrong. I pray that at the worst, Joe Biden will be like all the others and just do nothing and all of my fears will be unfounded. I pray that this is one time that my discernment has failed me and all will be well for my children and grandchildren. I pray that this is not the time that Nikita Khruschev's words come to fruition. 

 (The video is from a talk given by Ezra Taft Benson at BYU, relating Khruschev's visit to the United States in 1959. Benson was the Secretary of Agriculture during the Eisenhower administration and became the president of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints from 1985-1994. Don't bother to fact-check. Snopes and Politico both say it's false and that Khruschev never said these things, but I'll take the word of President Benson over Snopes any day!)

Thoughts About "Growing Up"

Carol & George 1973

Today's post is written specifically with "the original five" grandchildren in mind, but will, hopefully, provide food for thought for the rest as well as they approach their later teen years. As I've listened to seniors this year, expressing their disappointment over missing out on their senior year of high school due to our "shelter in place" lockdown from the Covid-19 virus, I've thought a lot about each of you and what your futures hold. Andi and Cari are 17; ready to begin their Senior year in the fall. Ethan turned 16 this week and Dylan and Sarai will join him before the year is out. You're all driving, learning to drive or thinking about learning to drive. You're starting to think about whether or not going on a mission is part of God's plan for you. You're all, hopefully, thinking about your futures as you choose classes in school and begin to think about what's next after graduation. As you should be! It's important to think about what you want to do and where you want to do it. We all need goals.

Grandma, the Nerd
working on Calculus with
Shakespeare text underneath

I never questioned whether or not I would go to college. I never questioned what I wanted to be. From my first day of Kindergarten, I wanted to be a teacher. By the time I was in Junior High, I knew I would be a Math Teacher. I never questioned that goal, until my Senior Year of High School when I learned the State of Illinois was going to abolish the rule that high school students had to take 3 years of high school math. I knew I was the exception in my love for math and I could literally, do the math. Just taking my own high school into consideration and thinking about how many math teachers there were, I realized that there would no longer be a need for as many math teachers and it would be difficult for me to find a teaching job. So, I began looking for another career goal.

National Honor Society
Jr & Sr Years

My ACT scores were all good; especially math, where I got a 35 out of 36 possible points. I outdid the SMARTEST guy in our graduating class! Because of my scores, I was named an Illinois State Scholar and I had colleges and universities recruiting me in state and out with scholarship offers. I chose an alternate career in Occupational Therapy and began focusing on colleges that offered an OT program.

After graduation with high
school friends 1973

I worked hard all through high school. I kept a good grade point average, but I also learned how to have fun. Losing my mom halfway through my Sophomore year, I took on the family finances, the grocery shopping, the cooking, assisting my maiden aunt and babysitting my niece and nephew who lived downstairs. Wanting to honor my mom, I remembered how much she enjoyed going to football and basketball games to watch my brothers play, so I began going to the games. I remembered our school fight song that she taught me to sing, with enthusiasm. I worked on the Homecoming float and the prom committee. While I was still a quiet nerd, I found my own core group of friends, who had interests similar to my own, and I learned to have FUN!!! 

Freshman Year at College
Dorm Fun & Friends 1973

So, why am I telling you all this? Because I worry about kids in high school these days. I see teenagers taking on too much; worrying too much about the world, their futures and life in general. I see too many kids working their bums off in high school to graduate with college credits so they can graduate from college EARLY! Or, I see kids so overwhelmed with it all, they become paralyzed at the thought of what they'll do with their lives and find NO FOCUS for their futures.

If you see yourself in one of these examples, all I can say is STOP!!!! You are young. You have time. Take time to get to know who you are; what your strengths and weaknesses are; what you really ENJOY that will give you a lifetime that you will enjoy and feel rewarded. Each of my children, your parents, approached their post-high school lives by going to college, but that's where the similarities ended: 

• Megan started with a focus in political science and saw it straight through for four years, earned her bachelor's degree worked a few years and then went back to law school and earned her Juris Doctorate while working as a manager at Levi Strauss and raising three kids.
• Sami started out with an intent on college and getting into nursing school, but met the love of her life early on. She left school with an associates degree, a husband, and a hiatus from school to stay home with her kids until the youngest was established in school and then went back to complete her schooling.
• Brooks, the creative one, headed for college with full intent of becoming an Interior Designer. She was headed that direction but hit a roadblock named Josh. She chose to alter her career goals to become life goals and has dedicated hers to supporting a husband, raising five kids and keeping an organized, functional home. She still has the knowledge and skills she learned in school and life, but now uses them to improve her own home and, on occasion, using her skills to help others decorate their homes.
• Brandon & Barton, I'm lumping together, because they started on the same path. Both of them, through high school accomplishments, received scholarships to go to Southern Utah University, majoring in vocal music performance. That worked for them through their Freshman year at college, but when they were coming home from their missions, neither one of them wanted to return to vocal music or southern Utah. They both graduated from BYU-Idaho and then pursued their career goals to become an optometrist and a pediatric dentist. 
• Grandma started college as an OT major, switched to Special Education after my freshman year, switched to Elementary Education after my sophomore year, taught for 2-1/2 years after I graduated, substituted on and off in three different states for sixteen years and finally ended up as a manager for Walmart who taught other managers how to do their jobs! I ended up teaching, but not in a way I EVER would have imagined in high school.

College Graduation with
Zeta Sisters 1977

Some of you will want to go to college; maybe even graduate school. Some of you will be able to meet your career goals through a technical school or apprenticeship.  Some of you may go right into the workforce by finding a job with a company that you like and find your success right there! Some of you will change your life goals 2-3 times and that's okay. Some of you may decide to be a stay-at-home parent while your spouse works outside the home. All of these are acceptable, worthwhile goals, but you do need to have a goal; something to work toward. (I will say, however, that if you want the stay-at-home option, you do need to still have a career goal in mind. There are never guarantees with that option. You may not meet your eternal companion right away. You may be widowed at a young age like your great Aunt Amy. You could, unexpectedly, find yourself divorced like Megan or me. You have to have a plan to support yourself should you find yourself in any one of these circumstances!)

Famous Couples Dance 1976

My real goal with this post, is to discourage all of you from trying to grow up too fast! You may think you need to have so many college credits before you go to college to avoid/reduce student debt. I get it. But, no amount of money is worth your happiness. No matter how mature you may THINK you are, no twenty-year-old is really ready to enter the workforce full of adult responsibility. Kids who attempt that, typically end up moving back home with Mommy and Daddy, unable to face a career or a world on their own. 

Senior Year Christmas Elves

I thought I was the most mature twenty-year-old EVER! I've already told you some of what my responsibilities were after my mother died. I thought I could handle ANYTHING! The thing that I learned through four years of college was that I wasn't ready to handle everything life had in store for me. If anything, those college years helped me to learn how much I still didn't know! My thought processes were challenged. My fraternity helped me develop leadership skills, taught me to become better organized and gave me lifelong friends in a safe environment with advisors who let me make my own decisions, but were available to help me back up from my inevitable stumbles. Your parents view me as a strong woman, but that strength didn't come naturally. It was developed over time, beginning in high school, increasing through college and reaching maturity through the gospel.

Zeta of the Year with
Our Zeta Hero 1976

So, all my little loves. Work hard in school. Not just at your schoolwork, but work hard at figuring out where your interests lie. Work hard to learn about a lot of different jobs/careers. Be open-minded to what jobs match your natural skills and interests. Don't choose a job just because it earns a lot of money. Don't turn away from a career that matches your interests just because it may NOT earn a lot of money. Take the time to learn what is right for you; take the time to have some fun along the way; take the time to create some memories as you go through the times of your life. I love you all! (Sorry it's kind of sappy, but the message is a good one.)

Thoughts on Memorial Day

Memorial Day has been a lot of different things in my life. Many see it as the official beginning of summer. In Jr. High, we were taught that Memorial Day signaled that it was now socially accepted to begin wearing our white shoes and carrying our white purses, rather than the black or brown of the rest of the year! Raised with the fact that Memorial Day originated as a day to honor those who have died in service to their country, it was not a day that I was accustomed to going to family members graves to visit or place flowers. Few are aware that the day was originally called "Decoration Day," as Civil War survivors began to honor those lost in the war by decorating the graves of the fallen. Over the years, the day and manner of honoring those who had lost their lives has changed (read the history of Memorial Day here: 

  https://www.history.com/topics/holidays/memorial-day-history ) 

but it officially became the Federal Holiday that we know today on the fourth Monday in May to give federal employees a three day weekend in 1971.

As I've said, I didn't grow up going to visit family graves on Decoration Day, because none of my family members had served in the military. I was recently discussing this with my cousin, Norm, who was about to enlist in the Air Force when he received his acceptance letter to DeVry Technical Institute. He was able to complete his education rather than being absorbed into the heated conflict in Viet Nam. My brother, Al won big in the draft lottery when they drew his birthday, December 4 as #1 in 1968. He certainly would have been on his way to Viet Nam had his first son, Dan, not been born in June, 1967. Al's classification changed from 1a to 1y.

As Norm and I continued to think about the fact that none of our family had had to fight in any wars, we came to realize that his father, my Uncle Henry, was too young too fight when World War I broke out, and too old to be drafted for World War II. My dad, however, was of a prime age to be drafted into World War II. At 19 years of age when Pearl Harbor was attacked 7 December 1941, he was supposed to enter the service. The day of my parents' wedding, after the ceremony,  Dad had to go with Grandpa Zielke to the draft board office to verify that Dad was needed to help on the family farm as the last son at home. As farmers were needed, he received a deferral and Dad was able to return to  his wedding reception!

I share this information, not to brag that the men in our family managed to "dodge the draft" at every turn, but rather in gratitude; that we have been spared the sorrow of losing any of the young men in our family to the evils of war. My family history is fairly young to America with great grandparents born in Germany, Poland & Prussia, but in doing my family history, I have come to realize that they came to America to flee the wars and oppression of that time. As we've come to realize in recent years, had they not left their homeland when they did, they would have been trapped on the wrong side of the Berlin Wall. With that knowledge, having seen the evidence of those times that still exist, I can't take the freedom we have in America for granted.

I'm blessed. My children and grandchildren are blessed. My parents and grandparents were blessed to not have to been active in any of the wars, then or now. We've had the Memorial Day Picnics. From 1967-1974, every Memorial Day weekend was spent on Lake Siskiwit in Cornucopia, Wisconsin as my dad and Uncle Henry opened our family cabins. Those weekends were spent preparing for fun on the lake, campfires and a summer of fun! We had neighbors on Lake Siskiwit: Walt and Emma Westphall. I knew that they had lost their only son on a submarine in World War II, but it didn't really hit me until the day we went to visit them in their home in Aurora and I was faced with a picture of a handsome, young man in uniform, a pretty young woman and an adorable, smiling baby girl. At that moment, in spite of my youth, it hit me that their dead son was a REAL person and his daughter had never seen her daddy again after he left from that visit, while I took for granted all that my father was and did for me and our family. 

While my Memorial Day holidays have always been celebratory in nature, I have always been mindful of those who were lost in the wars and thankful that none of my family had been a part of any of it. In recent years, two young men who married into our family have served in the Army. My son-in-law, Joshua Gailey, has recently been discharged from service while my niece's husband, Andrew Powell, is still in service. Once again, however, we have been blessed in that neither Josh nor Andrew has had to face active combat, but they were trained and had the Army given the order, both would have gone to do their duty.

I'm grateful for an America that provided freedom for my ancestors, that has enabled generations of Zielke/Staffeldts and Hill/Haags to live and prosper and pray, for all its faults, that the America that I know and love continues to exist through the lives of my children, grandchildren and generations to come. 

Laughter is the Best Remedy

I want to thank all who read my previous blog post for all the kind words of sympathy and compliments on my writing skills. Writing is actually very therapeutic for me and, while I shed many tears as I wrote that blog and Randy's obituary, after I was done writing, I felt much better. And then I was able to laugh.

For those who knew Randy, you know that he was one of the most random people around and if there was ever a chance of something crazy happening, it happened to him. In that spirit, I feel it appropriate to record the events that occurred as Randy reached the end of his mortal existence. I believe he would be laughing and since he enjoyed telling a good story and making people laugh, I dedicate this blog post to him, but write it for anyone I may have brought to tears with the previous post.

To set the stage, let me first explain the housing situation. While I live in the ranch-style house with my ex-father-in-law, when Randy came here to live last year on Christmas Day,  he moved into the 2 room basement apartment. The apartment has a door on it and there is a door at the bottom of the basement stairs from the garage. Both doors have locks on them, but due to Randy's hallucinations and paranoia, he didn't trust the locks to be enough. Whenever he went downstairs, he would put a long pole between the wall and the door to prevent anyone from getting in if they picked the lock. Additionally, neither Pop nor I were aware, but he installed another hotel room style lock on the inside of his apartment door; no one was going to get in to get him without him knowing about it. Additionally, Randy's bedroom/sitting room were right underneath the living room on the main floor, so I was always able to  hear his television, him singing or talking to his dogs.

Monday evening, the 16th, Randy came up to eat dinner with me. He seemed to be okay. A little distracted, but fine. He even helped do the dishes as we talked after. Later that evening, Pop had me text him to see if he wanted popcorn. Randy declined. I told him to sleep well and he responded: "I hope both of you sleep very well!" That was at 7:58 pm. That was the last I heard from him other than a severe coughing fit around midnight due to his bronchitis.

Tuesday morning, it seemed extremely quiet downstairs. I could usually hear the TV from early morning on, if he didn't have to work. He didn't come upstairs to get any breakfast and I didn't see him outside walking his dogs. Not terribly uncommon if he wasn't feeling well. Around 3:30, Pop asked me if I'd seen or heard anything of Randy. I said no and asked him the same. Pop told me that he hadn't even seen Randy come up into the garage for a cigarette; their normal time to visit in a day. Pop said that we'd worry about it after he got back home (about 6:30). In the meantime, I tried texting Randy and then calling him with no answer. I texted Pat to see if he had heard from Randy, but he hadn't either since Monday evening. I began to fear the worst and just knew that he was gone. 

When Pop got back and found out I still hadn't heard anything, he decided that we'd wait 'til the next day and then check on him. I couldn't let him wait, knowing how I was feeling and convinced Pop that Randy must be really sick and may need our help. He went downstairs and began pounding on the basement door and yelling Randy's name while I started pounding on the floor. Eventually, Pop had to cut a hole in the basement door so that he could move the pole to open the door. Then he used the key to unlock the apartment door and had to tear the trim off the door frame to get the door open. That's when Pop found him laying on the floor, cold to the touch.He came up into the garage, told me Randy was gone and to call the ambulance. That's when the chaos began.

As I called 911, shortly after 8:00pm, I had to wonder if the woman on the other end even listened to what I had said when she asked about the nature of my emergency. I told her that my ex-husband was found dead on the basement floor. She asked if I was certain he was dead. I told her that he wasn't moving or breathing and that he was cold to the touch. 

"Is he moving?" 

          "No." 

"Is he breathing?"

"No."

"Does he have a pulse?"

 "I don't know but when Dad touched his neck, he was cold to the touch." 

Help was on the way. Within minutes, lights flashing, the paramedics arrived.Over the next 15 minutes, as a firetruck and four squad cars arrived I hobbled back and forth between the front door and the garage door to direct 2 paramedics, 4 firemen and 8 policemen to the garage where Pop met them to take them to the basement. I'm not sure if all that attention is standard protocol or if it was a slow night in Decatur.  

A little later, as Pop came upstairs with one of the paramedics to answer some questions, the phone rang. Pop answered before I could get to it.

"George, what's going on over there?" asked 

our Gladys Cravitz-like neighbor

 "My son just died!" 

CLICK!!!

After answering the paramedic's questions and being assured Randy had not suffered, he prepared to leave as the doorbell rang again! Enter the deputy coroner. I directed her toward the basement in time to see the paramedics putting the EMPTY stretcher back into the ambulance. I had assumed they would be taking him to the morgue for an autopsy. Nope. Amid the previous chaos, I had begun to text family and close friends, but with all the confusion and my own stress, I was a bit blunt and uninformative, so I began to get texts and phone calls in return to add to the other chaos.

"Sorry. Can't talk now. Will get you more

info as soon as I can!"

The coroner came back upstairs and I was put in charge of answering her questions. As we were talking, firemen and policemen were in and out with questions of their own. The coroner contacted the funeral home to come pick Randy up, but kept being put on hold. Suddenly she screamed into the phone!

"You WILL find the director on duty and you

will do it now! I have a body to pick up

and if you can't find him to do it, I'll call

the owner RIGHT NOW!"

Amazingly, the director was on the phone in less than a minute and assured her they'd be right here. With that assurance, one by one all of the "officials" began to leave. We had a moment of quiet, then the bell rang again as the funeral director arrived. There were two men; one probably in his early thirties; the other late 40s early 50s. Pop was asked to pull his car out of the garage so they could get in and out with their stretcher. They removed the sheet and long stemmed red rose from the stretcher and they headed downstairs. Shortly, I heard commotion and grunting on the stairs and then I heard:

"Hey. Would you mind grabbing that side 

and I'll take this one?"

Yep. The 30-something young man really asked the 89-year-old man to help carry his newly deceased son up the stairs! What's worse? Pop directed them, on the count of three. On three, Pop lifted but the doofus DIDN'T and had Randy not been strapped onto the stretcher, he would have had another fall onto the basement stairs! Finally, they got Randy upstairs and into the van. I noticed that they left their sheet and the rose on the chair, so I asked them about it, thinking they would give the rose to Pop and express their condolences. Nope.

"Oh yeah. Don't want to forget our sheet."

And away they went, Randy, sheet and rose....

Thinking all would be quiet now, after 10pm, 3.5 hours after it all began, Pop went to pull his car back into the garage only to realize the headlights had been on the whole time and his battery was dead! Deciding he'd mess with it in the morning, he came inside, we sat and reviewed the day's events a little while and he headed to bed about 11:30. Fortunately, I was still too wired to go to bed, because at midnight the doorbell rang again! 

I got to the door and realized there were two more officers at the door! Forgetting all about our security system I unlocked and opened the door, setting off the alarm. Holding up a finger to the policemen, I headed to the kitchen to silence the alarm when my phone started telling me the house alarm had been triggered. I got both silenced, headed back to the front door only to find Pop in his pajama pants coming down the hall yelling "What the hell is going on now?!?" Gladys Cravitz struck a second time! As she saw Pop's car sitting in the driveway, totally out of character for Pop, she decided she needed to call the police to do a wellness check on him! Learning of the situation, the officers offered to push the car into the garage for Pop and hook up the charger. Until they couldn't cuz his fancy car locks up and you can't push it if there is no power!

End of Tuesday, December 17th

Begin Wednesday, December 18th

A fairly quiet start to the day. Pat arrived from Kentucky a little after 10:00. He went to greet Randy's dogs, cleaned some things in the basement and went with Pop and me to the funeral home at 1:30. That was a fairly routine venture until Daisy, the director assigned to us, asked if we had a POA. Pat pulled it out and gave it to her.

"This is a financial POA."

"Yes. Isn't that what you need?"

"We need a medical POA." 

(3 faces just stared back at her until Pop says what we're all thinking)

"That's not gonna do us much good now, is it?"

"We need a medical POA to authorize the cremation.

Did he have any children?"

"5"

"I'll need their names."

"ALL OF THEM?!?!"

"Without a POA we need authorization from all 

surviving children."

"Can we do it through email?"

After providing Daisy that information, we finished up the business transaction, I texted my kids to watch their emails and get the authorization back asap. We left and hit a couple different auto places to get a new battery for the Lexus and then headed to get some dinner. Going through the drive through, Brandon and Sami called to report on her surgery and let me know there was no email yet. Told them I'd call back when we got home. 

We walked in the door, I began to unload the food and the phone rang. You guessed it! Glady Cravitz insisting she talk to George to give him her condolences and tell him what a wonderful young man his son was, etc. I refused and hung up on her too. As I continued to put out our food, the doorbell rang! I went to answer the door to find an Amazon delivery for Randy! Dog treats for the dogs! Thank heavens they arrived before Pat took them back to Kentucky with him. As I returned to our food (Pop and Pat were eating by this time) my phone began ringing again; Brandon!

"Can I call you back?"

"Yeah, but just a minute.

We got the email."

"Okay... sign it."

"That's the problem. It's not a cremation authorization

and it's not for Dad. It's for Jacqueline ___

and it's got all her personal information! Even her 

Social Security Number."

So, as I sat and watched Pop and Pat feeding their faces, I called the funeral home to talk to the director and explain what happened. This unconcerned man got on his computer and said that he saw what he did and started to explain himself. I'm like, "I DON'T CARE! Just send another email with the right paperwork to my children so they can get it taken care of!" In the meantime, my other kids were finding their emails and sending me texts asking who Jacqueline was too!

What a zoo!!! Fortunately, the chaos calmed down after those first two days. I'm certain that it doesn't sound nearly as bad as it was to live through, but I hope you do recognize how appropriate those two days were considering the way Randy did EVERYTHING in his life. If it was possible to have a glitch, he'd find it! I think instead of Murphy's Law, I'm going to begin calling it Randy's Law!

It's still been a rough week, especially considering today (Dec 23rd) would have been our 41st wedding anniversary and it's also the 5th anniversary of his mother's passing.Today Pop brought Randy back home and he'll stay here until one day this spring when we do a small memorial for both him and his mother. His spirit, we know, is in a better place where he can be happy and smile again. AND, Megan and I are pretty well convinced that he was greeted at the "pearly gates" by our good friend, Susan, who probably had a "Welcome Home" party planned to greet him. 

Happy Anniversary, Randy!