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The final page

But before you get there, I want to thank Rochelle Wisoff Fields, the lovely and courageous manager of Friday Fictioneers.

Every week, she challenges folks to write a 100 word story. I admit I have not done this in quite a while, but todays prompt (you can see it at

Long ago, a young girl learned how to read.

She read, a captive between the covers. Libraries and the local Bookmobile were her favorite places. All the worlds on printed pages. Past, present, future, Dinosaurs, dragons, dimensions of time and space traveled in her head.

She carried them, transmitting that love to other children.

Now, as we near the last chapter, here’ gathered on her bed, children old and young, to hear her read to them.

Soon, she will reach the final page, but the story will continue.

Spirit is Strong

Fathers Day weekend.

As a family, we’ve dreaded it, the first one without the patriarch, teacher, mentor.

There had been promises made, last winter, when Hubby was still up and about; yes, we will be shooting the guns.

I’ll help you with the bows.

I got these 4-wheelers for the kids to ride.

A small boy cried in my arms when Hubby passed, that those things would not happen. I said they would.

Saturday was a fine day, I got on the scooter, my yard transportation right now and accompanied by that small boy and several cousins we had lessons in gun handling and finally shooting.

Older grandsons had got the 4-wheelers out and ready, so they took turns learning to manage those.

Sunday, another grandson, this one a.memberof his school archery team, took over, showing the group how to use both long and compound bows and valiantly attempting to have everyone hit the target.

Hubby may not be here physically, but his spirit is still here on Sunrise Ridge.

New generation, passing on the knowledge he left to yet another group.

Thats what Life is about. Happy father’s day

Adventures on an epic trip part 1

THe epic trip began well.

Day one, reached our goal of Beatrice, Nebraska. With a lot of enthusiasm and more than a little energy, we went to Homestead National Monument.

The kids buzzed like bees working to complete the booklets for their Junior Ranger badges.

i wobbled along with my cane to become a Not So Junior Ranger.

We spent three days in the area around Grand Island Nebraska. My family, both sides had homes in the area when I was a child, we looked for them, examined cemeteries, and spent several hours at the Stuhr Museum of the Prairie Pioneer.

Daughter and kids toured the business side of town, while I chose to your the restored homes on a side street.

I stopped at a bench on the street, and met by the rest of the group was escorted to the Mercantile.

There, I was greeted as “Gramma” by the storekeeper, and treated to a lot of old time ( oh, I grew up with that) toys. Several continued the journey with us.

i may have overdone a bit, the town marshall escorted me out of town, kindly carrying my bag.

Plans awry, plans complete

I shall be a wild widow, and probably very weary over the next few weeks.

Hubby, Tom, and I had planned a multi-state trip several years ago, following my great-great grandfathers last prospecting journey from Nebraska to Idaho.

Thursday of this week, youngest daughter, two grands (14 & 5) and two greats (8 & 9) and I, along with some of Tom’s ashes will be travelling that route.

We have a three week journey planned following GGG’s diary entries and a few side trips, (How could we resist Yellowstone and Mt. Rushmore?)

Tomorrow, I go to see a surgeon about a major procedure which will take place after we return and have Tom’s memorial service in July. It must be done.

Hopefully the bone graft will ‘take’ and I will be well enough to take another grandson on his first deer hunt in November – bcause Grampa promised.

I have not been out hunting in several years, but will sit in the blind and encourage if at all possible

Time heals?

It’s been two months since March 10, 4:09 AM, when Tom’s grip on my hand loosened and I knew he’d gone away.

I thought I was doing pretty well, ’til this morning. At any rate doing things, making it from sun up to sun down.

The house, empty as my heart – no other footsteps.

The silence, deafening as a Chinese gong – echoing on and on.

I woke up to the empty space beside me on the bed…Tears wet my face, I just don’t care today

I’m still pretty broken, maybe forever…

Off to school FF 2/12/21

Friday Fictioneers, Curated by the talented Rochelle Wisoff-Fields who challenges with building a story in 100 words or less, inspired by a photo. his week provided by Alicia Jamtaas.

Today’s prompt, took me back in local history.

Photo by Alicia Jamtaas

Lenore walked slowly. Spring had seen her last day in eighth grade. The county superintendent had asked her to take the school for the next year. Father approved.

Lenore was happy for the job, she wanted to BE a teacher.

The news had just come, the deserted lumber train tracks were going to be used for a bullmoose train, running twice a day.

A stop here in Dowitch each day for milk cans and passengers. The impossible 10 miles from the two room school to the Academy, overcome!

Lenore knew Father would object, but she was going to go!


Lenore, child of depression in our area, did ride the bullmoose to the Academy, gaining her teaching credentials. During the 1960s when I attended the High School that was the metamorphosis of the Academy, Miss Camden was still teaching eighth grade.

Some years later, she was a resident at a nursing home where I was employed. She left this world at 102, having touched the lives of hundreds of minds over her 50+ years teaching.

A scolarship fund was organized in her name. Long will she be remembered.

The rails are long gone but on occasions of heavy rain, railroad spikes still make their way up through the railroad bed, now used as a local road.

Hiding in the John – FF 2/5/21

It’s time for the Friday Fictioneers. I’ve been absent in both mind and body for several weeks. Coming out of the bathroom where I’ve been hiding trying to come to terms with life.

The wonderful Rochelle Wisoff Fields provided the challenge, a story in 100 words or less, Trish Nankivell provided the photo.

The inspiration? Waking up this morning, putting on my big girl pants and emptying the catheter thaat has become a new appliance in our lives.

Each day brings a different appreciation of Hubby, of health, of home. So here is today’s biographical sketch.

I’m spending too much time here!

Life happens and here on Sunrise Ridge it has been HAPPENING! You know we are dealing with dementia, this week we were hit with a whole new hammer – bone cancer!

I will in all likelihood, be even more erratic and crazed as Hubby and I walk through an even murkier path.

I’ve been depressed, yes, really! Who would think?

So, here I am the door is locked and the shower streaming, so I can cry.

there is companionship on the journey

I have found another Alzheimer’s related blog.

There are many others wandering around in this deadly mist, and many bloggers sharing the journey. Good to know I am not as alone as I often feel!

I’m looking for beacons right now. Things have moved from independence to a cane and sometimes, wheeled walker, from careful of bodily needs to needing to change sheets and mop the bedroom pretty much daily. Maybe they will improve again, maybe not.

My heart aches – a lot. Sharing with family is hard, how much does everone really need to know?

This past week, a doc apppointment. I did not even try to get him to ‘dress’. Just put on some clean pajamas. Words I never expected to say!

This has happened in a matter of weeks. We do have home help, even with that this is a rough road.

No photo description available.
Two years ago
No description available.
this week

Friday Fictioneers 12/18/20 – effigies

It’s Wednesday, but time once again for Rochelle Wisoff-Fields to issue the Friday Fictioneers challenge.

This week the photo prompt comes fron Sandra Crook.

Our challenge. to tell a story in 100 words or less.

Here is my entry for this week.

See him, wearing the same clothes for the past several days

Arguments over bathing, getting up from the recliner, except late evening, when pacing takes over.

No shutting down, the blaring TV sound echoes throughout the house. Unceasing clamor.

What will we eat? When will we eat? Who is that? What do you want? Often asked questions. Maybe the only ones that matter.

Meeting each challenge, each day, till exhaustion takes a toll, this care giver fades even faster than the Alzheimers takes her partner.

Effigies, lost in this maze of life.

Days of dreams

Yes, it’s time for Friday Fictioneers. The challenge a story in 100 words, issued by the multi-talented Rochelle Wisoff Fields and the photo this week is from Roger Bultot.

So here is my story.

Steve sat at the table nearly every day, a cold sandwich and drink in the bag beside him.

Watching the new construction at the amusement park. A former ‘Carnie’, now out of work due to the pandemic. So many others too, waiting for this park to open, praying their skill and experience would mean that job they needed.

He’d heard you could apply on-line; what ever that meant. He could run all the rides, and shill most games, but the internet? That was a mystery he couldn’t solve.