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Creatively Speaking

List three books that have had an impact on you. Why?

* The Scriptures, because they are how God speaks to me.

* The Giving Tree – because that tree gave everything it had because of the love it felt for one person. It reminds me of Christ. He gave all… because of the love He feels for each and every person who has ever lived or will live.

* My camera training manual, because it opened the first door to my love of photography becoming a beautiful creative outlet for me.

Speaking of creativity, this thought occurred to me today….

Humans were made to create. After all, we are made in God’s image. God created the world. And, He created us, humans… In His image. I never thought of it quite like this before. I have said before that we are made to create, but I just realized WHY. Because we are patterned after God, in His image, with the potential to become like Him… To create our own worlds and the inhabitants of those worlds.

That paragraph gives me goose bumps. 

Think about all of the things we humans like to create… other little humans, for example. We like to create stories or memoirs with our words on paper. We like to act, or sing, or photograph the perfect moment – freezing it in time. People create homes, buildings, cars, and trucks. We like to create gourmet food dishes and amazing art pieces. 

Children love to create! They start at a very young age. Think of the amount of money spent each year on Legos and activity sets, as well as blocks and puzzles. What about sports? You know, learning to create the perfect pitch or football move or to create the perfect layup in their own way with their developing creative talents.

I could write on and on about what we humans like to create. And, we do it with all of our senses. It is incredible when you think about it! Our brains were created to think of ways to create!! 

Do you know anyone (in their right mind) who doesn’t express creativity in one way or another? Every person that I know creates something. Every. Single. Person. 

Why is creativity so important? I think I answered that already. We are learning to become like God, our Supreme Creator.

Or like Lucifer, the Supreme manipulator. It is our choice. Creativity can be used for good or evil, just as anything else. It is all about agency and choosing how we want want to use our creative powers. Yes, agency. But, that is a topic for another day. 

Now, let’s go create something beautiful and amazing!  

Posted on by ChatterLei

My Dad

Who would you like to talk to soon?

I wish I could talk with my dad. He was so great to talk with. He could talk about anything! I particularly enjoyed our conversations about God, creation, where we came from, and dinosaurs. He was a bit of a deep thinker. I like deep thinkers who are curious about life. My husband is a deep thinker. He reminds me of my dad. Which brings me to last evening….

There is a beautiful little community park near my house, with a curvy, tree-lined, three-quarter mile walking path where I love to walk, often with my husband waiting for me on one of the benches, sometimes alone.

My thoughts are always drawn to the beauty of the various trees scattered along the path and throughout the park. Somehow, I am able to drown out the traffic noise from a nearby busy street. I barely notice the noise of people playing soccer or baseball or other games in the field.

The perfectly pink flowers on this tree started me thinking about creation. Questions came to mind about how the beauty of this world was created. I thought about how the earth had to be just the way it is to sustain life… water, food, oxygen, gravity, sun for heat, etc.

Then I thought about each of the planets in our solar system, how perfectly aligned they are. Well, if the “Big Bang” happened to create the earth and the other planets in our solar system, why is earth the only planet that can sustain life? And how did everything just happen to align so perfectly?

It does not make sense!! God is the only thing that makes sense to me about why we are all here and how our earth and other planets were created. He used science to create the earth, but he definitely was in charge of guiding the creation. It is the only explanation that makes sense to me.

I can’t wait for the conversations I will be able to have with my dad when I get to the other side!

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Photographer

Daily writing prompt
Describe the most ambitious DIY project you’ve ever taken on.
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Not a word I ever thought people would use when describing me.

It was about 19 years ago when I taught a class of women at church one evening about how to take better pictures with their own cameras. Of course, in doing so, I showed some of my pictures for examples when describing how to work with lighting, angles, zoom, etc. That evening, one of the ladies asked if I would take her daughter’s engagement pictures. I did! It was the most scary thrilling thing I had ever done! Until I shot their wedding! I was hooked. That was the beginning of my love of wedding photography.

When I am behind a camera, I am in my element. I wanted my clients to not only enjoy seeing the moments captured in an image, but to remember the expereince they had and the feelings that undoubtedly go along with remembering special moments.

I remember, when the lady from church paid me for the photography, she and her husband both asked when I was going to start charging for my photo shoots. I looked at them and asked aloud, “Could I? Do you think I am good enough?” They both smiled and said yes.

Most people who are photographers probably dreamed about it in childhood. You know, it was what they wanted to be “when the grow up.” I never had that thought. I just knew I loved taking pictures and especially capturing special moments for people. It was something I sort of fell into as an adult. It was what I grew up with. I can’t even imagine a family gathering without cameras all around.

Growing up, it was what families did. They gathered. And they took pictures. At least, my mom’s family. She had one brother and five sisters and whenever we would gather at Grandma and Grandpa’s house all of us cousins would run off to play together, then we would be called together for dinner and then family group pictures afterward. Seven people with seven cameras meant holding still in family groups for seven flashes. We have lots of family group pictures, but not so many candid pictures of the various activities. Remember the candids!

Photography is a lot of fun. Running a photography business is a lot of work. But worth it. It took hours of research (where was ChatGPT when I needed it?!) to figure out what to charge, advertising, release forms, contracts, best cameras and lenses, etc. Yes, that was the biggest DYI project I ever took on. And, the most memorable. And, the most stressful. Now I prefer to shoot stationary scenes. Not quite as stressful as shooting a young perfectionist bride, taking orders from her mother-in-law, and getting an entire wedding party together for a photo of the whole group. It’s like hearding cats. Nope. Not any more. Beaches and oceans, mountains and skies, flowers, and trees. Those are more my speed now… finding beauty in the small things.

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Timing is Everything

Daily writing prompt
Who are your favorite people to be around?
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Roundabout a Jump Rope

Our small city has several roundabouts strewn about the roadway system. Some brilliant person thought these would make progress through these intersections quicker than a 4-way stop.

OR…

The minds who came up with this plan were great jump ropers in their childhood and thought this would be the perfect way to keep that memory alive. You know, when two friends each hold one end of a jump rope and turn it so you can jump to your hearts content. The trick was to have perfect timing– to enter the center jumping area just as the rope was moving away from you so you would be in place as the rope made its way over and back around to the ground where you could jump over it. Jump…jump…jump.

You were a GOOD jump roper if you could do that. And, if that is not enough fun, they would turn the rope faster so you could jump “double time” which meant you were a GREAT jump roper. Even better than that, though, was when they would add a second rope and turn them opposite directions. If you were a double-dutch jump roper, you were AMAZING! Those friends who added tricks as they jumped were SUPERB!

When I approach one of these wonderful (too small) round-abouts, I approach with the thought “timing is everything” and I know I have to get my timing just right to enter so the car coming from the left is not too close, but that the traffic to my right is not ready to pull out in front of me as I make the drive around the loop. I can’t wait too long so as not to upset the driver behind me who is impatiently awaiting their turn. I have to make sure I am in the correct lane as I enter so I am in the lane I need when I exit, so as not to miss my right turn into the Costco parking lot. I haven’t figured out if I am good, great or amazing at this challenge, but the one thing I do know is… Timing is everything!

Not Good Timing

In March of 2023, my husband and I went on our first cruise with my sister and her husband. The first morning on the ship I realized I forgot my daily medication I was taking at the time for MS. It was a good thing my doctor just the month prior talked with me about a world wide conference he attended in the fall over in Europe. He said they reiterated that people over 50 who are on my prescribed medication have an increased risk of infections that can land them in the hospital. He said I should think about coming off of the medication. I was already in my late fifties. So, it was good timing that I forgot my medication when I did. I simply quit.

The year 2024 was the most stress-filled year I have had in my entire life. I experienced extreme emotions that were a rollercoaster that took me from the lowest lows to the highest highs and back again. Stress the playground for MS to explore and attack. Myelin sheaths beware. Riding the rollercoaster of high emotions and stress was not good timing without the protection the medication.

The MRI this month of my brain, neck and T-spine showed new lesions at all three levels. Two levels are active lesions, which means they occurred within the last 3-4 months. At my appointment with my neurologist this week, it was decided that I should go on a new medication to keep the MS attacks or exacerbations to a minimum. Apparently, having a “youthful” immune system in my situation is not a good thing.

A call came today from the company that makes the poison that will be infused into my body every 6 months beginning in March. The good news is that the medication is so expensive that I qualify for a “copay assist program” that will help pay for my copays, which means it will help with any deductible and out of pocket expenses I might incur from taking this medication. That is great news, but it would have been better news in January. Too bad the new and increased symptoms I have been experiencing these past few weeks did not happen in December of last year when my deductible was met, so the MRI would not cost me anything and the infusions could have started in January so my deductible would be met in January each year. Indeed, timing is everything.

Next month is the soonest I will be able to start treatment. I hope that is soon enough to prevent additional lesions from forming in my brain and spinal cord. This anxiety needs to calm down so I can enjoy whatever my future has in store for me with the best health possible at this point. There is a lot of good life to live!

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Enjoying Retirement

Daily writing prompt
What were your parents doing at your age?
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When my dad was my age, he was retired, as was my mom. My parents traveled to see us where we lived in the upper Midwest at the time. Those were the best years for my mom. She loved to travel, which must be where I get my love of traveling and adventure!

Numerous events happened the year my mom was my age. It was 2001. It was the one-year anniversary of my paternal grandfather’s passing. My husband was diagnosed with MS. 9/11 happened. My husband took early medical retirement in October. I quit my job in early November. We sold our house and moved back to the western side of the Rockies where my parents still lived. That was the last long trip my parents took, when they drove out to help us move back home.

My parents seemed so young and active when they were my age. I feel so aged with the stress of working full-time and my health issues. In fact, I am waiting for the results of an MRI I had done just yesterday. It seems I may be having an MS exacerbation. (Yes, my husband and I both have MS, diagnosed 10 years apart.) I have new and worsening symptoms of numbness in my feet and hands, muscle cramping and tightness, heaviness in my legs with walking, and exhaustion in the afternoons. I don’t know for sure. It may not be MS, it could just be stress. I will know for sure in a couple of days.

Anyway, I am grateful for the time and money my parents spent in traveling out to see us when we lived in Minnesota. We have many fun memories of time spent with them there. We took many walks around the parks along the Mississippi River and even took a boat ride in my husband’s boat on the Mississippi River a time or two. We have fun memories fishing, spending time at the cabin, shopping thrift stores and pottery shops, and sharing our day-to-day activities when they came and stayed with us.

I remember the first time they came out to visit us. They were not used to the humid summers in the upper Midwest. My mom mentioned more than once how strange it was to take a shower in the mornings and put on fresh clothes from the closet that felt like they were almost still “wet.” They were used to the dry desert heat back home. That was when we figured out we needed a dehumidifier. Dehumidifiers were not a necessity in the west, but they sure keep a house dry during the dog days of summer in those quaint little river towns along the Mississippi River.

Thank you for letting me share a walk down memory lane prompted by this question.

Posted on by ChatterLei

My Husband is a Writer

What do you complain about the most?

I think I complain that I am not as good at writing fiction as he is. Actually, I love this new discovery that he likes to write short stories. He is really good at it.

This is a picture I gave him to write a story about. His story follows the picture.

No Fear

It’s thirteen feet from the ground to the top of my shoulders. I weigh about 14,000 pounds. I can easily uproot a tree twice my size. I can run faster than you might expect, reaching speeds of forty miles per hour. I am a massive beast who strikes fear into hearts and minds of all those I encounter. I should fear nothing.
It is a beautiful summer day. I had spent the night before in the relative safety of the jungle. I live a somewhat lonely life. A solitary existence apart from the herd of females and young ones I call family.


My brother and I were driven away from our family by the matriarch when we came into musk for the first time. We fled into the jungle. As young bulls it was far too dangerous to stay with the herd. The matriarch, my great grandmother, knew that. She knew adult bulls would come around when the females went into heat, and they won’t allow any competition. Especially from the younger, smaller bulls raised with the herd. The adult bulls that came around during mating season would fight for the right to mate and could easily kill a smaller bull seen as competition. Nana chased us away for our own protection.


As youngsters, my brother, Mombai, and I were taught where to find food and water. We were shown which plants were safe to eat and those that were not. Nana showed us where it was safe to rest, protected from predators such as lions and hyenas. She taught us to be aware of our surroundings and listen to the sounds of the jungle. Our oversized ears were perfect for picking up the faintest of sounds. The chirping of crickets, the croaking of frogs, even the footsteps of lions. The unique cracking of dried grass and underbrush when padded paws gently crept in search of prey. Mombai and I survived on the outskirts of our family. We quietly followed the herd but out of sight and smell. We thought the herd didn’t notice us but now and then Nana would trumpet. The message was clear. Stay away, you fools, you’re in danger. When Mombai and I heard her warning calls we immediately fled deeper into the jungle.


As time passed, Mombai and I grew in stature and confidence. We found ourselves needing the comfort of the herd less and relying on ourselves more. Mombai, as I recall, was somewhat larger than me. He had broad shoulders, an enormous belly, huge ears that, when extended, made him look twice as large, and a magnificent set of tusks. His tusks were close to fifteen feet long. Pure ivory that he cleaned and sharpened daily. Rubbing and thrashing them on smaller trees, turning them to pulp.


Mombai and I stayed together for several years, living as “bachelors in paradise.” Being solo, living alone as adult bulls never seemed to be an option, or even desired. We were happy and confident. Satisfied being two adult male African elephants, brothers, living in a protected national park in the heart of Africa. We could roam the entire park but stayed in the area we knew the best. We could wander out onto the open savanna and did so often when the grasses were tall and fresh. Eating tons of food each day when it was plentiful and traveling long distances to find food when it was scarce. Nana taught us well. We followed the same trails, used the same watering holes, and found food when it was hard to find, just as our herd had done for over a thousand years. During the mating seasons, Mombai and I would find females in heat from herds other than the herd we were born into. We often fought over females but never each other. Rival bulls would challenge us, but Mombai and I always fought as a team. Life was good.


It was during the rainy season that Mombai and my tandem existence was tragically brought to finality. I recall the incident vividly. We were grazing near the edge of a small thicket of trees. A lazy stream meandered across the savanna, pushing the tall grass out of its way as it traveled, like some hulking sumo champion thrusting his opponent out of the ring. It carved a path from the highlands in the north to the river at the southeast border of our park, gobbling up the recent rainfall as it flowed across the grassland. Growing larger and faster as it traveled, providing life sustaining water to countless species. The newly reinvigorated growth of fountain grass provided a soft, lush, brilliant green, carpet of sweet grass spreading across the open plains. Large clumps of elephant grass grew to nearly ten feet tall along the streams and the river. It was raining, not hard, but gently tumbling down from the clouds. The combination of wet grass and mid-day heat caused a steamy mist to rise up off the savanna and hang in the air close to the ground resembling an overweight cloud struggling to stay in the sky.


I was slowly crossing between the trees and the stream as Mombai stayed hidden in the thicket. Wrapping my trunk around the fountain grass I pulled up huge mouthfuls of grass seemingly with each step. Mud, insects, and whatever small creatures hiding in the grass went spraying in all directions as I raised my trunk high into the air and shook before shoving each bite into my gaping mouth. With plenty of food, water, and my closest companion nearby, life seemed ideal.


I felt as if nothing short of a great natural disaster would ever interrupt or even change my bold existence. No fear, invincible. In reality, I couldn’t have been more wrong. I don’t know if it was the plentiful season, the over confidence my size and stature brought, or just plain old stupidity that caused me to disregard the first and most important rule that Nana taught me. She lectured all the youngsters in the herd to never, ever let your guard down. Always be aware of your surroundings, and no matter how big and strong you get, there is always something that can hurt you. Whether it’s a pride of lions, a king cobra, a rhinoceros, or even just a thorn in your foot. Be watchful, especially when humans are nearby.


In my haste and rush to enjoy the fresh new grass and plentiful water, I made the worst mistake of my life. It was a lesson I shouldn’t have had to learn the hard way. I replay the scenario over and over in my mind every day. As I wandered between the thicket and the stream, enjoying every delicious clump of fountain grass that I managed to stuff into my mouth, I stepped into a poacher’s snare. It was a simple device, really, a doubled strand of barbed wire wrapped into a loop that tightens when pulled upon and never loosens. It was staked into the ground by a metal rod and tied around a large acacia tree. The entire device was covered in mud and hidden by grass. There were footprints in the grass all round about. Recent human footprints. The entire device would have been easily avoidable had I just been aware of my surroundings, as Nana had taught me.


The pain was immediate and searing. Cutting into the skin around my lower right leg just above the toenails. The barbs on the wire prevented the loop from slipping and the harder I pulled the tighter the strands cinched into my flesh. Mud and grass, dirt and rocks flew everywhere as I pulled and pulled on the wire. I was pulling and yanking as hard as I could, trying to free myself, but the device only tightened its grip upon my leg. I knew Mombai was nearby within the thicket of trees. Standing up on my hind legs, I raised my trunk as high as possible and trumpeted. It was a thunderous sound, louder and deeper than I ever thought possible. It seemed as if the ground shook in response to my cries of desperation. All the animals within a five-mile radius of my location scattered away in a fanlike pattern. That is all but two.


Instantly upon hearing my cries, Mombai raised a mighty trump of his own in response. He came to my aid running fast as he could. I turned as I heard his call and watched as he burst through the thicket, his ears spread wide as he shuttered his head from side to side. Splintering the small trees in his path, I could see his mighty tusks tossing the acacia pieces and huge mounds of dirt and grass aside as if they were feathers in his way.


The only other animal that heard my cries of desperation and didn’t flee was a lone poacher. Hiding along the stream in a large clump of elephant grass. He stood up only twenty yards away from me. He seemed small and insignificant, barely five and a half feet tall and thin, wearing camouflaged clothing that helped him blend into the surrounding grass. He was puny and weak, dirty, and smelled strangely. An animal not suited for the wilds of the savanna. He struggled to raise something that I had never seen before. It looked like a branch from a tree but perfectly straight, unnatural. It also had something shiny along the top. He pointed it at me and a sudden explosion of sound and smoke came bursting from the front of the object pointed at me. I felt a stinging in my left ear as something pierced the skin flap along the bottom of my ear. I spun around to face him, stood up on my hind legs, and spread my ears out as widely as I could. I thought if I looked fierce and menacing it could scare the poacher away. He dropped down on his knees and fumbled with his tree branch.


After a second or two he rose up onto his feet and pointed the object at me again. As he did so, Mombai charged directly at him. The poacher wheeled around and aimed his branch at Mombai. The explosion happened again just before Mombai reached him. With his head down dragging his trunk along the ground and raking his tusks through the dirt Mombai struck the poacher. The object he was aiming toward Mombai flew high into the air and landed several yards away. It landed nose down and stuck into the mud along the stream bed resembling a lone tree start stripped of its branches. The poacher lay lifeless on the ground, flattened into the mud by the enormous weight of Mombai’s head and shoulders. Mombai spun around facing me. I could see that he was badly injured. He stumbled as he ran toward me. I watched helplessly as Mombai slammed into the acacia tree that the snare was wrapped around. A loud crashing sound emanated from the area as the tree split into pieces and fell to the ground. As it did, the barbed wire snapped just feet from where I stood.


I was free again. Gathering my senses I ran to where Mombai laid on the ground. He was bleeding badly and not moving. Once again, I blew a great trump. This time the pain I was feeling was of a different sort. I stood over the body of my dear brother, killed by a poacher’s bullet. Mombai gave his life striving to save mine. I stayed by my brother’s side for the next few days, chasing away scavengers and hoping that he might stand again and spread those great ears. Nana came by with the rest of the herd once. Each one of them raised their trunks and sounded as they lovingly touched Mombai one last time in passing. All this pain and suffering over ivory tusks. Just teeth.


On the last day that I stood by Mombai, more humans came to the area. They were in a vehicle that stopped by the thicket. They got out of the vehicle and stared at me and the carcass of my brother. One of them had an object similar to the one the poacher had. He moved towards me and raised the object. I spun around, spread my ears, and in a rage stomped my feet and charged him. Once again, an explosion came from his object. I felt stinging in my left front leg. Almost instantly, I felt disoriented and weak. I turned and stumbled back to Mombai. I fell to my knees and placed my trunk across Mombai’s lifeless body. Blackness fell over me. I thought I had come to the same fate as my brother when all consciousness left me.


Suddenly, I awoke from unconsciousness. I struggled to regain my awareness. Slowly, I opened my eyes, and the light came pouring in. Turning my head in all directions, I sought out Mombai. He was nowhere to be seen. In fact, I didn’t even recognize my surroundings. This wasn’t where I last remembered. As I stumbled to my feet, all my senses returned to me. I was out in the middle of the savanna. There was a mixture of fresh and dried grass round about me. To my rear stood one lone acacia tree. I turned and wandered off in the direction of some large baobab trees in the distance.
Alone and hurting but not afraid. If my brother taught me anything, it was to show no fear.  

Posted on by ChatterLei · 3 Comments

First Ever Short Story

Daily writing prompt
What would you do if you won the lottery?
View all responses

If I won the lottery, depending on how much money it was, I would pay off my house, my mom’s house, my sister’s house, give each of my grown daughters 50K, put the rest in the bank, and quit my job so I could spend more time with my family, and more time writing….

I just finished my first ever 2500+ word fiction short story. I have to give credit to one of the bloggers I follow, Darryl B, of My little corner of the world, at neptunesky.com, for inspiring it. He wrote a short story titled “Christine” for Kevin’s No Theme Thursday for 1/16/2025, at thebeginningatlast9.com.

I read “Christine” to my husband and told him about NTT. He got a little excited and said he and I should find a picture on the internet to send to each other for us each to write a story about. So, we did.

Joe sent two images to me to choose from. Then I sent him three images to choose from. It has taken a few weeks longer than we both anticipated this would take, but we had Christmas, New Year’s, lots of family time and a funeral thrown in there. Plus, I work full-time and can only work on writing in the evenings and on the weekends.

But last night, we finished writing our stories. Mine is not the caliber of my husband’s writing ability or Darryl B’s, but I want to share it anyway.

The picture is an important part of the story. My photo is from Shutterstock here:

https://www.shutterstock.com/image-photo/elderly-couple-love-on-picnic-enjoying-2387216369

Go look at the image. With the image in mind, read the story. Seeing the picture will bring the story to life.

It’s ok to critique my story, but remember it is my first one, so be gentle. 😉 It does have an unexpected ending. 

Here goes:

The following story is copyrighted 2025 by ChatterLei Expressions….

Song of Silence

“How can I do this, Lisa?”

“It won’t be easy, but I can’t think of anyone better to speak those words” Lisa said, pointing to the folder of typed pages in CarrieAnn’s hands. “They come from your heart and will pierce the hearts of every person who is fortunate enough to be within hearing distance when you speak.”

“Lisa, thank you for the vote of confidence…and for being there for me during one of the worst moments…if not the worst moment of my life.”

“You are welcome, CarrieAnn. I am grateful for you. You’ve got this,” Lisa said as she gave her cousin a hug before heading to their cars in the parking lot of the restaurant.

“Thanks for meeting me here,” CarrieAnn said as she hugged her.

“Give Aunt Jackie a hug from me and give her my love.”

Walking back to her car, she couldn’t help but make a mental note of the colorful beauty of the flowers in the overgrown August flower beds. She caught a glance of a butterfly, gently landing on the delicate yellow rose petal. Tears welled up in her eyes, as she couldn’t help but think of her mom in that fleeting moment.
______________

Her legs felt weak and her body was shaking as she nervously stood at the pulpit. Lisa’s words floated through her mind in a faint whisper, “You’ve got this.”

I took a deep breath and slowly and deliberately let it out while I surveyed the chapel filled with family and friends who were here to pay their respects and show their love and support to us on this difficult day. Somehow, I could feel Mom’s supportive encouragement as I began to speak.

My mother, Margaret “Maggie” Jane Anderson, was born on a hot summer afternoon at Memorial Hospital in Winterset, Iowa, July 17, 1945. She was the oldest of six children, followed by a sister, two brothers, and one more girl – “our little caboose,” as she was lovingly called.

Mom was a kind-hearted, caring, responsible older sister. She was one of those sweet girls who was as kind and genuine as she could possibly be. She and her siblings had the normal sibling rivalry, but it never got out of hand, most often thanks to Mom’s calming demeanor.

Mom did well in school and had many friends. She graduated number two in her graduating high school class of 25 in 1963. She went on to college at Iowa State University, where she met my dad. Theirs was a whirlwind courtship and marriage. They were married in the summer of ‘65. They just knew they were a perfect match. Their goals in life were similar. He was a great communicator, and she was very patient and supportive of his driven nature.

I was born in the summer of 1966, Jack in January of 1968, and Jennifer in the spring of 1970. Mom did not finish college with a degree. She quit early to stay home to care for her family with Dad while he finished dental school at the University of Georgia. After dad finished school, they moved their family of five back to Iowa, where Dad opened his dental practice… John D Anderson, DDS.

Dad was active and involved in the community. He and mom were respected and well-liked. Mom was right there supporting his desire to care for the poor and needy in their town. Dad and Mom hosted a few fundraisers and food drives throughout the years. Mom was always right there with beautiful decor and a spread of food for whatever sized crowd showed up for whatever gathering was taking place to raise funds or food for our community foodbank. 

They purchased their first and only home on 5 acres. Mom loved living the country life. All three of us kids were in 4-H. We showed pigs, sheep, chickens, and horses at the fair over the years. One year, Mom even let us buy a goat to show and sell. That goat had ADHD, I swear! We could not keep her in one place for more than a couple of minutes, and her attention span was shorter than that. The family who finally bought her was excited to have fresh goat’s milk every day. It was my belief that they were going to have unsweetened milk shakes every day, instead!

Mom won several ribbons over the years for her canned vegetables and homemade pies. Her creamy pumpkin pies were the best ever. My favorite! Jennifer and I got our love of baking from helping mom in the kitchen when we were kids. Jack was lucky enough to be our taste tester. It’s a wonder he does not weigh over 500 lbs as an adult. We fed him well!

“Remember the rhubarb pie, Jack?” I asked, looking up to find him sitting on the front row with the family.

“You were probably about 7 years old and decided you wanted to make a rhubarb pie. You took Mom’s kitchen scissors out to the back yard to Mom’s rhubarb patch. I remember we named that patch ‘Spike’ after the hack job you and those scissors did to her rhubarb. Mom was not very pleased. But, she never did yell at us kids. She simply taught us a better way.”

The rhubarb pie was delicious, by the way. With Mom’s loving guidance, it could not help but be delicious.

Anyway, Mom also instilled a love of music in us. She taught piano lessons to almost all of the children in the area, including us three kids. It was required that we learn the piano before being allowed to play any other instrument. We did not always appreciate our practice time, but as adults, we are grateful for this gift she gave us.

Mom was very industrious. She could sew clothing, quilt, preserve anything, bake, cook, teach piano lessons, and have time to teach us kids about all of those 4-H animals. To us, she was a superwoman. She continued teaching many of those skills to her grandchildren and great-grandchildren. We were lucky to have her as our mother. Our father was lucky to have her as his wife.

Mom gathered many friends over the years. She was a good listener. She was also a natural teacher. She and her friends spent hours canning, quilting, or making bread or rolls while we kids were in school. These friends became like family. I have more “aunts” than most everyone I know. Most of them attend the same Lutheran church that Mom attends. Mom and Dad are both Lutheran, but Dad did not attend. Mom took us kids every Sunday.

After Dad retired, he and Mom loved traveling together. They took one big trip each year where they would spend two to three weeks in an exotic location, taking in the sights and sounds of the area and getting to know the people there. Sometimes, they would travel across the country from state to state, learning the history of each state and photographing as they went. Mom has bookcases loaded with books she created with photos and stories from each trip they took.

Speaking of books. Mom also created a book for each of her grandchildren and great-grandchildren. These books are filled with family history, stories, and photos of them over the years. These are a treasure for our children and grandchildren.

Mom was a good example of loving and serving her family and friends. She loved our dad, which showed in all she did for him. He loved and appreciated everything about her. We are blessed to be their children and to have reached more than half a century of life with them.

I hope someday I can be half the woman our mom is.

I am holding on to this quote that Mom shared with me years ago. It is by Helen Keller: “So much has been given me I have no time to ponder over that which has been denied.”

We love you, Mom, and will miss you forever.
_________

The adrenaline-induced anxiety had completely drained out of my system as I sat with my legs criss-crossed on the couch holding my favorite Sharpie pen and my tan leather journal. I did not retreat to my room to record my thoughts. All of our family and friends had gone home or to wherever they were staying tonight. I wanted to spend the time with my siblings, but I did not want to let the day slip by without journaling my feelings and observations from such an important day, the day our mom was buried.

The day had been lovely. A warm sunny day, perfect for our mother who loved being outside in the sunshine. It is no wonder she loved the color yellow. It matched her love of the sun and her bright personality.

I still cannot believe it is true. It was not her time. Why? Why did it have to happen? It didn’t! It did NOT have to happen….

“Jack, I thought “Amazing Grace” on your sax was extra amazing. Mom loved that song. She would have been so proud and grateful to you for playing for her today. She never shied away from praising your musical ability and the you could make that saxophone sing. Just as much as she loved it when Dad would play the guitar for her. She could listen for hours.”

“And, Jennifer, your piano rendition of “Wind Beneath My Wings” was heavenly. Mom was always proud of your piano playing abilities. She loved to play duets with you any chance she got. Mom and Dad instilled a love of music in each of us, which is something I am grateful for. We may not be great speakers, but we can surely sing a song or two, hoping the music will reach Mom in heaven.”

“CarrieAnn, you can definitely speak. That was a beautifully written and spoken tribute you gave at Mom’s funeral today. You did her proud, don’t you think, Jennifer?” Jack said, looking Jennifer’s way.

“ Yes, I know Mom was watching down and feeling pleased that you took to heart her favorite saying that we can do hard things,” Jennifer replied, closing the funeral program and gently setting it down on the end table next to her at the other end of the couch.

CarrieAnn leaned over to give Jennifer a hug. “I feel so relieved that the funeral is over, but I am not looking forward to tomorrow.”

Jack reminded CarrieAnn that she will not be alone. He and Jennifer will be right by her side.
_________

As it turned out, neither Jack nor Jennifer were able to go with CarrieAnn the next day. She was alone when she walked through the doorway of her father’s room at the mental hospital, where he was confined for now. The room was small with one twin-sized bed against the wall, one chair, and a desk. It was painted steril white. Dad was sitting in the chair near the table, rocking back and forth. He was wearing a white short-sleeved v-neck top and drawstring pants that matched the top. The slip-on shoes he had been wearing for several weeks were not as white as the clothing he had on.

“Hi Dad.”

He responded, “Hello. Why are you here? What do you want?”

“I came to see you today. How are you feeling?” I asked, sitting down on the foot of the bed near his chair, placing my journal and pen next to me. Had it only been a week and a half since he was removed from home? Arrested? Brought here?

I am surprised but grateful every time I am allowed inside to see my dad. I expected security to be tighter. Although, I could see through the window in the door, the security guard walking back and forth in front of the door. Maybe that was enough.

The medication they were giving Dad at the mental hospital definitely calmed Dad’s normal agitated ways. The rocking must be a side effect.

I am too old for this, nearing retirement myself. My emotions are all over the place. I am not quite sure how to feel. I am trying to sort my feelings out as I journal them. I love my dad. At the same time, I hate him for taking away my mother, my kids’ grandma. I hate myself even more for not knowing there was another gun in the house that Dad was able to get to. It was under his bed of all places.

Intellectually, I know my dad was not in his right mind when he picked up the gun and shot our mother. He had become more agitated over the last few months. And, more paranoid. No amount of medication seemed to help the paranoia. We removed all of his guns, knives, and bow and arrows because he was threatening to use them on the “intruders.” (Sometimes it was my siblings or me. Other times, it was the grandchildren). We thought we removed all of the weapons. We missed the one under his bed. Of all the places for us to forget to look!

As I opened my journal to start writing, the picture of Mom and Dad fell out. I forgot I had put it in there before the funeral. It was a happy day captured a few years ago before Dad’s Alzheimers got so bad. Mom hired her photographer friend to take some pictures of her and Dad out near the garden. The basket of vegetables that mom picked earlier in the day became the perfect photo “prop” on the blanket they spread out near the tree. Dad played a few of Mom’s favorite songs on his guitar. I love this photo of the two of them. I can see how genuinely happy they are and how deep their love is for one another.

Showing the photograph to my dad, I asked, “Dad, do you recognize the people in his picture?” He just rocked and stared emotionless at it. It was at this moment that I realized our lives will never be the same.

Our lives had already begun to change because of Dad’s Alzheimers. Now, it has an added dimension of painful emotions.

Alzheimers is a thief! It has taken our dad’s healthy brain. Now, our mom is gone. Dad is going to be locked in this mental hospital probably for the few years of life he has remaining.

I closed my journal after slipping the photo back inside between the pages, not able to express my thoughts at the moment. I stared at my dad, not knowing what to do. I feel so lost. I don’t want to leave him. I want to hug him. Yet, my dad isn’t really in there. Not really. I hugged him anyway. He was a little startled and stopped rocking for a moment. Then he started again.

As I walked out the door, I glanced longingly back over my shoulder and thought, I don’t know what his future holds, but I know my future is going to be a little less joyful. A little less sunny.

However, today, as I walked past the guard and down the long corridor to the outside door, I finally realized… I don’t hate my dad. What I do hate is Alzheimers! In a strange way, that brings me a sense of peace.

Posted on by ChatterLei

It’s not to be the President of the USA

What’s your dream job?

Today, we inaugurated the BEST President our country has ever known! He has brought back hope, courage, and a common sense approach! The Gulf of America! The Panama Canal is coming back! America First! God spared President Trump’s life for a reason. I truly believe that. America will be respected again. Watch with an open mind. You will see.

Free, sovereign, and independent! I love the United States of America. I am proud to be an American! I hope you are too. 🙂

(Thank you for letting me share my enthusiastic excitement for this beautiful new day in America…exactly one year from the day I lost my dad. He would be so happy for this inaugural day!)

Posted on by ChatterLei

CHARCUTERIE

Daily writing prompt
What snack would you eat right now?
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I used to think cheese, crackers and sausage were the best snack ever…second of course to buttery popcorn.

When I had my first experience with a charcuterie board, the layout spoke to my artist brain and the food spoke loudly my healthy food cravings, with a little sugar thrown in for good measure. (Can’t offer food without some kind of chocolate, right?!) The charcuterie board included various cheeses, crackers, sausage, nuts, jellies, fruits, veggies, etc…. You name it, if it is in the snack category it was on the board.

If you look up charcuterie, you will find a variety of types of these delicious snack boards. I have seen movie charcuteries boards with a variety of movie theater candies and popcorn spread artistically across the board. Breakfast charcuteries have waffle pieces, sausage links, boiled eggs, sliced, fruit varieties, etc.

Look it up, find a fun one, and create it for your next Superbowl (Superbowl Charcuterie) party or simply to impress your mom at the next family gathering. 🙂

Posted on by ChatterLei · 4 Comments

More Time…

Daily writing prompt
What is the greatest gift someone could give you?
View all responses

with my Dad. That is not possible, so I just marinate in the memories.

Two years before Dad died, which was last January, he got Covid 19. It robbed him of his ability to smell and taste everything except tomatoes for the rest of his life. He was not in the best of health for the last several years before his passing. Mom was good to care for him for most of those years. He was mostly homebound except for the mornings he would wake up and say he wanted to drive himself and Mom over to McDonald’s for a McGriddle. He could not really taste them, but said they felt good in his mouth. He was always a breakfast guy. I suppose I am like him in that way. Breakfast is my favorite meal of the day.

Anyway…

Since Dad was mostly homebound, so was Mom. She did not get to travel like she would have liked. She did not get to eat out or go shopping much. She was home with Dad. That is just how she was and how their marriage worked. He was home, so she was home. Now that Dad is gone, she can explore more opportunities to go places. She says “yes” a lot more now.

In the last year, Mom has eaten out a few more times than ever before. She has gone to lunch with friends. She goes to her sister’s house once a month for a scripture study meeting. She went to San Diego with my sister in the spring. She is in the process of getting her passport and is planning to go on a cruise with us this year. I can hardly wait to experience that with her! As sad as we are about Dad’s passing, we are equally excited to share some of Mom’s “first-time” experiences.

In the meantime, tonight, my husband and I, my sister, her husband, their daughter, and my brother are going to take mom to Longhorn Steakhouse for dinner for her first time. She is going to love the creamy cheesy smothered chicken breast, mashed potatoes and strawberry salad.

I am grateful for the gift we have been given of this time with Mom and opportunities to explore some of the experiences with her that this life has to offer.

Posted on by ChatterLei · 3 Comments

Happy New Year

What are your biggest challenges?

Apparently, one of my biggest challenges is remembering to take pictures with my family on the holidays. It is regretful. Next year, there will be no photo that will pop up in my memories on my phone from a year ago. No photo memory of today – January 1, 2025.

The morning started with Joe washing 20 big beautiful baker-sized Idaho Potatoes, wrapping them in foil, and placing them in the electric roaster oven while I showered and get ready for the day.

He readied the 14-lb prime rib, gathered all the seasonings and other fixings, and placed the three pies we made yesterday (blueberry, cherry, and mincemeat) into the back of our pickup.

We drove around the block to my sister’s house, where we arrived at about 11AM. Joe seasoned the prime rib and had it in the 500-degree oven by 11:30AM. Ten minutes later, he turned the oven down to 325⁰ and it was perfectly done to medium rare at 2:45PM.

While the meat and potatoes cooked, six of us played Farkle. Have you ever played? It is a fun dice game for two players or more. I had never played until last week. Joe and I like playing it together in the evenings.

At one point, I noticed our teenage grandchildren were gathered at one end of the table with their phones in their hands, mostly lost in their own worlds, but every once in awhile sharing with each other a funny video they saw or some other new discovery.   At the other end of the table, the adults were visiting with one another. I wondered to myself what the grandchildren had ever taken time to learn about my mom, their great grandmother.

My first question to them was if they knew where she was born. I was a little surprised so many of them knew the answer. Then I asked what year she was born and how old she was when she and my dad were married. I asked if they knew where. Did they know how many siblings my parents each had and could they name them all. It was impressive to me that they knew so much. We then asked about my husband’s family and pulled out some photos we had of them.

We had a great day filled with fun, laughter, reminiscing, and good food. My dad started this tradition of prime rib with the family on New Years Day. We missed him for sure. But today’s time spent with family was a great start to the new year.

Posted on by ChatterLei

Memories

What makes you feel nostalgic?

Memories of time spent with family or friends, looking through old photographs, and reminiscing with my mom.