What is a sister?

What is a sister? I’ve been blessed with two. I did not grow up with them;                                            both are quite a bit older than I. One sister was born in 1926 and is 86 years old, the other in 1930 and was 82 when she passed last month. I am 68, quite a few years difference. The older sister was out of the house when I came along, or at least she was gone when my memory kicked in. My sister who just passed was tasked with raising me along with my mom, and I do remember her, but barely.

I do not think we were very close as siblings can be; I was always a pain in the butt for them, or at least the younger sister. I had a brother, but he was even older and passed away some thirty years ago. He was in World War II when I was born and was not a significant factor in my upbringing although he and I did some fishing together and hunted birds together in my early adult years.

My brother has been gone many years and while I do keep track of his family we are not close.  So, what does that have to do with sisters? Nothing. We are not a dysfunctional family, we communicate quite regularly, I maintain a weekly newsletter that reaches out to the clan, and I sense no jealousies, resentments or any manner of disharmony. My remaining sister and I care deeply about one another and greatly miss the two siblings that are gone.

One sister meant a great deal to me. She was always there for me, she offered advice, she offered friendship and she offered unconditional love. The other offered the same, but her nature is more reserved so we don’t relate to one another as well as the younger sister and I did.

One difference between the two sisters is my younger sister raised a family of four with compassion, love, and direction. The older sister raised a single daughter but what I saw there was criticism for behavior that did not exist in the younger sister’s family. It was as though my older sister had a model in mind that her daughter had to fit. My younger sister seemed to have a direction that was flexible and positive that encouraged imagination and freedom. What has been the result? The oldest sister’s daughter is a loving, gracious lady and is in the same profession as her mother. My younger sister’s family is diverse, independent, and remarkably creative, willing to dare new things. Nothing is wrong with either family to my reckoning; it is just in the shading of personality. I love them all and follow their successes as well as rebuffs with great interest and love.

There was something special about my younger sister though. She could make a grey day bright, she could make you feel good about life, she had a zest, a yen to see and try. My older sister is more sedate and structured.  My younger sister was willing to let you try; my older sister seemed to caution you to be careful. My older sister worries about her health and cannot stand to feel ill. My younger sister fought asthma and COPD for years and plowed on unconcerned handling her fears and dealing with her life like a bulldozer. She was busy right up to the end. It is like she ran out of gas, fell over and her motor died. I don’t know what the end of life will spell for my older sister, but it will be different, of that I am sure.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                 

A Few Floria Farts

My parents left the U.P. in 1966 and moved to Milwaukee. They lived with my sister and her husband for about a year and then found an apartment of their own. My mother took to the move very well, in fact they both did even after living for over 50 years in Munising, MI. Dad started over pumping gas in a station on the third shift, mother eventually found work as the dessert lady for the Bluemound Tennis & Racquet Club, an upscale club in the suburbs of Milwaukee. Life settled into a nice routine, both worked, Dad eventually kept the books for Mitch the gas station owner, then moved on the Real Estate, eventually settling in at the same place of employment my mother worked, the Bluemound Tennis & Racquet Club.

They split duties at home, Mother would come home and make dinner and dad would do the dishes. When my dad did dishes he always lit up a small cigar and wore an apron. The apron was to keep his clothes clean, the cigar to remind everyone that he was still the husband.

One evening Dad and Mom came home and as they came into the house Mom passed some gas. It was an SBD, silent but deadly. Little noise escaped other than that tell-tale woosh, but the old man damn near passed out. He said "Margaret, my God, that is terrible, have you been like that all day?"

Mom almost doubled over in laughter. She said, "I have a cold and can't smell a thing. I wondered why no one was coming into my area to get a dessert, piece of pie or any treats like usual. In fact people just stayed away. I guess I couldn't smell anything all day."

My poor mother.

Along the gas line, another tale.

We lived in an apartment from 1958 until 1961 at 820 W. Superior Street, Munising, MI. It was and upstairs apartment in a home owned by Bill and Dolly Revord, who lived downstairs. My mother was a hefty woman and in those days tightly girdled. I was sitting in the living room one day and Mom was in the kitchen making dinner. All of a sudden I hear three sharp claps, as though someone clapped their hands together mightily. Almost as soon as the thunderclaps passed my mother rounded the corner, legs crossed and unable to speak because she was laughing so hard. I asked what that noise was. My mother, God love her, told me that she had let a fart in the kitchen and apparently the girdle had the cheeks of her behind so tightly compressed it came out as three distinct claps. My, my, my Mom could applaud with her butt.

Another time:

When my brother Dean was young, before I was born there was an incident that lived long and loud in my Father's memory. Dad always slept in the "raw." The house at 812 W. Superior had hardwood floors and the bedrooms were no different. Dad would take a bath before going to work and when he went to get dressed he would often sit on the floor to put his socks on. He said the floor felt good because it was cool.

One morning as he sat to put his socks on a concussion erupted that my Dad described as thunderous. His words were, "It rolled across the floor and hit the baseboard," between their room and Dean's, "with a resounding BANGO." Dad then heard Dean from his room exclaim, "WOW!"

Small events, but lived long in the annals of Floria humor.

The Holidays 2012

Christmas 2012 and New Year's 2013 are now behind us. It was a good holiday season for me. For the first time in several years I felt well, very well. I enjoyed the anticipation, I enjoyed Christmas night lying in bed next to Terry, nice and warm while inches from my feet sleet pelted the window and wind shook the house. I enjoyed the time between Christmas and New Year's as we puttered with little chores, went to Jonesboro and did some shopping, and sat in our "sitting area" upstairs in the morning drinking coffee and playing holiday music on the stereo. It was a good time.

I saved a few shopping items for December 24th. I always like to do that as it is my birthday and I go and get a sense of the season. My Dad would pick up a big box of candy usually from a drugstore as a house gift. My mother and I had our favorites as did dad and over the week or so of the holiday season we would finish that box. I decided to resurrect that tradition so I went to Walgreen's and bought a Whitman Sampler. It did not seem very big. It was on a candy display shelf and not out on a display on the corner with decorations around it. It was kind of blah. I purchased the candy anyway. It sat on the counter, unopened until the day after Christmas. That is when Terry brought it upstairs to our sitting area and we enjoyed the candy for a number of days as a treat with our morning coffee. It was nice. I shall continue that tradition.

Our daughter Jessi's car is broken down and not safe to drive long distances. So on the Sunday before Christmas we asked Tracy and her boyfriend Zeb to take our van and go get Jessi and granddaughter Presley so they would be with us for Christmas. It was a kind of Christmas Carol type event and made me feel good.

The Moose Chef is the first Christmas decoration that comes out of the box. Usually about Thanksgiving. It is a ceramic incense burner made up like a moose with a chef's hat. It has a cookie sheet with cookies and the smoke from the incense comes up through a hole in the sheet making the cookies look like they are fresh from the oven. It was given to us years ago by my daughter Jenny, as I call her Tootermoose and we have found special ornaments or decorations with moose on them that we send each other.

I have a tradition that is now three years old. I order a nice box of sausage and meats from a small shop in Northern Wisconsin. Both daughters, Kristi and Jenny look forward to the arrival just before Christmas and the supply of cinnamon apple bacon, sausages, cheeses and such like. They both are difficult to buy for as they have most of the things a person needs and I don't like buying baubles. So this is nice, and I can replenish it every year. Besides food and the holiday's seem to have a special link and it is just fun.

This Christmas I had a lot to be grateful for and think about. A wife who is dedicated to my welfare and is such a caring person. Children who love me and I enjoy watching them mature and become such good, contributing members of our society. A home that is warm and safe. Dogs and a cat that share our life with us and add so much in the way of love and comic relief. Yes, this is a good life and I hope I have many more, I do not wish the last few years on anybody.

The Fall

I do not have many regrets in my life. I have some embarrassing moments I regret, but I have to live with those. Much of my life has been fine, wonderful, and even colorful. I think of the fall and hunting Grouse in Michigan's U.P. I think of fall and I think about hunting Pheasant in southern Wisconsin with my friend Andre and his son Dom who recently retired as a Brigadier General in the Wisconsin National Guard. He also did two tours I believe in the mid-East. Afghanistan for sure.

Years ago we used to go out to Bong Airbase that had been turned back to the state by the Air Force when the SAC mission ended. The Wisconsin DNR started a "put & take" Pheasant program that offered Andre, Dom and I good hunting and a viable outdoor experience. I have wonderful memories of that. On Thanksgiving morning we go on a hunt, after it was over and the dogs lay fatigued by the side of the road as we enjoyed some sausage,  cheese and wine. We would discuss the hunt, the actions of the dogs, and the day to come.

Now I wish I had spent more time with my daughters in the out doors. Neither of them particularly like it. Kristi and Jenny enjoy the environment but I wish I had helped them learn to enjoy fishing and hunting. They do not enjoy the prospect of fishing or hunting now and that is OK, I view it as their choice. However, if I had made the opportunity available to them, not pushed it, nor made it an exercise in boredom maybe they would've adopted the hunting and fishing way of life. What a wonderful experience for all of us, especially the Papa. I have dearly enjoyed throwing a shotgun over my arm and walking through the fall woods, to do that with my daughters would be so neat. It creates a wonderful image in my mind, my daughters and I slowly walking through the golden fall woods hunting the elusive Ruffed Grouse. Oh I wish I had been more of a teacher than I was. I wish they had the opportunity to enjoy the woods and the field as I do. Maybe they still wouldn't enjoy the experience but at least we would've tried.

No regrets, they both are wonderful people living wonderful lives. I know they love me and I love them with all my heart. I just can't help but think what might've been.

Egg Coffee

My Aunt Rebecca, Becky or Beck depending on the day, the situation, or who was around, made the best coffee in the world. She was English, my Uncle Earl, as it turns out was primarily French. They were married for more than 50 years and were social kingpins in Marquette, MI. From time to time through the years my family, then when I married, my wife and kids would visit Aunt Beck and Uncle Earl. They were good folks.

Their lifestyle was very structured. My Uncle Earl owned Pendall's Drug Store in Marquette, he was a pharmacist. Aunt Becky ran the household. She played golf, she played bridge, and she and Uncle Earl enjoyed a full rich social life in Marquette. But oh could Becky make egg coffee.

When we ate dinner at their home Aunt Becky would ask as dinner was ending how many cups of coffee would each person enjoy after dinner. Then she would  disappear into the kitchen. When I was older I invited myself back to the kitchen to watch the preparation. The best I recall she mixed one tablespoon of coffee per cup into a well beaten egg mixture. Then she set it in a pot and it steeped. She used a fine tea strainer to keep the grounds out of the coffee and poured a deep amber liquid that made coffee an art form in her home.

I have been unable to repeat it. However, we have a French press coffee brewer and it looks like it would work in there. So, we shall see. In the meantime, whenever I have a good cup of coffee I think of my Aunt Becky, but it is never as good as her's was.

An Embarrassment

I was maybe 13. There was a girl in our class named Sue T. She was a good looking girl, long dark hair, flashing eyes and all those things that go along with youth. It was easy to like her, she was easy on the eye and popular. However she was quiet and reserved, at least she seemed so. The way that boys and girls advertised they liked someone and were in a relationship was they put their initials on the paper notebooks we carried our homework in.

One day my initials showed up on her notebook. TF Wow, I could not believe my good fortune. One of the best looking girls in the class likes me. Whoa Nellie!!! I waited, I watched, more initials appeared. There was a Sue + Tom. I mean how much more evidence did I need. I did not know what to do. Should I talk with her, I was too shy. Should I ask one of her friends, I was too shy. Maybe the way to communicate was to respond in kind. So I wrote TF + ST on my notebook. Soon I had covered my notebook and fantasized about the blossoming love. Imagine kissing her, imagine holding hands with her, imagine walking together. That is about all we imagine at 13. I waited to see what would happen not knowing if I should approach her or what.

This lasted a few days, eventually a friend of hers who happened to be a friend of mine, Judy R. came to me and said, Tom, Sue doesn't like you, those initials are Ted. F. In embarrassment I blurted out those aren't her initials anyway, but there was no one in our class with those same initials. I could have crawled in a hole and stayed there. I have never felt so embarrassed in my life not even since.

I went back to school the next day with new notebooks. I tried not to look at her, and tried to make myself as small as possible, unfortunately I was already over six feet tall and stuck out like a sore thumb. One thing to my classmate's credit is I do not recall anyone making fun of me. You know at that age kids can be cruel. I don't recall any catcalls or teasing. My embarrassment was absolute though, I was crushed that I could assume such a thing and had nothing to fall back on.

That event still evokes a wry smile from me. Sue T. now F., did not come to our 40th reunion. I have not seen her since high school. I have no idea what she looks like, I believe she and Ted F got married but divorced.

I have never had an easy time around women. My lady experience is very small. I have a hard time talking to a women unless we talk about weather, some work aspect if we are familiar with it. It is easier for me to talk to a woman than a man but I have had very few female confidants. In fact, one. It seems like I am meant to muddle through our lives seeking my own answers and trying not to to embarrass myself or make a fool of myself. That is why I maintain a level of suspicion of others and distance from them..

That event so many years ago had an effect on me. Was it a game changer? No, I don't think so. I have had a few very good relationships with a few women, my first wife, my second wife, and a lady I worked with. I find comfort in sharing with a person, but you cannot share all things with just one person, you need a number of friends and while I talk very well with my two daughters, that is not the same. I'm there Dad after all.

So that's my ultimate embarrassing moment. I am 67, I hope I never have another.

Liquid Gold

Years ago Tom Dolaskie and I spent a lot of time fishing, hunting and just being outdoors together. One particular event has stayed with me for all these years. I can't recall the year, probably the early 70's the Michigan DNR stocked Clear Lake with Grayling and Rainbow trout. Clear Lake is a beautiful lake that was glaciated and is therefore very deep. It is clear water and supports a nice fishery.

Tom and I had fished Clear Lake several times over the years and had a measure of success. It was at this lake that I had scared myself while night fishing for Rainbow when I reached my hand out over the mirror like lake to check my bait and startled myself when a reflection of my arm appeared to come out from under the boat reaching toward me. I've told that story someplace.

Tom and I had noticed on a previous trip that just dusk brought hungry fish to the surface feeding on insects. The surface of the lake had come alive with circles where fish sucked in an insect and turn tail back to the depths leaving a tell tale swirl on the surface. The lake was just covered with feeding fish. We had no lures with us, and neither of us were fly fishermen. But as we discussed later on we thought perhaps if we slowly trolled a surface lure we might happen into a fish. So this day I had brought my tackle box containing some surface lures. I chose a Rapala that looked a lot like a small minnow. as we set out from shore I eased the lure in the water and Tom had his electric trolling motor that we used on the small inland lakes of Michigan.

We began a slow but steady pace, not too fast because if a Rapala loses it flutter it tends to surface of just plow across the surface losing all appearance of a minnow. We moved silently enjoying the peace of the lake and the sun setting in the west. As the sun sank low to the horizon the surface of the lake took on the surreal red, orange and violet color that reflecting water can create. It was captivating, both Tom and I just sat and watched the magnificent color unfold about us. Then it happened. A strike! We were both looking back when a large 19 inch rainbow took the lure on the surface. The water exploded with all the colors flung to the sides. Droplets arched over the water from the force of the strike and made for a small rain effect. The fish dove with its prize only to be slammed back to the surface when I set the hook.

The rest was barely describable. The fish fought on the surface, time and again he broke water flailing about and made the colors even more vivid and amazing. It was fighting in liquid gold. I almost did not want the fight to give up. But a pole, a strong line, and patience over came the fish and he came to the net. We took him and appreciated the amazing visual effect the fight had created. It was a fish we talked about for a long time and an experience that is as vivid in my mind today as then those long years ago.