Women’s History Month: Frieda

FriedaThe theme for Woman’s History Month (2013) was ‘celebrating women in science, technology, engineering, and mathematics’. The names of famous women who’ve done impressive things is too long to list here. But I can think of several women in my personal history who are worth a mention when talking about outstanding females.

I think of my Grandma Frieda who made homemade root beer (science), fetched water from a hand pump (technology), made rag rugs on a loom (operating engineering), and had to budget every dime (mathematics).

She was born at the turn of the 20th century to Swedish farmers, spending most of her life near the Minnesota-Wisconsin border where the Rock Creek bends and turns through beautiful country.  A typical girl of that time and place, she lived a simple life on the farm, then as a young adult married a local man.

They had four children, my dad being her youngest. A house fire became a milestone for the family. My aunt, an infant at the time, was thrown down the stairs as the family fled. Everyone was safe, but they lost everything. Grandma kept melted coins in a tiny box and would tell me the story about the big fire. She had to set up housekeeping all over again, this time with small children and a babe in arms.

My grandfather started a successful business in town by selling the first cars between the Twin Cities and Duluth. Frieda was busy with the house and children and opened her home for the local song club meetings. The family went rollerskating every week. Those were happy days.

But the untimely death of her husband left her a young widow. Now a single mother, she worked as a housekeeper and candling eggs. From here on it would be a struggle. She finished raising the children by herself.

Her daughters left home and started their own families. Frieda married a local widower so that my dad, the only child left at home, could have a father again, but according to the step-father Frieda’s son painted the barn wrong and was one more mouth to feed. My dad went to live with relatives from then on.

The marriage could not be saved and eventually, Frieda went through a divorce. She was one of the very few, if not the only one in her circle, to get a divorce. That was almost unheard of in those days. But she lifted her chin and kept busy with family and friends and working odd jobs.

When I was born, Grandma Frieda lived in a tiny house about a mile down the country road from us. My older sisters called her ‘grandma in the country’. (Our other grandma was ‘gram in town’.) Grandma in the country was a tiny person. I doubt she weighed over 95 lbs. I thought she looked like a small bird just drying off after a birdbath. By the time I knew her she was hunched over and worn by arthritis, but she still raised raspberries, baked wonderful bread, and pies and was driving herself to church, into town, and entering her handwork in the county fair, always winning ribbons.

She was poor. I remember tagging along with my big sister when she’d haul water for Grandma, from the pump down the driveway to the house. Two buckets would be enough for cooking and the dishes. The screen door holes were stuffed with cotton to keep the bugs out. Only a few low wattage lightbulbs gave dim light in the quiet country evenings and they were never all on at the same time.  She never had dollar bills in her purse, only change. She didn’t have a lot of things. I’m sure the few pretty vases and any rhinestone broaches she owned were gifts. The few dresses she owned were well worn. Most were faded and mended and then re-mended. Later on, she did have a pretty pink dress, probably a gift too.

Her house was nothing modern or fancy but it was spotless. You could eat off of her mismatched cracked linoleum floor.

This slight woman always surprised me with her bravery at things that other women I knew would run from such as mice or a wind storm surrounding her rickety house or driving on icy winter roads. When our family would leave from a day of mowing her lawn and it was getting dark I wasn’t sure I wanted my little grandma all alone out in the country with one dim light on in the house, but she looked so calm and relaxed as she smiled and waved, that I knew she was just fine.

A cheerful person with a good sense of dry humor, she was quick to smile and laugh and tease us kids, pretending to pinch off our noses with her crooked fingers. Sometimes she would just grab me to plant a kiss.  She sang funny kid songs. But she could be very serious too. No goofing off when it was bedtime. She’d rub my dirty summer neck raw until it was clean.

Grandma suffered from numerous aches and health issues. She’d line up her pills in a long single row on the kitchen counter. At the end of the row was a glass of water. She’d tell me how the water was the best medicine of all. I know she was in pain much of the time but she never let it get the best of her.  

She was not shy about her Christian faith and was always ready to talk about it. She really knew the Bible and was passionate about it’s teachings.  After all, she knew first hand how God had been faithful over and over during loss, heartache, divorce, poverty and physical pain and she felt blessed to have wonderful children, who adored her.

I remember her soprano voice as she sang the old Swedish hymns while playing the autoharp. Even as a tot I could sense the deep feeling she sang with. She could play the pump organ also the harmonica, which she called the mouth organ. Everything and everyone were interesting to her. She had a wide range of interests. I can still see her rocking back and forth in the rocking chair while she cheered on Mad Dog and The Crusher while watching her favorite wrestling show on a very small screened black and white TV with horrible reception.

Always an independent woman, it was hard for her to give up driving and leave her home. I remember the very day the family gathered at her house dividing her few possessions. She sat there looking very sad with her skinny arms folded tight. It was the only time I remember her not being in a talkative mood. Now too feeble to live on her own, she took turns living with my aunts and us.

I liked when it was her turn to stay with us. She thought I was good at anything I did and she was so nice to my friends. I remember the night the ambulance came. She was never well after that and died when I was just starting Jr. High.

Grandma Frieda (77) & me (11)

How fortunate I am to have had a grandmother like Frieda. Part of who I am today is because of her. I learned from her to do the best you can with what you’ve got, and that a person doesn’t need a lot of things to be happy, also when life gets tough there is still reason to sing a song, preferably a funny one. So at this time of celebrating and honoring women in history who have done great and big things, to which I’m grateful for, I want to also celebrate and honor the regular and ordinary women like Frieda and all the other inspiring women in my life and yours who have been mentors to us.


I Did Not Go To Church Today

church steepleI did not go to church today.

I drove around taking pictures of church steeples.


I walked up the steps of a big old church to get an artsy shot and there sat a young man who looked like he’d had a rough night, a real rough life. He was waiting for a bus.

He didn’t give me any eye contact. I stood right next to him as I took steeple shots. I was in his space now so I said to him, “I’m taking pictures of steeples today.” He looked at me like ‘ok whatever crazy lady, who I don’t know who just got out of her car while I sit  here and wait for a bus.’

Then a few moments later he spoke up,”Any reason why?” I answered,” Yep, sometimes I pick a theme and just go with it. I recently did old steps that lead to nowhere, also shadows, stuff like that.” He didn’t say anything as I snapped a few more pictures. I was sure he’d lost interest in our conversation. Then as I was leaving he said,” You could do waterfalls.” I turned around and said, “That’s a good idea!” Then he added in an upbeat tone in his voice, “..or tree stumps!” “I hadn’t thought of that one.” I answered, “Thanks for the good ideas.”

He gave me a nice smile and sat up a bit straighter. You know, I think I did go to church today.

Season of Joy


Meaning of ChristmasI write this on a quiet Christmas.

My loved ones are far away, yet I still find myself almost giddy with joy. I do feel blessed to have the love of family and friends. I have a home, a job, and all my needs are taken care of.  All this makes me happy. But I feel such an overwhelmingly deep joy that can’t compare to anything else in life, that I’d be a fool not to share it with others and let you know how to have it too. Christmas is a great reminder of the source of my joy.

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10 Ways To Have The Perfect, Non-Perfect Holiday

holidayThis time of the year can be crazy and stressful or beautiful and meaningful. Whether you celebrate Hanukkah, Solstice , Kwanzaa, Christmas or something else, there is so much to do.

December is busy for me. I celebrate not just Christmas, but also our wedding anniversary and several family member’s birthdays.

I’m older now and more relaxed about a lot of things but the first few years as a young wife, I wanted to have the perfect Christmas.

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right, left, north and south

Library - 1545(spoiler alert: this is not soft…sometimes i think too much)

i am writing this out of a deep frustration…

 …at how the obvious is not noticed and the endless piles of mud are tossed..all the deep and lovely words about time and space and truth and beauty are raped by those who have put up a wall so high and so thick that no miracle or magic can be seen or heard through it……on our short journey through this life experience there is no place for these solid walls…

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Halloween in 1961

Halloween 1961That’s just me hangin’ out by the jack-o’-lantern waiting to go trick-or-treating. It was 1961 and I was 5 years old. (Notice the dog face to the right of the pumpkin. I wish I could say this was a ghost dog that appeared when the picture was developed, but it’s nothing like that, it’s just our dog, Lassie.) 

My mom had taken me to the five and dime store to buy my costume.

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On This Day



(I spoke at my mother’s Celebration of Life service on August 29th. Here it is.)


For the past several years my mom was living her life in a wheelchair unable to do much of anything, losing the strength to hold a book or spoon, stay awake very long or to even speak.

 This could be frustrating at times for her, this once independent, active person. And, I’m sure when she thought back to her prime years, that she found joy and satisfaction in those memories.

 Sometimes on my visits I would read from one of her old journals she’d so faithfully kept for most of her life, and we’d both marvel at how much she used to do in one day.  As her memory failed, her own written words from years past were interesting and enlightening to her.

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Blood, Sweat and Ice Cream Cones

FullSizeRenderI used to work for a temp agency that placed me in offices around the city to fill in for receptionist and office support work. A particular job could be anywhere from one day to two years. I worked all over the city, meeting lots of people and experiencing all types of office environments.

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Friday Nights at My Dad’s Store

Go GamblesI walked into the drug store late on a Friday night when I noticed a sign saying “OPEN 24 HOURS”. I’m glad they stay open late. It was the only chance I had to get shopping done before the weekend. Next stop would be the grocery store, open until 11:00.

When I was growing up in the 1960s, my dad owned a hardware store. You’d never see that sign in his store or any of the stores in our small town. They all closed at 5:30. But Friday nights were different. The stores stayed open until 9:00.

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My Dad

me & daddyMy dad…I thought he was the next thing to Superman. Even though he didn’t leap from tall buildings, (although I did see him fall out of a tree once landing on his feet!), he could do a little of everything, and do it well.


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The Current

road to Nancy's

road to Nancy’s

After driving over 100 miles, I turned off the freeway to a county road then onto a narrow dirt road that leads toward Nancy’s. Driving through the lonesome wooded hills and swampland, cattails grow on both sides of the road. Nature looked picture perfect on that summer day out in the middle of nowhere. One more turn goes down a crude winding driveway that leads to her large rustic house, an impressive work of construction done by her husband’s hands.

Here is where hospice was set up for her.

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Turn Up The Silence

shoe on TVI’m that driver with the loud music on. Heavy bass, please. I enjoy TV. Most of it’s junk to me, but what I like, I really like.

I love to have my family around me. There is no sweeter sound in the house than the voices and footsteps of those I love.

We live in a noisy world. Sounds are everywhere and are a normal part of our everyday lives. Sounds from people, traffic, social media, TV and music are whirling around us in a constant hum, and we just sing along.

Have you ever found yourself in a very quiet place?

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A Is For Amazing

first apple

This apple has come a long way.

This morning it glowed in the sunshine like a giant ruby. My husband brought it home after he’d been to visit his mom. She lives with his sister in the old house that has been in the family for five generations.

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Summers Outside

sand townWhen I was a kid, my friends and I were outside all day long in the summer. After breakfast I was out the door and into the summer sun where us kids decided what we wanted to do when we wanted to do it.

We were old enough to leave the yard but not old enough to have a summer job. This is a glorious and brief time in a person’s life. Those years between your mother’s apron strings and sliding into the work world. The ‘Tom Sawyer’ summers, I call them. Days spent outside, barefoot, with no keys, money or phone to carry. Days that were simple.

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