The Rest of the Story

     When I was fortunate enough to be in the regular classroom setting, I used to send home a weekly newsletter.  It was a colorful collection of the weekly skills, vocabulary lists, lunch menus, needed supplies, and events happening in our little academic world.  We celebrated birthdays, lost teeth, (a big deal in Kindergarten and First grade!) announced new siblings, Snow Queens, family celebrations, and offered up pictures of the good things that were going on in our classroom community.  Sometimes this newsletter offered up hugs for students and families needing our prayers or love. 

      Depending on my assigned grade level, the publication went by different names—The Sixth Grade Scoop, The First Grade Gazette, The Kindergarten Times—but the content was usually the same and the intent of the note was keeping families informed.   I’ve always believed that the key to successful school-family relationships is communication and I hoped this low budget newsletter would help with this area.  For the most part, it was a great way to share news and increase literacy for the students and families.  

     My dad used to do the market report for the family livestock auction business. He recorded it each week and it ran on a variety of news radio stations across the state. Stations such as KWYR, WNAX, KGFX all ran his weekly review of the sale and the producers who had gratefully (and loyally) chosen to do business with the Winner Livestock Auction Company.  Dad had a great radio voice—clear and smooth-with enough wit and reason to keep the report moving smoothly each week.  One of my favorite things is to cross paths with people who tell me how they miss his market reports and banter on the radio. He must have had a small following we were unaware of, as I hear this often.   He would’ve made a great disc jockey or radio talk show host. (Lord knows he had plenty of opinions and music to share. :)  ) One week, after an exasperating Legislative session, I happened to hear his weekly report on my way home from school.  He was clearly unhappy with the current situation regarding something in our fair state and he was using his paid radio time to share these beliefs.  That evening over supper, I told him I had heard the market report.  He said, “Yeah, I went a little “Paul Harvey” today on the report. Sometimes I forget I’m on the air.” I silently figured out that “going Paul Harvey” meant he knew he had offered some personal opinions during the broadcast (reminiscent to Paul’s daily recordings) instead of just reading the market report. We had a good laugh as I agreed.

     Along with his extensive collection of record albums, Dad collected vocabulary words.  Last summer, as we were rummaging through the house contents (basically our collective lives) preparing for the auction sale, I stumbled upon a binder bursting with papers and articles dad had saved.  There were literally hundreds of words highlighted and defined in his neat, distinguishable script.  I think Dad began this collection of obscure words to add to his personal repertoire-- using them only when writing letters to the editor or letters to friends and family. Trust me, most of them were so infrequently used and uncommonly seen you would never actually come across them in daily life, and that’s why Dad loved them. Being able to use these tidbits in his occasional, strongly worded letters to the local weekly newspaper (and sometimes the Argus Leader), brought him some innate sense of joy. Simply put, he was a “wordie” –similar to today’s trend of being a “foodie”, only with words not culinary delicacies.    Dad was well read, contained a thesaurus-like vocabulary and a keen interest in local/statewide issues.  And he called a spade a spade.

     If it’s one thing Daughters folks can do , it’s talk….and give opinions.  And as the newsletter evolved, I started to share thoughts and opinions. Usually the stories and opinions were about educational issues or things going on in our classroom.  Sometimes I offered observations on life and my parenting duties. Like my dad used to say, I went a little “Paul Harvey” some weeks.

     Four years ago our country was reeling after the Sandy Hook tragedy.  As a mother and an educator, I could not imagine the heartbreak and trauma this community was facing.  It was unfathomable, and will forever be so.   As I sat down to write my last newsletter for 2012 the night of the tragedy, I knew I needed to take a different route than the generic Christmas greeting, but I wasn’t sure what I wanted to say. I think it’s safe to say every teacher in the world went home that night with a heavy heart and I was no different. I packed up my stuff a bit earlier than most evenings and felt some joy knowing my home would be full, unlike those crushed families in Sandy Hook.  My boys would both be under the same roof tonight for the first time in a long while. Tate on his way home from college and Scott anxiously awaiting his company. I waited to write the newsletter and went home where I hoped to find Tate and his barrage of laundry.  He did not disappoint.  We had a great evening together, just like old times.  I would tackle the newsletter (and laundry) later in the week, perhaps something would come to me. 

     And it did.  The following is the message from The First Grade Gazette dated December 2012. 

I have a college boy home for the break…..this involves late nights, lazy mornings, more food, more foot traffic, and much laundry.  We are excited to have him home.  His brother, although he would never admit it. Is possibly even more eager to have him home.  He shares stories—parental versions of college events, and in the confines of their bedroom, the brother versions, embellished I’m sure.  It is a cherished time for us as a family.  We miss him and how things used to be when we were all under one roof.

As I awoke to find him sprawled out on the couch I was irritated that he couldn’t use his freshly made bed and clean sheets I was so proud to have ready for him. ( Tate has only been home once since July.) I was just about ready to wake him and send him onward to his room and something stopped me dead in my tracks.  Was it really a big deal that he had chosen to use the living room as his resting place for the past two nights?  Was it really going to “ruin” the couch as I had told Mark the day before when we came downstairs to find him there?

Then I thought about the events of the past few weeks—So many parents would love to see their children sleeping on the couch or a dribbled puddle of red juice on the ecru carpet.  Who would care as the $4.00 gallon of milk was tipped over just because they weren’t paying “attention”?  They would relish the chance to pick up every Lego and Barbie shoe, if only they could hug and hold the creator of the mess just one more time. I looked over at my 20 year old “boy” and I let him sleep…..

The events of the past week have shaken us all….please know I realize what a precious gift you send me each day. They are your world AND mine.  I am thankful for the gift of joy and wonder they bring to my life, and their safety is of our utmost importance.  Please know your greatest gifts are loved and treasured here in our school.

     I had gone high-powered “Paul Harvey” on this one, but I still sent if off with the kiddos the next day in their weekly purple folders.  I’m not sure why I felt the confidence to do so, but I did.  How quickly our lives would change was unknown—the events that unfolded two weeks later were unfathomable and still knock me to my knees more days than I care to admit. 

     In this season of gifts and giving, families and (senseless) family feuds, I want you to know that no matter how frazzled and frenzied this season may find you, that you are fine.  You are fine if your Elf on the Shelf hasn’t moved in four days (gasp). You are fine if you did not find the time or resources to do all the Pinterest-perfect projects we are led to believe make or break our Christmas celebrations. You.Are.Fine.  It will all be fine. Trust me.

     Never forget your greatest gifts are the people and places you make wonderful with your presence. And never forget those beautiful faces you put to bed each night…..either in person or mentally through your thoughts and prayers, because moms never stop tucking their children in at night….no matter where they live. 

     Treasure this time and these days……they are our greatest gifts.

     And as long as I’m going all “Paul Harvey” on you, this is truly “the rest of the story”. 

Bailey's Amazing Grace

     It was a familiar scene.  Boxes of crafting supplies, brushes, paint, sacks filled with markers, brushes, and glue sticks were scattered all over the dining room table.  Raffia fell on the beautiful hardwood floor and the wispy, thin strings of hot glue hung from our newly created scarecrows like spider webs in the corner of an old window outside. (They are similar to those in my bathroom…. but who chooses cleaning over crafting with friends?  Seriously?  Who does that?)  The projects were propped up all over the house.  Each one uniquely different, yet similar.  Their faces and accessories as different as the women who have created them.  We are young and old, quiet and loud, girlfriends, wives, daughters, grandmothers, and friends.  We are related—some biologically; and some by those bonds that have been formed when you’ve shared so many experiences you forget you don’t share a common last name. 

            The assembly of the self-proclaimed crafting queens began taking place about 7-8 years ago during the opening of hunting season. Men hunt and drink, women craft and shop. (...and drink and laugh and…We have WAY more fun and we don’t need a license or orange vests to do so.) It has been a two-year hiatus since we’ve met.   I think each of us, in our own way, were mentally recalling those earlier craft days and the matriarch of the materials and organizing queen who made this all possible.  We remember the glitter paint, and digging through her amazing collection of quilting material. Yards and yards of textiles as colorful and beautiful as she was to so many.   We can hear her soft, encouraging voice telling us to go ahead and just use whatever we wanted.  “Take it, use it, try it….”any and all of those words were repeated over and over as we glittered and glued and cluttered up her house, consumed her delicious food, and bathed in her attention and love. We were missing one very important member of this crafting weekend.  We were missing Janet. 

            There are not enough good things I could write about Janet.  I will try in this blog, but if you were not blessed by knowing her, I am truly sorry.  She was someone we should all strive to be—kind, ambitious, accepting, fair, caring, generous, witty, loving…did I say kind? Did I mention hard-working? Fun?   Janet got more done before 7 AM on Monday than I did by Thursday.  And not just once-in-awhile…EVERY single week.  She was a go- getter.  Her attitude and ambition amazed me.  She worked at so many different thing—raising a family, ranching with her brother and family, supporting community events, quilting, baking, supporting her kids and their teammates in their many activities.  Janet did all of this and made it look effortless.  And that smile…. her smile was incredible.  And it made you feel incredible when you were lucky enough to be around it’s warm glow.  She had a grace about her that made everyone feel better the minute they were in her presence.  What a gift….

            I remember one particular crafting evening down at the ranch where Melissa and Janet were trying to get a wall hanging done.  No wait, Melissa wanted Janet to help her get her wall hanging done. And of course, Janet was all in.  That’s just who she was.  They knew if they worked on this one, Janet and her talented quilting club would whip the rest out in a few afternoons. Also a talented seamstress, Melissa knows her way around a sewing machine, and within minutes, the two of them had machines threaded, scissors slicing, and then proclaimed they needed someone to press the pieces of material. (Or maybe they were sick of me standing around?  I’m not sure….THANK GOD there were only two machines. )  Janet assigned me to the ironing board and I pressed the lovely green and red patterned pieces and dutifully walked them over to her so she could add it to the wall hanging.  I would admire her quick, skillful work about every third trip.  Her response was always the same.  “Oh heck Lynn, you could do this.  Really this is simple.”  Or she would say, “You have no idea how much I appreciate you doing the ironing, Lynn.  It’s really the worst part of quilting.”  (If it had been anyone else but dear Janet, it would have been a” Tom Sawyer fence painting” kind of moment, but not with Janet—she needed me to press those seams.)  I replied the ironing was probably the only part of quilting I would ever be able to do as I was not talented at sewing.

(Flashback to my first sewing experience, 45 some years ago, despite laboring for over a week on simple top and pair of shorts at the Tripp Co. Extension Sewing Camp, I was resigned to using masking tape to hem my shorts for the culminating style show in the basement of Ranchers Bank.  I’m sure Alice was so proud. A few years later in Junior High, my dear Home Ed teacher Mrs. Young tried her very best to show me the way also. .  Lord, did she try….. but despite her monstrous efforts, I was no seamstress.. )

 We pressed, pinned, cut, and sewed our way into the night.  In fact, we worked so late that the Senftner clan ended up spending the night sprawled all over the living room. (Which is exactly what the boys were hoping for that day!) The wall hanging was gorgeous, and like anything homemade, the time spent making it was even more beautiful. By the end of the night, Janet had me believing I could make a quilt of my own someday. That’s how awesome she was…she encouraged and supported everyone she met. And I loved that about her.

Melissa called me last week and said that Bailey wanted to have a crafting weekend at their house during the pheasant opener.  It was time to resurrect the annual crafting day Janet had so loved. (And organized and made happen…)   As I’ve tried to explain to those of you reading this, Janet did a lot of great things.  Hundreds and thousands of good works…..but her greatest work were the amazing humans she and Rod raised—Dustin, Weston, and Bailey. Talented, handsome, beautiful, kind, funny, athletic…I could go on and on, but you get the picture.  Like that catchy song from a few years ago, “Stacy’s Mom”—these kids “have got it going on”.  

I’ve always said we all become our mothers.  And in this very case, I called it perfectly.  Bailey is truly her mother’s daughter, that lucky girl.   Bailey just spent the last six years living in Spearfish where she competed (brilliantly) as BHSU Yellow Jacket student-athlete on the women’s basketball team.  I remember seeing Janet’s joy and excitement when Bailey chose to take her talents to BHSU.  Janet loved the Black Hills area…. Bailey does also.  Bailey worked hard in both her classes and on the court…. again following Janet’s example of hard work and dedication to the task at hand. She battled back from a knee injury and bravely watched her beautiful mother fight, but eventually lose, her own battle against that  $%&* cancer.

 Our dear Bailey has seen a lot in her short life and yet her fierce, competitive spirit has carried her through many of these difficult days.   I know she misses her dear mom….she is not alone, so many do.  But I want her to know how proud her mom would be of her efforts this weekend—and every other day of her young life.  Bailey was building and organizing and making cider complete with cinnamon sticks stirrers for folks twice her age.  (When i was her age, I would have been handing out Goldfish crackers and warm Diet Cokes, IF I had remembered to buy them.) Bailey is special--in so many ways.   She learned hospitality and grace growing up under Janet’s guidance and it was so humbling to watch her lead this weekend just like Janet always did.   The spirit of Janet, never far from her family’s thoughts and hearts, was there this weekend.  And I’m so glad I got to share a day of this love and healing….and I’m so very proud of Bailey for all that she did to make this a special weekend for some old(er) ladies who like her, really, really miss her mom.  You have been blessed with so many amazing gifts dear Bailey…..but the grace and spirit you showed this weekend had to make your angel mama so very proud.  Thank you for wisely and gracefully showing us how to remember and celebrate those we have lost way ahead of their time. You are amazing.  And you are going to do amazing things with your nursing degree….so proud of you for chasing that dream, too.  

P.S.  And telling us to cut up the flower arrangement was a TOTAL Janet move….I could hear saying, “Heck yeah.  Just cut one of those flowers off and use it.  I can get more.”

P.P.S.  Love and miss you much Janet. 

P.P.P.S.  You can come back in the house now Rod.  We’re gone! I promise.  (But I’m guessing there is still some evidence of our glorious creations in a few places. Tread carefully. )

Life in "The 'Hood"....OMAHA!!!!!!!

     Blessedly, we live on a block very similar to the one I was raised on in Winner. It's a quiet block as far as traffic is concerned. The pavement on the south end of Circle Line Drive  abruptly transitions to gravel and dirt (mostly dirt) and this dirt then takes a turn east, making a small loop up to Main Street.  It's safe to say you don't travel on Circle Line Drive unless you live here or you are out for a casual drive through the town and you want to see what's going on "down by the tracks...."

     Finding housing in Onida is a tricky, tiring task.  Houses sell via text messages, over a cocktail at the Blue Goose, and on Facebook posts. There are cheers of relief when someone scores a place to live, only to be followed by collective groans from those unaware of  the available real estate.  There were two homes for sale when the old ball coach brought us to town.  Two.  And only by the grace of God, some really good friends, a young accountant, and the local banker did we end up on this amazing block I affectionately call "The 'Hood". 

      We live in the Larson home. While we have been here 11 years this month, it will forever be the "Larson" home to the natives, and that's okay.  Larry built the home and he should get the credit.   It withstood three active, athletic boys and their friends.  I have friends who spent time here as they were growing up and I love to hear their stories about the place we have adopted as our home. It appears that our home hosted parties, kids, and Larry's hunting bounties.  Larry Larson is on my short list of people I wish I would have had the honor to meet. No one shares a story with me about Larry without a smile.   One day shortly after we moved in, the boys and their friends were running in and out of the worn, white double doors.  I heard a man's voice yell out to me as I stood in the yard, "Man, Larry would be proud. He loved kids and he would love seeing those kids in his house. Welcome to the neighborhood."  It was Gary.  He was letting me know that this house was well-equipped for our insanity. 

 

      Our neighborhood is a wonderful collection of folks--young and old, quiet and crazy.  Most of us are working outside the home so things are calm during the day on Circle Line Drive.  There is a slight buzz of traffic around 7:50 AM as we all shimmy off to work, and we trickle back home in shifts arriving back anywhere from 4:30 PM to 7:00 PM.  Mark, Craig,  Scott C., and Gary keep later hours depending on the season, weather, farming, or ball game schedule.  There are bank tellers, accountants, insurance agents, grain bin engineers, antique experts, bank presidents, farmers, stock contractors, administrative assistants,  hospital administrators, postmasters,  a Yankees fan extraordinaire,  and teachers that roost here.  We are home to a State Rodeo Queen, the newest University of Tennessee women's basketball manager, an up and coming student in the cattle showmanship world, a soon-to-be doctor raising twins, (Can you imagine?), new and returning college students, two adorable young girls with spunk and spirit who come to visit (thankfully), and some Charger state champions. There is much to celebrate and love in this place I like to call "The 'Hood", but we have also shared much heartache as three of the eight families have said good bye to young adult children....Our little neighborhood has seen the best and worst this old world has to offer.  

      Some of the best times are spent in the street.  Literally.  We stand in the street and visit, solve world problems, catch up on community news, (okay, okay, gossip), make fun of each other, offer advice, and enjoy a break from the daily grind. The visits may start with just a few neighbors and grow as the sun goes down and the community news heats up, but they most always take place right in the middle of the block on the street. There were many discussions and fingers pointed when it was mowing season.  A former 'Hood resident, Dick, kept EVERYONE on their toes as far as lawn care was concerned.  Once he mowed, it was the domino effect and Dick took a lot of grief for staring the mowing cycle each spring. There were grumblings around the block when Dick pulled the mower out each April.   Once Dick started mowing, it was lawn care season whether you were ready or not. 

     The block has it's idiosyncrasies also.  We are not above running out to our cars in just a towel because we left our suitcase there after arriving home late or entering a home to borrow an egg (or a beer) without permission. We hang signs, share food, and help the Senftners cut down trees and fix things because they can't or don't have the tools....(That is an entirely different subject I may tackle on here some day.)  On any given Friday, you will hear the local bank president, with his mild mannered voice, yell "OMAHA" out to the quarterback on his way to school. And the quarterback, another quiet soul, responds.   On this fair street, you can actually run across the street and bother the  accountant with your last minute tax return and he still speaks to you and delivers it on time.  Of course, I am only going on the stories I've heard about that one...But I'm sure , I KNOW this is true. 

     This summer it was announced that not one, but two families were leaving the confines of Circle Line Drive.  I do not remember giving them permission to leave the fold.  There was no gathering in the street, or meeting of the minds where this was announced.  Nope.  Those folks just decided to post a picture of their homes and put them on Facebook with a little blurb stating these abodes were, "For Sale". Can you believe it?  I will admit when I logged on to Facebook and saw the familiar view from my front window in a Facebook post this spring it really didn't register right away.  Then I read the text accompanying these pictures.  My heart sunk and I shed a few tears.  It had been a tough day at school and the whole senior mom/empty nest thing was slowing creeping up on me.  I did not need this. I need them living right where they have since the day we moved in. 

  

     Mike and Kellie and their collective posse of kids and extended family are folks who make you better just by knowing them.  They are generous, kind, and the Webster's definition of neighbor.  Their home has always been open if we needed anything--food, an extra bed,a visit, or a hug.  Mike was one of Tate's mentors for his senior project and offered our young high school kid a remarkable job experience following his graduation.  He loves kids, problem solving, sports, NASCAR, and community projects.  He has a kind heart and has been someone we have relied on for many things since we moved here.   Kellie would do anything for anyone. Truthfully one of the most generous souls you would ever meet. Her talents are many and her glass is always not half, but three-quarters full. She is currently working full time AND completing her Masters and still manages to get more done in one day than I do in three. They share four awesome children--Spencer, Brielle, Alex, and Jaxon whose presence on this block have made our time here joyful and fun. The driveway hoop contests will forever be some of my favorite memories--how Mike always won those HORSE contests is beyond me. :) 

 

    Mike and Kellie have constructed their "dream house".  Thankfully, still in the 57564, but not on this block.  They are  CLEAR across town about a mile....but we will miss them dearly.  I am happy for them as I know this has always been something they had hoped to do and with their family expanding, it is a great move.  I took a tour a few weeks ago and even at 75% done, it was gorgeous. A beautiful, open space that will bring them much enjoyment.  I cannot wait to see it after Kellie puts her decorative touch on the space. It will be a masterpiece of decor and love.

  

    In about an hour, the old ball coach and his football posse will be helping Mike and Kellie move some of their things.  I awoke Saturday morning to see a small army moving some boxes and it brought some tears to my empty-nesting eyes.  Because we had plans to go visit Scott for a parent event at the college, we could not help them and for that, I feel badly.  I watched as boxes and family moved their current life's treasures into the trailer and my heart hurt a bit.  I know they aren't moving far, but there is nothing like familiar surroundings.  And Mike and Kellie were our familiar--along with the other precious folks that make up our "Hood.

      There will also be new 'Hood inhabitants at Dennis and Judy's home in the future.  They are the wise, welcoming neighbors at the very end of the block.  They are some of the very best folks who have made the easy decision to move closer to their children. Oh who am I kidding, I mean their GRANDCHILDREN!  They will be taking their collection of gorgeous antique furniture, Denny's patient manner, and Judy's decorating style to Madison where they will be surrounded by a beautiful bevy of grand kids who will keep them busy and active and loved.  I smile thinking about all the ball games Denny will get to take in, and Judy will love being so close to the many school activities and funky yard sales that this part of the state offers.  I can only imagine the amazing things she and Summer will be creating.  It will be different to see someone else's car parked in the driveway, but they too, are making a great move for their family. <3

   I am so happy to know that 708 Circle Line Drive will be welcoming a new family soon....I can only pray to be half the neighbors to them that Mike and Kellie were to us. I have no excuse, I was learning from some of the best these past eleven years.  We look forward to seeing Tracy, Dusty and Hunter in "The 'Hood" soon....Here's hoping you love being here. We are kind of an acquired taste.... give us time! <3

    So for you Mike, because that QB is not here to do it.....

OMAHA!

    P.S.  It's Jenna.  Jenna runs to her car in the towel. 

Just Keep Swimming....The Last Nineteen Years

     He arrived, a few weeks early, in the midst of a bitter, bone-chilling cold spell and tons of snow.  He will depart a few weeks earlier than his classmates in the midst of the heat and humidity that only a South Dakota summer can bring.  I wasn't really prepared for his early arrival, and I am definitely not ready for his departure.  Mark had to run uptown earlier this evening and he asked me if I needed anything.  I bluntly replied, "Yeah, can you bring me back the last nineteen years of my life?"  He gave me a faint grin and said, "Yeah, I know.  I wish I could."

     The weeks leading up to this date have been busy--last minute paperwork, emails, signing up for student loans (gulp), and registering for classes.  We have purchased his "dream" laptop, a new comforter, some containers, and cleaned up his brother's dorm fridge.  Doctor appointments, an oil change on the (hopefully) trusty Explorer, and the much overdue "gutting" of the boar's nest he calls his room, also occurred in various shifts over the last few weeks.   We have confirmed what we already knew--he has too many t-shirts and socks and he uncovered a pair of boxers from the nest that I am positive haven't fit him since third grade.  

    We had a terrible time deciding on a name for him; for both boys actually, but especially him.  I will never forget when one of my colleagues stopped up to the hospital to visit after he was born and she asked me what we had named him.  I said we hadn't decided yet.  Her response still makes me laugh. "Lynn, how can you not have a name for him? You've known for nine months you were going to have a baby." (In my defense, he was three weeks early--I was denied those last weeks to shuffle through the baby name book and watch Mark roll his eyes or groan at my suggestions.) Her words are dancing through my head this evening as my soon-to-be-college boy spends his last night at home for a long time...only there's a twist.."Lynn, how can you not be more prepared for this event?  You've known for the last nineteen years this day would come?" 

   I cannot imagine that anyone is prepared to send their children to college. I do a lot of reading and I've never seen a title like  "Sending Your Child to College for Dummies".  There cannot be anything that prepares you for this.   I think back to the day my mom took me over to Augustana (my first landing spot).  My dad was "staying back" to take care of my brother (approaching his junior year) and my sister (an 11 year old)--both perfectly capable of winging it for the day.  It was the Labor Day celebration in Winner--carnivals, parades, softball tourneys, and more. (Bob, seriously, open the money clip and give them a $20 and get in the car with your wife. )  None of the celebratory things were big on Bob's list of things to do, but he stood on the porch after helping me load the car and gave me a big hug.  My always witty, sarcastic brother was reading the Omaha World Herald, reclining in the lazy boy.  He ever so innocently tipped the corner of the paper down  and said, "See you in four years."   My sister was crying and I was too.   Years later my mom told me she cried all the way down Highway 44 to Parkston after dropping me off at Bergsaker Hall.  Claims she quickly stopped in Parker for coffee only because she needed some napkins to use as tissues.   I asked her why dad hadn't come along that day and she confessed that he told her he just didn't think he could do it.  She said he cried every night for a week.   It's okay Dad.  I get it.  Trust me, I get it. Oh, do I get it.

     Tomorrow  the "college boy"  and I will take off in the mid-afternoon.  Mark has,wait for it.....a coaching responsibility, so he will join us later in the evening.  I am looking forward to the drive--just me and my boy.  We have traveled many miles for many moons just he and I.  Ball games. school events. visits to Grandma Alice's house, trips to baseball in Pierre--all minutes and miles I would do over and over again.  I would start this journey over in a heartbeat-- no questions asked, and no location too far, because the little boy who once hated to ride in the car, has become my beloved travel partner.  We've shared stories and dreams and laughs as we've crossed the state following his dad's teams and his activities.  .There have also been times when not much was said.....he was napping, or listening to music, or texting, or maybe ignoring me, which is fine. I cherished the time we were spending even in the silence.   For the most part, it has been quality time.  (Just don't bring up the time I got a flat tire on the way to the big GBB game in Mobridge OR the time(s) the deer just jumped in front of my car. For during these events, my dear boy was, to borrow a new millennial slang term, " a hot mess"-- complete with tears and sobs. The poor kid just fell apart.)

      As his mom, I will always wonder if we prepared him enough for this next exciting step.  I certainly wasn't ready when Alice dropped me off some 30 years ago.  I was naive and comfortable in my hometown.  He is too.  He enjoyed his high school career and loved being an SBHS student. This will be a big step for him.   Did we teach him enough?  Is he ready for the challenges and changes that college will present?  We pray he will be a good roommate--respectful of the shared space and property that is not his.   The people, the professors, the friends and fun await him.  I pray that most of the experiences will be positive, but deep down I know there will be some difficult lessons yet to be learned.Things we perhaps could not have taught him, but could we have warned him at least? What did we miss? Overlook?  He has had enough sadness the last few years, that I know we shied away from some of the bad stuff we should have shared with him.  His glass is always half full and he thinks everyone else's is also....but we know it that isn't true. And no matter what is on the horizon for him,  I will always question if we did enough to prepare him for this next adventure.  I know I had ample time to teach these lessons, but man, I am panicking here.   

       We've been in "Dory Mode" since Tate's death---and by Dory Mode,  I mean, "Just keep swimming.....just keep swimming".  We have paddled and tread through some deep, deep water the past few years. Sadly, I think we always will, but maybe it will get easier. We've been bobbling up and down through events, or sometimes just floating to survive another day.  There were days I should have been playing life guard but the "pool" was unattended, and for that dear boy, I am so very sorry,  You deserved better.  My favorite swimmer has done a pretty decent job staying afloat these past few years. Much better than his mother.  Deep down, I'm excited for you to jump out of this pool, dry off, and start your next big swim with a splash.....I know  this next body of water will be a wonderful time in your life. And I know you can do it.   And I pray we have supplied you with the strength and faith to keep swimming.....We are your biggest fans, your life guards, your water wings... and we want nothing more than for you to be happy and healthy.  You are ready for this, even if you think you are not dear boy.  Never forget we are here if you need us.... We love you. 

   (Side note:  After four long days, and playful threats from the business office at the Gregory Community Hosptial reminding us that he must be named before we could take him home. we finally agreed on a name for our little guy.  Scott Robert Senftner arrived at 12:45 pm on Wednesday, December 4, 1996.  That very afternoon, his proud big brother Tate confidently announced at CCD Christmas Program practice that we had named him Andrew and because he was so believable, Scott received a few cards addressed as such....Other names tossed around were Brock, Ryan, Derek, and Tyler, and obviously, Tate was gunning for an Andrew. None of those even sound right now. <3 )
   
   
   

Molly's Getting Married

    This weekend I will step into a role I will never play again. Ever.  Now I've been in plenty of plays and productions and my parts have been big, little and everything in between, but this role, well this one is a big one.  I will never get the chance to do this again and I am SO honored this beautiful young lady is allowing me the opportunity.....I get to be a "Godmother of the Bride".   Yep, Molly is getting married.  My only link to being the mother of a girl is being married this weekend.   And unlike the old adage that tells me, as mother of the groom.  I will need to wear beige and be quiet when Scott gets married, this role has allowed me to help with the tulle, the ribbon, glitter, spray paint, and glorious trips to Hobby Lobby!  Being invited as she chose her dress was another precious moment.....and I will forever remember that fun morning last summer.  What seemed like a long time ago last August, has quietly crept upon us and this Saturday, June 4, 2016 my amazing Goddaughter will become Mrs. Pirner.  How did this happen?  

     Molly Jo Shanks was born in Aberdeen, SD on June 27, 1989.  I remember being so excited.  There were no Snapchat stories, no texts, or Facebook posts announcing her arrival.  Brian called our stationary phone (not even a cordless one--those were for rich people, not teachers)  probably from some payphone in the lobby at St. Luke's Hospital.  No matter how we heard the news, I remember it being an amazing day.  I had to leave that morning to go pick up Mark at a basketball camp in Huron, so we didn't get to see her right away, but when we did,  it was love at first sight.  If you think she is beautiful now(she is), I can assure you she arrived looking just the same.  

    Molly is the perfect combination of her mother's wit and beauty, and father's wise ways and concern for the common good.  She is kind, committed, and loves deeply.  She believes in kids, worries about those less fortunate than her, cheers for the underdog, and loves a great pair of shoes, literature, and  bottles of wine.  Our hearts have been filled with pride as she moved on to earn her teaching degree and has spent the last three years filling minds with her love of reading and language arts.  She's been a cheer coach, play director, annual staff mentor, and more.  She spends here days with middle school kids (hence, the wine bottles) and her nights correcting essays and planning lessons.  We are so very proud to call her our Goddaughter. She and Tate shared some similarities that come with being the oldest child---some of the tweets they shared involved poking fun at their mothers and our lack of being able to be on time for family trips.  I must admit--they were right about me, and if Melissa contests this, well.....she's lying.  We have good intentions, we just run by a different clock sometimes.  

   

     On Saturday, Molly will walk down the aisle to meet her soulmate--a fine young man named Grayson.  He is a wonderful young man--quiet, kind, funny, charming, and sweet. (And a huge wrestling fan.)  We love him.  He makes her laugh, calms her down when things get rocky, and rolls easily with the tides that all relationships bring. When he proposed,  he had no idea that he would also be getting a Godmother-in-law,  so say a prayer for this dear sweet man.  No one should have two mother-in-laws.....:)   (You're stuck with me, Grayson.  Sorry) 

    When Molly graduated from high school in 2008 I babbled on in a letter.  I still have this on my computer and as I re-read it this afternoon, I found myself wanting to tell her all of these same things as she prepares to take the next step in her amazing life. Ironically in college, she found some amazing friends who just happen to be Winner girls.  (Seriously, who can go wrong with Winner girls?)   I flashed back to all the things that have changed the past eight years....there are faces we will miss Saturday.  Tate and Janet come instantly to mind.   There are places and people who have exited both Molly and Grayson's life, yet have played a huge role in the people they have become.   Life is like that---things are not forever, but the people, places, and experiences we share traveling through life make us who we are....the good, the bad, the funny, the infuriating--all of these things have brought Molly and Grayson to where they are today.   Never forget that....and never forget to take it all in, even the bad stuff.  Grab onto all of it.... for life is short. 

    I am not sure if you still have this letter dear Molly, so here it is again.  A few corrections were made. ( If you have the time to grade it, I'm guessing it's about an  88% for the mechanics, but 100% filled with love.)  I cannot wait to celebrate with you this weekend. You are loved more than you will ever know.  

Dear Molly,

            I have written and rewritten this letter a million times in my head.  Now that it is time to put it on paper, I find myself stumped.  I need to tell you something wonderful or smart or wise….I am your Godmother for goodness sake.  Isn’t that my job?  I am then reminded that you are already all of those things-- a wonderful young lady  with a strong head on her shoulders.  Much wiser than I ever was when your mom and I crossed paths twenty some years ago and this extraordinary friendship between us began.

            I would love to start from the beginning but paper and time would not allow for this to happen.  There is simply too much to say.   Your mom was one of the first new people I met when I transferred to Northern in 1983.  She was a “seasoned” NSU coed—she knew the ropes, the “hangouts” and the day to day things that made life at Northern so much fun.  We spent the first year hanging out during the week and heading out on the weekends.  Narcel was our common bond and we found out we had many similar interests, likes and dislikes and we were both traveling down the road of education, much to our fathers’ dismay.  We were sad to head out for home the summer that May of 1984, but we looked forward to the fall.

            As our years at Northern passed, your mom became one of my very good friends.  We did things that bring laughter to only our ears and memories.  We had many of those “you had to be there” moments that only college kids experience.  We did things we pray you NEVER do, and if you do end up in these moments, neither of us will want to hear about it.  Secretly though, I know we both pray you have those very same experiences and adventures with your college buddies. 

            I was there the night your parents met, shared in their wedding day and watched as they headed out “west” to make real money in Dupree.  ($15,500 a year….big time in 1987,  believe it or not.)  We enjoyed heading out to Dupree and spending the weekends in the brown house.  No matter how many of us showed up, there always seemed to be room in the “expansive” 2 bedroom rental called the Shanks’ home!

            But the most exciting time in our friendship came the summer of 1989 when your parents came to Roscoe to spend the summer with us.  Your dad was working on his administration degree and they were both awaiting your arrival.  As your dad went to class, your mom and I read magazines, laughed, watched “The Guiding Light”, took walks and ate Magic Middle cookies your dad would bring back from Kessler’s in Aberdeen. We were more about the cookies and TV than the walks, but it was probably one of the craziest, laziest Junes I have ever spent.  Your mom was experiencing something new with this motherhood gig and I watched from the sidelines, not ready to begin my journey yet.  We looked at books from the doctor and worried if your mom would make to the hospital in time.  We wondered what would happen when it was actually time for you to arrive….If your mom was scared or nervous, she never let on.  She was excited for your birth and anxious to become your mother.

            What an honor it was to be asked to be your Godparents. It was the first “grown up” thing Mark and I did as a couple.  You were a beautiful baby, Molly.  Dark hair, skin and beautiful, bright piercing eyes lit up your face.  You’re the only person on earth (besides my own boys) who would compel me to hitch a ride home to Roscoe in Donnie Farley’s semi trailer JUST so I could come to your baby shower. (Mark was coaching and couldn’t come get me…only bring me over the weekend. Donnie was my only way home!)

            We have watched as you have grown throughout the years, Molly.  Pictures, occasional visits and a “few” phone calls have kept us in touch throughout the early years.  We always wanted to see you more than time and space allowed.  As I had my own babies and started my own journey into motherhood, it was tougher to see you regularly. Luckily, your mom and I talk “every once in a while” on the phone and she would keep me posted on your happenings.

            As we have watched you grow up from afar, Molly, we have been so very proud of the wonderful young lady you have become.  We are still honored to be your Godparents and pray for your safety each night.  We know you are excited to begin this new phase of your life.  You are ready thanks to your teachers and family and your preparation for this time has been time well spent.  As you head out into the big world, we will continue to pray for your safety and we will look forward to seeing all the wonderful things you will do with your opportunities.

            As much as I want things to be perfect for you Molly, I pray even more that you find a friend like I have in your mother.  No matter how far apart we have lived, no matter what is going on in our lives, no matter our opinions on things, your mom is the person I can hardly wait to tell when things are going good or bad, crazy or sane.  She was there when my dad died, has listened and shared in the miseries of being a “coach’s wife” and understands the craziness of the world I have chosen for myself.  Your dad and Mark have had their fill of our phone bills and the money we’ve spent keeping in touch, but I will look back and know it may be some of the best money I’ve ever spent.  I want you to have that friend, Molly.  That is my prayer for you.  It may sound simple and rather vague right now, but I know you will understand this as you continue to make your way in this crazy world…..

            God Bless You as you graduate today.  We hope you are surrounded always by kind people, a loving family and good health.  Take care and know we are always here for you no matter what you need….We love you, Molly.      

Love, Your Godmother    

            

The Bride and Bonita....

It is a recurring theme as of late--multiple places to be and only one me.  If only I had a plane......or a personal pilot....or both!

My first year in Timber Lake I was assigned to teach a section of third grade.  The split was the result of a large class and I would be across the desk from 15 eager, anxious students each morning.   Changes in the district were common due to the remote nature of the town and I was lucky enough to be one of these new faces who had eagerly signed on the dotted line. I was so grateful to have gotten a position and get all of us moved to Timber Lake that I would have agreed to do just about anything. Well, not physics.  Physics would have been a huge stretch.  Think bigger than huge....that's the word I'm looking for. 

Timber Lake Schools (TLS) is a remarkable place.  Absolutely incredible folks fill the classrooms, kitchens, offices, buses, homes, and desks within the district. They are  humble humans--proud of their community, their facilities, and especially, their kids.  And they should be.  It was an honor to be on staff at TLS and we  met some of our closest friends and colleagues during our years there.  The school was often a starting point for many young teachers, so having a new third grade teacher was nothing new.  But there was also a changing of the guard in the principal's office.  And that, well that was a big deal. 

Mrs. Bonita Ehly had loyally served the district for many years.  First as a top notch English teacher and later as the elementary principal.  She was a force to be reckoned with--honestly, I was terrified of her after my initial interview that April.  My husband had been working there already and warned me she was no nonsense and that her staff and students knew what was expected from them .  She was in charge and if you didn't like it, well, tough.  Mrs. Ehly demanded respect, manners, and punctuality--from staff and students alike.  (  And often took a bad rap for demanding these things.....sigh.)  She loved beautiful clothing, jewelry, and fancy things.  Impeccably dressed and accessorized, she was a formidable face behind the principal's desk for staff and students.  You knew where you stood--AND  where you shouldn't be standing. 

As I was preparing my new classroom one warm August morning, I saw someone standing outside the door..  She seemed to be watching me through the window.  Once we made eye contact, she smiled and came through the closed door.  We had just moved in the day before, and both my house and this classroom were a mess.  I climbed over the boxes and said hello.  Immediately, I remembered who this lady was---it was the lady from my interview, Mrs. Ehly.  She extended her hand and welcomed me to the school.  We engaged in the small talk that strangers make when they don't know what they should be talking about--the weather, the move, how old were my children...all those mindless things that had nothing to do with this visit.  Finally, Mrs. Ehly broke the ice.  I will never forget what she said to me. "Mrs. Senftner, my granddaughter Kasidee is going to be in your class this year and I want you to know just how much I love her."  It was a powerful statement made by a powerful lady.  I think I stammered something about a Grandma's love and Mrs. Ehly continued, "Kasidee is going to drive you crazy some days, but she has a good heart and just needs some extra love and attention.  I want you to know how excited she is to be in your room and I want you to know I am too."  Honestly, I was truly taken back.  I had not gotten the vibe that Mrs. Ehly was that impressed with my interview back in April, so to hear this was a surprise. (Most coaches wives only get jobs because their married to "the coach" you know...I've heard this more than once and it's tough to swallow.) 

I assured Mrs. Ehly that, I too, was looking forward to the challenge of a new school and the students that would be mine this year. I told her I was looking forward to meeting Kasidee and her classmates.  She acknowledged the time I needed to prepare and said she didn't want to keep me, but wanted me to know her visit was purely personal--a grandma keeping watch on her precious granddaughter.  I imagined her newly found retirement was going to take some getting used to.  You don't spend a majority of your life "going to school"  each day and simply stop without some adjustment period.  The excitement of a new school year is forever ingrained in the minds of educators. The rest of the world sees January as the beginning of their new year while most teachers will look to August or September as the beginning of theirs.  I think Mrs. Ehly was both truly concerned about Kasidee and perhaps pondering the fact that this new year was marching on without her....

Kasidee came through the door that first morning with wide eyes and a big smile.  Her long legs carried a slight frame and she towered over most of the other third graders.  She had a sprinkling of freckles and the ever popular short bob haircut complete with a spirited pony tail and matching ribbon,  bouncing on top of her head.  There was an awkward grace about her---she had not yet grown into her arms and legs and I could tell without even having playground duty yet that she was athletic and busy.  (Mark has trained me to scout the playground for these types.... just kidding, but I was right.  She could run and jump! )  To say Kasidee found her desk and chair comfortable would be stretching the truth.n She loved school and her classmates, but the confines of the classroom were her nemesis.  As the year went on, we had a few rough patches--some friend "fights" and I had rules that this beautiful, spirited girl disagreed with (those difficult ones like writing your name on your paper and raising your hand to speak..ha ha)  but she was a joy to have in class.  She worked hard.  She played hard.  But most importantly, she loved deeply and wanted only to be accepted and loved by her friends.  Teachers are not supposed to  admit to having  favorite classes, but I must.  This group was one of my all time favorites. (I continue to hear from them via Facebook and I hope they know how special that is to this old Panther/Gorilla/Hornet, Charger.)  

Kasidee soared as she grew and matured.  Nana, as Kasidee called Mrs, Ehly, checked in with me occasionally.  She seemed to know where to draw the line between grandma and teacher, but loved hearing stories and quips of Kasidee's days.  Mrs. Ehly wore the title of Grandma as a badge of honor and she told me more than once how difficult it had been being both principal and Grandma to the four Traversie kids walking the halls.  I don't know this for sure as we never discussed that, but I think it was probably part of the reason she retired.....her role as a Grandma was entirely more important that any principal's desk. Those four children, along with her daughter Kellie and husband Melvin, were her world.  

Due to a change in administration late in the year, Mrs. Ehly's service was needed to fill in as principal. Of course, she stepped up and took on the role, although I did hear Mr. Seiler had to do a little begging...:)  I was hesitant and a bit nervous.  I had been moved to the sixth grade as they there was another large class needing split into two groups.  I was hoping I would be effective in this new role and hoping the new "old" principal and I would find common ground.  My concerns were unfounded.  Mrs. Ehly was amazing. I  heard from other teachers that she was different when she came back--a bit softer, a bit less worried about the little things, but still brought the same professionalism and polish to the job that was needed and appreciated.  She was supportive of her staff and behind her "tough" demeanor, she truly cared about kids.  She knew an education was needed to reach their potential and she knew when and how to push kids to be their best.  

Kasidee found success in athletics as she grew and matured.  Her class was talented and active and she was part of many great things that happened at TLS. Even though we had moved to Onida,  I was able to see her play a few ball games and every time, I recalled those long legs and bobbing pony tail walking into my room that August morning.  She proudly sported a Charger State Tourney shirt during the girls championship game in 2007 and cheered like crazy. That meant a lot to me.    She also went on to battle back from multiple knee surgeries and played basketball in college.  I know Nana was so proud of her......We received beautiful handwritten cards and letters from Mrs. Ehly after we moved.  Always positive or congratulatory, these cards were an extension of Mrs. Ehly's grace and love.  In an age of emails and texts, written notes are treasures and these certainly were. 

As I write this, Kasidee is preparing for her wedding tomorrow.  As soon as I heard the news that she was being married, I  thought of how much joy this event would have brought to her beloved Nana.  She would have enjoyed the preparation and planning--the dresses, the flowers, the decorations-- all would have brought much joy to her.  I envisioned her shopping for the perfect dress and the matching accessories.  I am sad that Mrs. Ehly is missing this beautiful day. While she is ever present in their hearts and minds, her physical presence will be missed tomorrow.  She met the modern day villain-cancer- and died on April 30, 2011 after a valiant battle.  I can only imagine how much she is missed by those that loved her most.  

I think if Mrs. Ehly were here today, she may have had a talk with the Julian, Kasidee's fiance. I think it would have gone similar to our first conversation.....  It probably would have  gone something like this....
 "Julian, Kasidee is going to drive you crazy some days, but she has a good heart and just needs some extra love and attention.  I want you to know how excited she is to be in your wife, and I want you to know I am excited for both of you." 

Kasidee and Julian--May you enjoy a beautiful day and may you feel the presence of those watching from above.  She is with you....always.  Love, "Mrs. Senftner" 
  

Carl and Buck

There are times I wish I could be two or three places at once.  Last month on a sunny April Saturday was one of these times. Currently, I’m a groupie on the Sully Buttes Class of 2016 “Farewell Tour” —something I would not miss for the world.  These days spent following Scott (and the 2011 Tour with Tate) will always be the best days of our lives.  This tour is slowing down, and I am sad.   Each event this year has been dutifully noted, sighed over, often times cried over, photographed, and will eventually be scrapbooked.  (Hey, a girl can dream can’t she?)  That particular Saturday, had I not been following Scott, I would have been in Winner.  I really wish it would have been possible to be in Winner.

High school activities played a huge role in my life.  I loved it all—music, sports, drama, journalism, student council, and being a Winner Warrior provided me with a vast wealth of experiences, friends, and memories.  My teachers, coaches, directors, and advisors during these days were people I greatly admired.   They were a close knit group and I often baby sat their beautiful babies when they gathered on Friday nights or traveled to out of town ball games.  (And now as an educator, I totally get the Friday night gatherings!)  I fully attribute my chosen career to many of these fine humans.  I admired them.  I wanted to be them.  And I would guess, without them even knowing it, they were a huge influence in my life.  Especially my track coaches Mr. Buckmiller and Mr. Carlson --affectionately known in area track circles  as “Buck” and “Carl”.( Just so they know, I could never call them Buck and Carl. Ever….) They will forever be Coach Buckmiller and Coach Carlson.  Always….

In my present state, I am sure the vision of me running and jumping is a stretch of the imagination for some, MOST of you.  Try to block that image out and just hang with me here because this is about two amazing coaches, not my “glory days”. (Which were not that glorious, but boy, were they fun.)  I was a decent track athlete and loved the sport.  Some of it came naturally for me—I had a little spring to my jump and found a home in the long jump pit.  I had some speed and that led me to the sprinting events, flights of low hurdles, and relays.  Track was a huge deal at WHS.  It was not uncommon to be stacked three to a seat in the old yellow, cheese box bus on meet days.  The bright gold, hooded sweatshirts screened boldly in deep purple with Winner Track on the front, were a popular look in town starting each year in March.  I loved being issued my track sweats---partially for the comfort, partially because it was cool to have a uniform, but mostly because I just loved track.  Being on the track team was big deal to me.  And I attribute that to the older athletes I admired and to the coaches running the program at the time—Coach Buckmiller and Coach Carlson.

I was a constant on the track team throughout my school career.  (I also continued to report each year for basketball—poor Coach Wanner and Coach Spicer.  I’m sure they dreamed of me hanging up my high tops and focusing only on cheerleading in the fall, but I was no quitter.  I loved being a Lady Warrior hoopster, too!)   In eighth grade, as with many younger female track athletes, I was allowed to run some high school meets.  They slipped us into individual events here and there to score points.  Being allowed to travel and interact with the high school kids was a new concept to the handful of us they hauled to the meets.  The sights and sounds of these trips are easily recalled in my mind each spring.  I just loved going to compete in track meets. 

There was a way to behave and compete at track meets and Coach Buckmiller demanded this from us. He was firm, but fair. Expectations were clear and goals were set for each meet.   It was not a day to throw Frisbees or lounge around in camp.  We didn’t have today’s fancy tents or gear, and if it was raining, they hauled the huge football jackets out and we pulled those on over our sweats.  We were there to represent our school and cheer each other on.  And if you weren’t running the mile relay, you best be standing somewhere around the oval cheering on your fellow Warriors who were running the finale.  We were a team and I loved that. 

Now I would be lying if I told you I loved the work behind the sport. The practices were intense, long, and often, gut wrenching----and I was a sprinter. I can’t imagine what those long distance folk were going through.  The infamous 100-200-300-400 climb and the descent back down 400-300-200-100, all set with a timed goal caused much grief and grumbling. (Imagine spending your afternoons listening to the collective whining from groups of teenage girls…)   I can assure you no Warrior boy trackster will forget the “4 Minute Mile” practice—usually held a few days before the regions.  This dreaded event involved running four, 400 meter races under 60 seconds. (The boys didn’t whine, they cursed…..and not always under their breath, which often led to another trip around the all-weather oval.)  But we were always in shape and ready for the season thanks to the two guys in the bleachers holding the stop watches.

On Tuesday I went to watch my favorite shot put/discus guy and his teammates compete for the Chargers.  My other favorite purple and gold team also attended this meet and there he was, my hurdle/track coach—Mr. Carlson.  Coach C. spent a lot of time turning me into a hurdler, and I will never forget his passion and praise for my successes or the times he wanted to rightfully choke me, but kept smiling.   He was a standout hurdler for Canton and went on to SDSU where he tore up the track and the NCC in his day.  I am not lying when I say I bet Coach could still run a flight of hurdles.   He looks just the same as he did when he was putting up with me all those years ago.  I’m happy for him as he gets the pleasure of coaching his grandson—another amazing athlete who I imagine looks just like Mr. Carlson did back in his C-Hawk days.  His oldest grandson winds down an amazing career at Augustana this spring and I know Coach Carlson relished the opportunity to watch him run the past five years.   I hope these current Warrior track athletes and their families appreciate what they have roaming their sidelines.  This man has unselfishly shared his time and talents for over 35 years with kids representing the 57580….To say it was wonderful to see Coach Carlson in action on Tuesday is an understatement.  When I was lucky enough to be coaching track in Timber Lake I would have kids running hurdles and I’d always want to take them to Winner to have Coach Carlson show them something or help them improve.  I did my best to help them, but knew he would have been just what they needed if only we lived closer.  And the best thing about this is I know he would have unselfishly helped them.  That’s who Coach Carlson is….a helper.

Last month, Coach Buckmiller was inducted into the Winner High School Hall of Fame.  He took his well deserved spot in the Hall joining Coach Carlson and others.  Coach Buckmiller was small in stature but loomed large in wisdom and integrity.  He spent his career making the Warriors a reputable track program.  There were titles won, expectations established, and facilities he over saw in his years at the helm of the Warriors.  One of my favorite stories was the time one of my treasured friends overslept on our way to a big meet.  Mr. Buckmiller drove the bus over to her house and Coach Carlson swiftly jumped out and ran up to the door to awaken our much needed relay girl.  As Coach C. was knocking on the door to their home, Coach Buckmiller sarcastically announced, “Can Diana come out and play?”  Those of us on the bus were not sure if we should laugh or not.  We knew he was annoyed.   As we waited, he made eye contact with some of us via the rearview mirror and we saw his small grin.  That was the sign—we could giggle.  And we did.  And we went on to have a great day on the track.   Coach Buckmiller’s quiet, serious demeanor was often misinterpreted by his athletes.  And certainly not appreciated until we were further down the roads we had chosen.  His planning, preparation, and personality were just we needed to be successful and I know most of never told him this….so I am doing it now.  Better late than never as they say…..Thank you Coach Buckmiller.

As I wind up my written ramblings, as a coach’s wife I would be remiss to ignore the lovely ladies that married these two special guys.  They spent track meet weekends alone at home with the children while these coaches spent time with everyone else’s kids.  Lucky for me I had the great pleasure of babysitting and teaching swimming lessons to both family’s beautiful kids so I got to know these fine women.  Melba and Becca—thank you.  Thank you for being THAT coach’s wife—the supportive ones who took care of things at home while the guys were off to meets all over the state. (or fishing….or golfing…)   If there was a Coach’s Wife Hall of Fame you’d be both be in the first class of honorees.

I’m sorry I missed both Coach Carlson’s and Coach Buckmiller’s Hall of Fame inductions.  There is only one person that would have kept me from attending…..and in fitting fashion he qualified for state that day in the shot put.  I think you would both approve. 

Keeping The Faith

Before New Year’s Day 2013, I had no idea how unimportant certain things would become in my world. Stuff that used to keep me up nights isn’t even a blip on my radar anymore. I had no idea how life would suddenly and tragically change and any and all plans you had for your life were erased, never to be written again.   I mean, haven’t we all read those inspirational posters on Facebook how “God is in control” or “There is a plan and you just have to believe in that plan”?  We toss these phrases around as we fill out sympathy cards or messages we share with online sympathy registers.  I know I wrote something of this nature numerous times over the years.  It sounded good. I believe it.  And using God’s plan provided me a solid backup in expressing my condolences to crushed families as they prepared to say goodbye to their loved ones. In my beliefs, which I can assure you have been tested like nothing I can describe these past few years, I do believe God is in control. But to truly live this is an entirely different beast.

And my faith has been tested….a lot.

  

They say that when you lose a child, among the countless things you mourn are the things that “didn’t happen”—the holidays they are missing, the weddings, births and every day events that will never take place…everything.   I can assure you this is true. And this will forever be a part of which we are. 

 I miss my old life….a lot.

And please don’t take this the wrong way, but sometimes my heart hurts when I see Tate’s college friends trickling home for the holidays. The engagement announcements, new babies, new jobs, and opportunities-all the amazing things his friends are experiencing right now bring a bittersweet feeling.   As much as I love to see them, they are very important to us and we love each of them for so many different reasons, but their physical presence is a visual reminder that he should be here too.  He should be home from college.  He should be on a Spring Break trip, or watching the Final Four in the family room, or groaning about something I did that drove him crazy (I was REALLY good at driving him crazy—it took very little effort on my part, and I admit I sometimes looked for the opportunity to bother him). He should be crawling in late after a night at the local establishments with his high school friends.   He should be here giving Scott advice (or grief) about his life choices and performances.   His absence was so very apparent in Huron a few weeks ago.  Tate loved to watch his dad’s teams and loved to talk defense with Mark.  He should have been right there on the court at the end, beaming with pride, and cheering for the Chargers. He should be here enjoying life.  And our sad reality, crushing reality actually, is he is not. 

And I hate that…..a lot.

 What I am mourning, as of late, is the fact that Tate should be student teaching right now. Right now, he should be in the midst of a social studies room filled with kids counting the days down until summer.  He should have helped with some winter coaching, possibly even some track, and taken tickets and filled out pages of lesson plans, and scrambled each morning to make it to school on time.  He should be filling out resumes, attending job fairs, and conferring with his cooperating teacher about how he could be improving, getting better, and observing how to do things.  We would have shared stories over Easter, offered advice, and more than likely, had to offer up some cash to get him through the semester.   I looked forward to seeing what he thought of a school setting.  I looked forward to seeing how he liked coaching—not just the X’s and O’s, but the athlete and parent dynamics.  I looked forward to seeing where he would choose to apply for a job.   A small school?  A big one?  Out of state? Would he have wanted to be a graduate assistant?  He had a honorable, amazing group of coaches at NSU—it would have been easy to see him wanting to follow their leads.  There were few people he spoke as highly of as Coach Dosch.  I can easily have seen him wanting to follow his path.  Late at night, my mind buzzes with scenarios and situations of things that will never be.  And that is what is most difficult for me right now. 

And often late at night I cry…..a lot.

I have tried to express how wonderful the people around us were after Tate’s death.  There are truly no words to adequately express or describe the kindness, care, generosity, and love we were surrounded by in the days following our tragedy.  The cards and messages were heartfelt and sincere and provided us with hope and amazing memories.  I read every word in these cards. Every.Single.Word.  From officials, and coaches, and family and friends.  From people we barely knew and from the dear friends who have stood by us on our grief journey.   South Dakota is a really small state no matter what the mileage reads from Buffalo to Vermilion.  The fraternity of educators and coaches who reached out to us was astounding.  One of the cards that brought me, in particular, great comfort was from a family we knew through athletics.  They spoke about how they had watched Tate compete with their son through the years and how they had just seen him at the State-U football game that November. Tate had stopped to visit with the couple. (He had a little of his mama in him!)  This kind man, a school administrator, wrote how after speaking with Tate he had told his wife he hoped to get the chance to hire him as teacher some day.  That was such a comfort at the time.   I have been scanning the educational job listings of late, and wondering where my second generation teacher-coach would be looking for a job? 

And my mind wanders back to that beautiful card…a lot.

On Friday, Tate will be celebrating his heavenly birthday.  If he were here, student teaching, I would have pulled a “Grandma Alice” and ordered a cake or goodies and had it sent to his school.  Maybe for the kids…maybe for the teacher’s lounge (where anything is appreciated and deemed edible, no matter how it tastes).  I would have had a balloon delivered or something equally as annoying.

He would have been so embarrassed…..(Yet secretly pleased, as he loved celebrating his birthday.)

And I would have loved that…….a lot.  

U Hauls, Horse Trailers, Trophies and Tears

      I often write about the wonderful people I’ve met throughout my gift of time on earth….For someone raised by a man who rarely left Tripp County, I have quite a collection of addresses and school spirit apparel.  Mark’s job has taken us to four very different, very unique places and I wouldn’t trade the moving boxes or t-shirts for any amount of money. The people and places we’ve experienced are part of who we are as a family.  A colossal part of who we are....

      I won’t admit that I gleefully packed boxes when these moves were announced because I didn’t.  Every move brought some turbulence, tough decisions, and tears—usually lots of tears.   I remember the first move as if it were yesterday.  We packed up our collection of junky furniture, clothes, and a portable dishwasher into an old horse trailer and threw our large collection of clothes into my old blue, two-door Caprice Classic.  (Mark had arrived in Roscoe with a single suitcase and single bed from his college house.  That was it. He didn’t even have a car at that time.  Partially filling the horse trailer meant we were big time, right?) While in Roscoe, the most amazing thing happened to us.   Alvin and Jeanne Schmitt became our adopted parents—literally.   They took us in, treated us like family, and I’m sure shook their heads in wonder many nights after our visits.  We were young and dumb.   If the walls in their basement could talk, it would be an iTunes comedy podcast selling like hotcakes.  I laugh just thinking about the craziness and stories we shared in their beloved basement. Their door was always open, as were their hearts…not to mention their pocketbooks.  They were generous with their time and money to many people, but especially Mark and I.    I was dreading our good bye, but we bravely pulled into their gas station and said our farewells and made promises to call and visit.  Jeanne and I cried the entire time before heading back to the vehicles.   Mark turned the borrowed pickup and trailer south towards Gregory, and I dutifully followed in the old car, clothes and dishes pilled in all around me.   I sobbed all the way to the interstate. 

     Right after Mark broke the news that he was resigning his Gregory position and moving to Timber Lake, we attended one of his former player’s wedding that weekend. The bride was the daughter of the athletic director, and the family warmly welcomed us to town when we moved.  We looked forward to celebrating her special day.  Mark had just resigned that week and news was starting to make its way throughout town.   The wedding reception was in Dallas and like many of these fun affairs; the empty bottles outnumbered the guests probably four to one.  My ratio may or may not  have been ten to one. As the evening gave way to the early morning, I remember climbing on top of a chair and asking the DJ to play to “Stand By Your Man” and proclaiming (loudly) that this should be the Coach’s Wife National Anthem.  Yes, I was that wedding guest……(Sorry Wendy and Troy)   

     The situation we were facing with this move was that we needed to sell our home and I had agreed to teach music for the year, so we decided that the boys and I would stay in Gregory and Mark would take the Timber Lake job.   I look back now and wonder why I was so confident that I could do this…I can still remember Mark packing up and leaving that August morning.  We were sitting around the kitchen table in our dream house and Tate gave Mark a big hug, smiled, and said “See you on Saturday, Dad.”  I decided to put on a brave face and join Tate in his cheerful acceptance of our decision to be a weekend family.  I sent Mark up the road with a sack lunch and big hug.  Scott was napping, Tate was outside playing basketball on his Little Tykes hoop, and I sat at the kitchen table and bawled.  What were we thinking?   We survived that year and soon it was time to sell our much loved home and join Mark in Timber Lake.  We were excited to be under one roof again, but sad to leave our friends and neighbors.  We had moved up in the world, now able to afford a U-Haul and the amount of stuff had quadrupled…..and the home we were moving into was about one fourth the size of our current home.  As we packed the last toy, stool, and tote into the U-Haul, our dear neighbors made their way over.  The first glimpse of Teresa, Haley, and Zach walking towards us on the sidewalk brought tears, which quickly turned into small sobs.  One of my last memories of our house in Gregory is  all of standing on the broken sidewalk in front of our home hugging and crying in the hot sun.  We were leaving behind some great neighbors and a house we had worked hard to make our own.   We loaded up and like they say in the history books, “Head West Young Man (Family)”.  We were all Panthers now.

    Our time in Timber Lake was amazing.  What our home lacked in space, was easily made up by the people and experiences we shared during our seven years there.  We loved our church, our colleagues, and the kids we were blessed with each day in our classrooms.  Were things perfect?  Not at all, but things were good.  The decision to move was the most difficult thing we had faced as a couple at that time.  Telling our friends and the school that we were moving was really, really difficult.  The job at Sully Buttes was a chance to get a few hours closer to my mom in Winner and offered a new challenge for Mark.  It was another great school for the boys and we looked at this move as another opportunity we needed to take.  We had made life-long friends during our time in Timber Lake and we knew these bonds would remain, no matter where we were having our mail delivered….The community had a wonderful send off for us, and as I started to say something, I burst into tears.  You’d think by the time I had followed this coach to his fourth school, I’d be able to keep it together, but I was a blubbering mess. We were leaving dear friends and a top notch school and we weren’t sure we were doing the right thing, but there we were—moving again. We loaded Chuck Maher’s horse trailer and our vehicles with out growing collection of “stuff”  and we made the trek south to Onida in June of 2005.

    I’ve watched with pride, fear, and sometimes, heartache, as Mark has approached his career of teaching and coaching.  He has spent years to get where he is at today.   Coaching is his passion—the scouting, the tapes, the practices and preparing, are who he is.   His recent success is the TEAM’S success—not his alone. Coaches know you need that perfect combination of talent, ability, effort, and luck to have the season we just enjoyed as Charger fans.  He knows he has been blessed with great talent over the years.  He knows he’s made mistakes.  He knows not everyone is going to like his decisions.  He understands that a parent’s first job is to be their child’s advocate.   He knows these days, with the teams he is fortunate enough to coach, need to be cherished and celebrated for life is short. 

     The trophy-hoisting guy many of you may have seen on television or in the newspapers the past few weeks has not always been on top.  Trust me, I know.  I was there the year he was 3-17.   And the year he was told by the principal that they wanted the program to take another direction—without him.  And the time some locals took a petition around, similar to the church scene in “Hooisers”, to have him removed. (They were unsuccessful—not as dramatic as Jimmy announcing he was going to play, but nonetheless, he kept his job!)   I’ve answered the door to find angry parents wanting to discuss things with him.  I’ve fielded phone calls from mad mamas and read articles about his character and his alleged running up the score. So to see his small grin and that big championship trophy makes my heart smile… because things haven’t always been so golden for my favorite coach.

     What I really want people to know, is that this guy I married a “few” years ago, kept at it.  He kept working, believed in himself and his philosophy, even when he was knocked around a few times.  Coaching changes happen at every level and he understood this.   It would have been easy to quit, stay put, and just walk away.   There are certainly easier, quicker ways to make $4000 than coaching basketball.  And I will admit, I sometimes wondered if all of this was worth it—the late nights, the holidays held captive by practices, and the upset parents.   Was it really worth it?   That coach I call mine, decided it was, and he kept at it.  And he was right.  It has been worth it.  And I’m pretty darn proud of him for doing so because I cannot imagine our life without our coaching friends and experiences.  There is no price tag or tax bracket that can adequately sum up the value of the people we have met along this journey….

     So if you happen to run across this rambling story, the real message here for you young guys and gals just staring out is this: Keep coaching.  Keep sharing your time and your talents and ignore the crazy. And if you’re married to, or dating a coach?    Hang in there….they need you to be there.  Embrace your role as cheerleader, support staff, open gym fill in supervisor, secretary, and keeper of the lucky (navy) shirt.   Enjoy these kids and families and don’t turn it into a competition between “you” and the “team”.   We need coaches and we need coaching families.  Too many great folk are deciding to jump ship….I encourage you to grab a life jacket and jump on….it’s a wonderful ride.