Only The Good Die Young....Memories of Billy Joel and Michelle

We are one Warrior smaller.  The Class of 1982, primed and ready for our upcoming 35^th reunion over Homecoming, will be missing one more piece.    Michelle Paige Ferguson lost her valiant battle with brain cancer this past week.  And I am sad. And feeling guilty that I let life get in the way of a visit to an old friend. And I am flooded with faded memories of a beautiful smile and extreme intelligence.  She was witty and kind and so talented—and much more mature than most of us were when we all met a few years ago…..

The Winner School District at one time had an extensive collection of rural schools.  Named for the townships they were located in; they were the place where many of my classmates attended school for grades K-8.   We “town kids” attended grades K-4 at either one of three schools—Eastside, Westside, or Central.  In fifth grade they threw us all together “downtown” at Central School.  Now that, well that was big time.  Four classes, new people, band, PE, and a much bigger playground met us upon our arrival in Grade Five. There seemed to be a little more freedom, too.   I remember it being quite the buzz of social activity at the time.  You saw the kids that lived over on the “other side of town”—the kids you may had heard about or seen at the swimming pool, the baseball diamond or at church or 4H.  Even though Winner was far from a metropolis, the world as we knew it was really our own little neighborhoods, and the carefully drawn school boundaries and boringly-named buildings determined where you spent your first few years of formal education.  I’m not sure any of us even thought about all the others out in the country schools.  And yet I cannot imagine our class without any of them.  As I wrote this I had to think really hard about when it was we all collectively became the (amazing) Class of 82.  Some arrived to the fold in 7^th or 8^th grade, but most completed their education at their township school.

Fast forward to Freshman Year.  For the Class of 1982, that would be the fall of 1978, and it was then that our crew would be expanded to include the Hamill kids, the Plainview posse, the Star Prairie and Ideal kids, and the kids from other places around Tripp County, all leaving the confines of their country school to come to “town school”. (And Michelle? Well she came from the Eden School via Harvard, Massachusetts where her dad had been an engineer before returning to the family farm in Witten in 1976.)  Thinking back, that had to be a huge adjustment for them.  Due to space constraints at the time, the freshmen were housed downtown at the Junior High, so technically, unlike other Freshmen, we were the “big dogs” of the building there…and trust me, we relished that role. It was cool to be a 9^th grader at Winner Junior High.  In my profession, I’ve seen those hungry, excited eyes…. Almost giddy as they wait to “own” the hallways and be assigned the awesome locker spots and preferred study hall seats.  Girls flipping their hair back and guys pushing and shoving their way down the hall so as to announce they have “arrived”.  We were probably the same way…sigh.  By this time were close to 80 strong, and would graduate 86 in May of 1982.

Michelle was someone you liked instantly.  She had a beautiful smile, perfect teeth, and gorgeous olive-colored skin accented by thick black hair.  But even more stunning than her outside beauty, was what you saw on the inside.   She was smart.  And witty and wise.  We warmed the bench on the girls’ basketball team and had a great time doing so…. she made things fun.  I recall being fascinated by her driving ability and her daring spirit.  (Okay, her speeding…daring spirit is code for speeding—it just sounds safer) I cannot for the life of me remember the make or model of her car, but it could fly and she was a really good driver.  She had a maturity about her and could talk to anybody—adults and kids alike.  We were co-editors of the annual our senior year and while I tried to balance cheerleading, a marginal basketball career, school, track, and music activities, she was the one constant that kept things moving forward.  She was the reason it got done.  We both loved our yearbook adviser Mrs. Wranek and by the end of the year, we were pleased with our final project.  Ironically, we both ended up buying the same Prom dress that year (a huge drama in today’s world, but a worthy laugh for the two of us back then) and took a picture for the annual wearing the matching Maurice’s, oh so 80’s, polyester cream gowns. 

  The very first album I ever owned was Billy Joel’s “The Stranger”.  I’m a huge Billy Joel fan.  I love his lyrics, his music, his piano playing… pretty much everything about him.  It was Christmas in 1976 and I was at that difficult present-buying age.  Those of you reading this that have shopped for kids know the age—too old for toys, too picky about clothes, and too young for the grown-up things you thought you needed.   My list no longer involved paging through the Sears Wish Book, earmarking pages of hints for Santa (a.k.a. Bob and Alice) to nestle under the tree on Christmas morning.  I remember seeing the obvious album-shaped package under the tree with a tag penned in my dad’s familiar script “To: Lynn Love, Dad” and was pretty sure it was THE Billy Joel album I had asked for.  Dad was a huge music fan and a great shopper.  I was hopeful  he hadn’t let me down and he hadn’t.  I listened to that disc for hours upon end. I am sure I ruined the needle on the small stereo in my room.  I am pretty sure I could sing the lyrics to the entire collection by the time Christmas break was over.  And I am sure my brother in the bedroom next door was sick of Billy by the 27^th of December.

Michelle also liked Billy Joel.  We were “Carpool Karaoke” before it was a thing.  When Billy Joel’s “Glass Houses” album came out in 1980, we all loved the track “It’s Still Rock-n-Roll to Me”.  My simple plan was to buy the 45 single at Gibson’s or Karl’s when it came out.  Michelle, as always, thought bigger, grander than just having the one single.  She wanted the entire cassette and it was not to be found in Winner. Ever the planner, she had called over to Gregory and found out they had the cassette.  Her plan was to quickly drive down and get the treasured collection of tunes.  She called me and swung by the house (after her 20-plus mile trip to town) where I sprinted to the car with some babysitting money to make my purchase. (And before Alice could ask me what I was doing….very rebel-like for me at the time.)   It was probably the first time I had ever left town without an adult driving.  The trusty car and Michelle’s “daring spirit” made the trip in no time.  We got to the store to find only one cassette left.  Michelle bought the cassette (I would have to wait until Gibson’s pulled through with the loot) and we ripped off the plastic and drove much slower home, singing along and learning Billy’s new tunes.  (Only after stopping to buy a pop at Stukel’s Café and make a few laps up and down our rival school’s Main Street.)  When we later pulled into Winner, I felt like we had been on some wild, exotic adventure, yet it was just another day for Michelle.  Even back then, she was bigger and brighter than many of us…she knew there was more to this old world than the confines of Tripp County or South Dakota.   She would see the world and do great things I was sure.  And she did….After our graduation, she steered her beloved car towards SDSU and began her life as a college co-ed.  But after her freshman year, she realized how much she missed the excitement that big cities and the east coast could provide. So she decided to move to New York to become a nanny.   I remember her calling me and encouraging me to come along and find a nanny job, but I was too chicken—too confined by what I thought I should be doing (life guarding and teaching swimming lessons AGAIN) and declined her offer of adventure.  

 Deep down I was not surprised when I heard Michelle wasn’t returning for her Fall semester at SDSU.  Nor was I surprised when I heard she had enrolled at Long Island University, graduating with an accounting degree that would take her to Pace University Law School.  She passed the bar on the first try (Of course she did J) and began her career of service as a lawyer for a union.  She was soaring….and none of us were surprised.  I like to think that while she was accomplishing all these amazing things, that she sprinkled some of her “South Dakota Nice” through the busy streets and bustling boroughs of her beloved New York City. Certainly these folks had to see how remarkable she was…

I was lucky to reconnect with Michelle through Facebook these past few years.  Her messages were always so funny and upbeat despite her battle with the brain tumors. Even in this battle she was “bigger and brighter” than most.   We discussed our love of Billy Joel and how much she now disliked his popular hit “Only the Good Die Young”.   I totally understood.  She wrote with love about her friends and her “nanny kids”—they were an important part of her life and I could sense the pride she felt in their accomplishments. They were often long conversations and sometimes there were long gaps in the time that passed between them.   I treasure the fact we had this chance to reconnect, and regret I had hadn’t kept in better touch with her the past 20 years. I’m glad we got a chance to visit at our last reunion. And I feel bad I missed her birthday party a few weeks ago when we were moving Scott to college. 

One of my most loved Billy Joel songs is an older, less popular piece, but one of my favorites just the same.  It’s lyrics ring true tonight as I attempt to write this blog….The song, “Summer Highland Falls” tells us we are always what our situations hand us and we are either happy or sad, but we have the choice. 

They say that these are not the best of times
But they're the only times I've ever known
And I believe there is a time for meditation
In cathedrals of our own

Now I have seen that sad surrender in my mother's eyes
I can only stand apart and sympathize
For we are always what our situations hand us
Its either sadness or euphoria

So as many of the Class of 1982 gather later tonight or on Friday morning, I pray we will take this time to celebrate and remember Michelle.  Remember her fight and grit and her beautiful smile and her kind spirit.  And take some time for mediation and remember how fortunate you are to be living this gig we call life…..and take it all in—the sadness and euphoria.  I’m positive Michelle would want us to.  

Dear Ember--Welcome to the World!

Dear Ember,

      Wow.  That looks so official. Seeing your name in print just looks so real.  You’re not even a month old and I’m writing you a letter. Today is your very first Valentine’s Day.  It seems like we just got the call you had made your much anticipated arrival, but you’re sneaking up on being a month old already!

There is really no way to tell you how long I’ve waited to write you this note.  Probably since 1998?  Or 1999?  That’s when I first met that guy you will soon be calling dad.  He’s doing a wonderful job of keeping us informed of your pure cuteness through pictures and Facebook posts.  Yep.  He’s become THAT dad.  And as someone who will not get to see you very often, I’m thrilled he posts these pictures.  And deep in my heart, I knew he would be THAT dad.  It’s something I love about him. 

I’m not sure when I knew what an amazing dad he was going to be, but it was early in our friendship.  Was it the time we tossed Tate in his front porch late one Sunday night because we had to take Scott to Mobridge for stitches after a head dive into the cast iron, white enameled bath tub?  We had not yet spent a full week in our new home and there we were needing an extra hand for our latest catastrophe.  We did not really know our neighbors.  They were nice folks—all had greeted us warmly, brought delicious muffins with cinnamon butter, and waved often as we started to make our new house a home.  But it was a little early to be asking them to watch our very nervous little first grader.  He had tried to stop Scott from the cannonball he was attempting in the tub and was feeling pretty bad about the aftermath.  Tate had school the next day and the last thing he needed was to make the 40 mile, one way trip to Mobridge while we waited for an ER doctor to sew up the gaping hole in Scott’s forehead.   As we grabbed ice, towels, and shoes, Mark immediately said, “I’m going to call Jeremy.  Tate can stay with him.  I know he won’t mind.” 

And he didn’t…

If I remember correctly, Tate got to watch Jeremy’s beloved Simpsons, drink a pop, and hang out in his bachelor pad.  According to Tate, it was very cool.  He wasn’t even tired, yet doesn’t remember us hauling him off the couch to his bunkbed.  I think he thought he was going to get to spend the night.  It was the beginning of many adventures with the guy my kids adored and called “Coach Kane”. 

Was it the time the beloved, overpriced, much begged for, basketball hoop took victim to the harsh South Dakota wind?  We came home after a weekend in Bismarck to see the hoop face down in the black paved driveway.  Despite having filled the base with water and perhaps even sand, it was no match for the breeze that had made its way through town over the weekend. The boys jumped out of the Taurus and immediately tried to stand it up.  Of course, Mark’s help was needed and it was apparent, the backboard, (a flimsy molded plastic contraption) had covered its last shot.  It was cracked, and falling off by the base.  Only the finest plastic on those things you know.  There were some pretty sad faces upon seeing the damage.  Mark assured them they could still go up to the courts to play and that he would try to fix it somehow.  Even as little guys, the Senftner boys knew the latter was not a possibility.  We just aren’t that handy.  After a few weeks, in steps our now very close friend, (and your dear daddy) Coach Kane.  On one of his trips home to the Kane Ranch (where your awesome grandpa and grandma were living at the time) he swung by in his familiar Duke blue pickup and loaded up the hoop, promising the boys he could put a new backboard on the base and it would be as good as new.  Big smiles from everyone…Perhaps the biggest one from Mark.

And he fixed it…..

You know that adorable outfit you were wearing in some of those first hospital pictures?  The one with the big navy and red “A” on the front?  Yeah, well that “A” represents your dad’s favorite team, the Arizona Wildcats. He loves them. For as much as we love your dear dad, we just do not see eye to eye on favorite teams. I mean, you rocked that outfit and you definitely have the style to pull off the Wildcat look, but we just are on two different pages here.   Tate and Coach Kane especially liked to battle over which was the best team.  Duke for Tate and Arizona for Coach Kane.  Your dad dislikes everything about my and Tate’s beloved Blue Devils.  And while Tate didn’t dislike Arizona, he just really liked Duke.  They had fun cheering against each other’s teams and liked to watch games and talk basketball together. I have a feeling you will spend some late nights watching hoops together.  (Don’t believe everything he says about Duke and also, don’t trip other people when you play games. Your dad will be really disappointed if you trip people.)

Okay, so back to the hoops transformation. I totally remember the unveiling of the newly remodeled hoop.  He told us he would bring it over after school and the boys were so excited.  It was one of the funniest things I ever saw your dad do, Ember.    As he unwrapped the tarp or blanket he had put over the hoop for the dusty trip down Highway 65 from the ranch, I could see there was something on the backboard.  Tate saw it immediately and started to half giggle and half grumble in between my comments and loud laughter.  There, freshly painted, and thickly shellacked, was a great big Arizona Wildcat decal.  The backboard was fixed!  And it was now an Arizona Wildcat backboard. It brought much laughter and Tate knew what a great trick he had played.  We still laugh about this trick.

Maybe it was the time he loaded up both Tate and Scott and took them to ranch for the weekend.  He asked us if we cared if the boys came with him for the weekend.  They were so excited and I’d be lying if I didn’t admit we enjoyed a little break from our family crazy too that weekend.  We had had a really busy school year and your dad knew just how to step in and help us out. He’s that kind of guy.

 It could have been the time that Tate begged to go to the State B Tourney in Aberdeen but we had school.  “Coach Kane will take me.  Just for the day.  He said we can go just for the day because we both want to see the McLaughlin game.”  He continued to plead. “I will only miss one day of school and I will get all my homework done.”   Reluctantly we relented, and I watched as they drove off early that morning in his (Duke) blue pickup to the big games. The trip did no go as planned, but it was the excitement of getting to go somewhere with a dear family friend that meant the most to me. (Have your dad teach you how to change a tire. I know he will, but pay attention.  He’s a really smart guy.)

It might have been the time(s) we all piled into the minivan and went to Bismarck for the day just to eat at Applebee’s and stop at Walmart—nothing else.  Scott was not a very good traveler at the time, and your dad never complained while the three of us were all praying he would fall asleep.  And he usually did….about 10 miles outside of Bismarck. I bet you will make a few trips to the mall in the coming years.  And someday, when he asks if that trip to town is really necessary, remind him of the times we did the very same thing.  I promise he will  remember wanting a little commerce and fast food.  

I could go on and on, Ember. About your beautiful mom, your dear Grandma Toots (Who will say prayers with you before meals and bedtimes…even if it’s just cereal. Ask Scott about this--he can fill you in.), We are so sorry Grandpa John just missed getting to meet you, but we know he was anxiously awaiting your arrival to the world.  Your dad didn’t become the great guy he is by accident.  He had the blessing of a being raised and loved by some amazing folks…. all of who couldn’t wait to see Coach Kane, (or Jer as some call him) become your dad.   He is one of the kindest, most sincere, honest men we know and we are so very honored to have your family in our lives.  Your dad and Mark spent hours together on the sidelines.  His role in Mark’s career as his assistant coach and more importantly, dear friend, is a blessing to our family.   We might be four hours away, but we aren’t going anywhere.  We can’t wait to see the adventures awaiting you.

Blessings to you on this very first Valentine’s Day, Miss Ember.  You are exactly what we prayed for….

You’ve got this, Coach Kane. 

We Love You,  Lynn

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