Another Anniversary, Another cause for Celebration!

Four years ago today, I was undergoing the first of my two surgeries for breast cancer treatment.  I remember the morning very well.  I had to go to a large hospital early in the morning to get a mammogram guided marker placed in my breast so the surgeon could locate the tumor.  It was raining very softly and I remember thinking as we entered the hospital that the weather was akin to my heart... weeping.  The procedure was not overly painful and 45 minutes I left that hospital (walking) with a huge needle sticking out of my chest.  As it happens I work in this hospital, and I know a lot of employees there; the last words the technician said to me as I left was don't let a co-worker hug you this morning, because if they do, they will drive that big needle right in to your lungs.

I did run in to 2 co-workers who knew that it was my surgery day, and with tears in their eyes all they wanted to do was hug me - but I backed away.

We hopped into the van and drove about 12 miles to the smaller hospital where I was to have my surgery.  My surgeon and I had settled on a lumpectomy and lymph node removal.  In other words they were just going to remove the tumor and a little area around it, and take out the lymph nodes on my right side.  I had resolved myself to the fact that I had cancer, needed treatment, and that I might even eventually die from it... but it wasn't gonna happen that day, so I entered the hospital firm in my resolve to make the best of a pretty scary situation.

My resolve crumbled a little once I had a hospital gown and cloth slippers on, then a little more when the IV was started and then a lot more when it was time to head into the OR and I saw my husband crying and trying to hide it.

I woke up in extreme pain from my arm being positioned over my head for over  two hours, but morphine soon became my very best friend... at least for a couple of days, anyway.

In the end, that particular surgery was not enough.  Two weeks later when the pathology results came back from the surgery it was to say that there was still a margin of cancer present.  So back to the surgeon, more discussions, more angst, more decisions.  Take more?  Take it all?

Take it all.  I want it gone - take them both if you want, I don't care, I want it gone. 

So while I was still recuperating from the first surgery I returned to the same hospital once again, and had a total mastectomy... the whole breast removed.

It has been 4 years of emotional struggle, physical frustration and personal growth... 4 years of life well lived, and I can't help wanting to thank all those who have gone before me for their roll in my survival.  Every woman who has had breast cancer, been treated and has died has made it possible for me to live... and I feel this every day of my life.  So this post is for them... and me... and all those who will walk our steps in the days to come.  God please Bless us all....

Do you have all the facts you need to fight this disease?  The statistics are out there, you should familiarize yourself with them, because the chances are very high that someone in your immediate circle is going to experience this.

In Canada 1 in 9 women will develop breast cancer during her lifetime.
In the USA 1 in 8 women will develop breast cancer during her lifetime.

In 2010 in Canada 23,200  women will be diagnosed with breast cancer.  5,300 will die from it.  445 Canadian women will be diagnosed every week.  100 will die every week!

In 2010 in the USA 207,090  women will be diagnosed with breast cancer.  39, 840 will die from it.

Get in the habit of doing regular breast self examinations... how will you know there are changes to your breast, if you haven't become familiar with the size, texture and composition of your normal breasts.  If you are 40 or over or if you have a family history - get a baseline mammogram... even if your doctor says you should wait until you are 50 - push to get it done at 40!  Be mouthy, be mean and cross if you have to be, but get it done. Have a yearly physical... if you are obese, try and loose weight.... if you are menopausal - question hormone replacement therapy...

There are many many great sites to use if you have questions, or need advice... seek them out, that is what they are there for.

How to Perform Breast Self-Exam (BSE) | Breast Health Resource Center | Imaginis The Women's Health Resource
And if you can Please support Breast Cancer Research.




Here is a poem I wrote about my experience.

PERENNIALLY PINK

By Dale Graumann

T’was a hot July day when first we met,

Through circumstances I’ll not forget.

I the seeker, he the sought,

To save my life or so I thought.

The office crowded with such as me,

I ventured forth at five to three.

Mind aflutter I took a seat,

Controlling tears that weren’t discrete.

Nerves kicked in, my breath drew short,

I’d never been a panicked sort;

But this was wrought with pain and fear,

This very thing that’d brought me here.

A lengthy wait for one and all,

Then certain dread when name was called.

Two steps, three steps, ten or more;

Then “Have a seat, I’ll close the door.”

First impressions seldom fade,

Especially when so gently made.

Soft warm eyes, a caring smile,

Advised that I’d be here awhile.

Biopsy past, breast cancer cells;

Percent involved - no one can tell.

As much as needed – okay with you?

Feeling sick, head’s buzzing some,

Husband’s crying; I’m feeling numb.

Swallow the lump that quickly has gathered,

Focus on thoughts that suddenly matter.

Death is first on my list of fears,

Then leaving my son of tender years.

Don’t want to go, not ready yet;

So much of life, I’ve yet to get.

Plans are made, operation’s booked,

A week today - well I’ll be hooked!

No wait indeed, no none at all;

And here I thought I’d wait till fall.

First cut’s not quite deep enough,

This demon seems to be so tough.

Return again this time it’s fall,

And now this time, they take it all.

Awake my eyes awake and see,

This brand new view of who I’ll be.

One breast gone, the other there,

Is this much more than I can bear?

Not so I cry, not so at all,

Pity and grief are so appall.

Make of life the most I say,

Don’t you waste one single day!

Take your burdens, throw them aft,

Cling to life as though a raft.

Make it your’s and make it strong,

Ride it hard and ride it long.

Fast forward now two years or more,

Am I cured? Not known for sure.

Time will tell what lies ahead,

No matter if I fear or dread.

This is me; it’s who I am;

A pebble in the master’s plan.

Happy I, and grateful too;

For all the folks that helped me through.

Life goes on, it always does;

I can’t go back to what it was.

But I am here, and here I’ll stay,

Until my Lord takes me away.

2008

A Sad story and Karl returns..

Some days I get so darn frustrated with computers.  I work on a PC at work, and a Mac at home and often my brain is in cyber space somewhere between the two.

There was a story from our local newspaper I wanted to share with you.  For the past hour or so I have been fighting with this dumb machine to get the link on this post.  You wouldn't think it would be so difficult, but apparently today it is.  So I am going to try one more time, and if I can't get it right I am going to forget the whole thing and just give you Winter Wheat.

Okay, here goes.....  
More than it can bear - Winnipeg Free Press


Of course when you do a draft, and then preview, you can't tell if the link will work, so I'll have to try it out once I actually Publish this post...


Bear with me, please....


No pun intended... really!






And now, Karl returns... 

By the time Karl returned home it was early evening.  Over excited from a busy day of decorating, and an abundance of anticipation for the following day, had prompted Emilie to encourage the children to their beds much earlier than usual.  She was taking advantage of the quiet house to finish last-minute touches to all the gifts she had collected and made for the children and Karl.  As she tied little pieces of leftover ribbon to the packages of plain brown paper wrapped gifts, her thoughts switched from the excited children to the absent Karl.  He was much later getting home than he had said he would be, and she was beginning to worry that something bad had happened to him on the road between here and town.

As if her psyche had conjured him up; the door opened and Karl walked though it.  Emilie turned slowly and their eyes met for first time since the evening before.

Karl quickly closed the door and removed his winter clothes then slowly walked toward her.  “You’re still up; the house looked dark, I thought everyone would be asleep,” his deep voice rumbled through the quiet room.

“You’re late, Karl.  I was beginning to think something had happened to you,” she said softly in return, her breath coming in shallow little puffs the closer he got to where she stood.

He stopped in front of her, and regarded her solemnly in the soft warm glow from the fireplace.  “I’m sorry I wasn’t here to help you today,” he said in a whisper.

“We missed you . . . the children and I . . .”

“I know.”

His hand reached forward and lightly brushed her cheek.  The softness of her skin drew and held his hand like a magnet.  His eyes traveled the map of her face - her eyes, her nose, her lips . . .

“Emilie . . .” his breath heated her face, as he lowered his lips to touch her own.  She tasted like sugar cookies and the strong green tea that she loved so much.  Her taste surprised him, but not as much as the sigh that escaped her lips when their mouths met.  

He lingered a moment too long, and was lost.  Never again would a simple kiss be enough from this spunky little woman who had invaded his life.  His strong arms came around her waist, and he pulled her closer into his embrace.  He touched his tongue to her lips and she opened to him, her actions as natural to him as the breath that he took.  She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back with a passion that had his body wishing that there were no children or circumstances to prevent him from loving her the way a man loves his woman.

His thoughts surprised him, and he left her lips and eased her arms from around his neck.  With hands that were shaking he set her away from him.  He took a deep breath to slow his heart, and smiled down into her beautifully confused expression.

“I have wanted to do that for a very long time . . . ”

She teased him with a grin;  “Perhaps you should not have waited so long then.”  

He acknowledged her words with a smile and then his face sobered.

“Emilie, about yesterday . . .”

“No Karl, please let’s not talk about that right now,” she interrupted him.  “Can’t we forget about that letter until after Christmas is over, if not for us, then please Karl, for the children,” she pleaded.

“I can’t forget that letter, Emilie.  It’s all I thought about all day.  I need to know what you intend to do.”

She turned away from him and returned back to the stack of packages she had been working on when he came in.  Because George had consented to sleep upstairs with the other children for one night, the sofa was now empty.  She placed her packages on one end of the sofa, and lowered herself to the other. 

“I can’t tell you what I will do Karl, because I don’t know what to do.”  She told him miserably.  

Karl moved to join her on the sofa,  “Would life here be so bad, Emilie?  I thought you were beginning to like farm life, and I had hoped that once spring was upon us, you would really take to this new way of life.”

She regarded him sadly;  “It’s not that, Karl.  I love it here, truly I do.  But I don’t know if I have much of a future here, that’s all.”

“You have as much future here as anywhere,” he remembered her butter money that lay in his pocket.  He pulled it out of his pocket and handed it to her.  “You even have your own business going here,” he joked half-heartily.

“It’s not my money, Karl; it’s yours.”  She pushed his fist full of money away from her.

“You’re wrong about that.  This money is all yours to do with it what you like.  You make the butter, you get the money!”

She took the money this time and regarded him closely.  “I can’t explain to you how I feel.  I like being here with you and the children, but I also long for my own family.  The only family I have left are so far away, that sometimes I feel like I belong to no one.”

“Is that what you want; to belong to someone?”  He asked his voice little more than a whisper.  

“Yes,” she whispered so softly that he almost could not hear her,  “I want that more than anything.”

Karl placed his big hand under her chin, and gently raised it so he could look into her eyes.  Never had words meant so much as the words that followed his actions.

“You belong here, Emilie.  You belong to Raymond, and Anne-Marie, to Charles, Sue, Richard and George.  If you need a reason to stay, those are just a few.”

He had not included himself in the lineup of names that professed to love her, and that thought filled Emilie with a profound sadness. 

“Thank you for saying that, Karl.  You have given me much to think about, and I promise I will make the right decision,” she rose from the sofa, collected the packages from the other end of the sofa, and bent to place them under the tree.  




Before I go here is the conclusion to the bear story...

Wannabe Winnie gone and jar left behind - Winnipeg Free Press



TORONTO -- An elusive black bear that had its head stuck in a pickle jar for the last two weeks is no longer in a pickle and will likely make a full recovery, wildlife officials said Thursday.

Conservation officers near Thunder Bay, Ont., said an empty jar found on the shores of Lake Superior is the same one the bear had been struggling with.
Officials said the jar, which was found with a large clump of black fur inside, is the same style, size and shape as the jar seen on the bear's head in a photo taken this week.
The jar had scratches on it, and a hole consistent with a claw mark, officials said. A canoeist found it about a kilometre away from where the bear was last spotted.
"I'm hoping that he pulled it off. The worst would be that he tried to swim and the jug would fill up with water, and he'd drown," said Ross Johnston, a conservation officer with Ontario's Ministry of Natural Resources.


"I don't expect we'll hear from mister bear again."


It was a storybook ending that some likened to A.A. Milne's famous tale of Winnie-the-Pooh, about a bear who got his head stuck in a jar while trying to slurp up the last drophoney inside.


Sharon Cole-Paterson, whose husband Rob took the photo of the bear, said the positive outcome is an opportunity to increase public education about reporting animals in distress, as well as the need for proper recycling.


Recycling officials said Wednesday that if the jar had been recycled instead of ending up at a garbage dump, the bear would not have been in this dilemma.




-- The Canadian Press






Republished from the Winnipeg Free Press print edition July 23, 2010 A20


A nice way to end the week...

WE HAVE A WINNER!

W E HAVE A CONTEST WINNER!
The first time I ran the contest, no one won, so I ran it again this week.  Unlike last weeks' rules, this week I just asked that the winner be the 3rd email I receive yesterday.

Here are the results:

Esther was the first email@ 8:33
Charlotte was the second email@ 10:52
Eva was the third email @ 11:50.

Congratulations Eva, your autographed copy of "Stroke Of Love" will be mailed out to you this week!

Thank you everyone who played -  both times; and thank you all for returning every day to read Winter Wheat and allowing me to come in to your life in this very special way.

Next contest will be in fall for a chance to win one of my angels...


So now back to our story....

Karl was too late.  Damn his stupid hide he had left it too late, again.  As he drove along the deserted main street of town, he came to the realization that not one retail establishment would be open on this day before Christmas.  What the hell was he going to do now?  The one person, who saw to it that everyone was going to have a gift for Christmas, would have nothing under the tree for herself tomorrow morning.

He stopped his sleigh in front of The Mercantile where he had an account, and hopped down from the sleigh to the frozen ground.  Hitching the horses to the light pole, he walked up to the door of the Mercantile and peered into the window of the door.  There was a faint light shining from the back of the store, so he hammered his fists against the door with all his might.  If anyone was back there, he’d flush them out.

A shadow moved, and he spotted Tom Bryle, the owner of the store, moving through the rows of merchandise on his way to the front door.  Tom’s face met his from the other side of the window, and then Karl heard the latch being released.

“Karl,”  Tom said, surprised to see his friend away from his family on a day such as this,  “What are you doing here?”

“Tom, I know you are closed, but do you think you could make an exception of me, just this one time?”  Karl pleaded with the older gentleman.

Tom swung the door wide and beckoned Karl into the store.  “What can I get for you today, Karl?”

Karl swept his wool cap off his head and ran his hands through his hair,  “That’s just it, Tom; I’m not sure what I want.  I have to buy a Christmas present, but I have no idea what it’s to be!”

Tom peered at Karl like he had gone loco, then turned and walked towards the back of the store.  “Well, when you make up your mind, you know where I’ll be,” he said as he walked away, leaving Karl to his own devices.

Karl turned in a circle, his eyes touching upon dozen of items, but he knew not what he was searching for.  He wandered over to the kitchenware section, and inspected the assortment of pots and pans that were displayed on the shelf, and rejected them immediately.  His long strides brought him to a section of the store where the ladies apparel was kept.  He had no idea what size Emilie wore, nor what she liked to wear.  All he had ever seen her in was long skirts and blouses, except for the blue dress she had worn the day he had picked her up from the train.  Now that dress had looked nice on her, maybe she could use another blue dress.  He rifled through the pile of dresses, and finding nothing that stirred his senses, changed his mind.

Next his eyes found the hardware section, and although he was tempted to stay and browse his fill, he moved right along.  He spied some leather boots sitting on a top shelf, and while they were nowhere near as pretty as Emilie’s dainty little boots, he reached for them and examined them closely anyway.  She definitely could do with a pair of sensible boots, especially when walking around the rough and rutty yard.  Deciding they would do nicely he tucked them under his arm and backed down the aisle.  

He bumped into a sharp table, and when he turned to maneuver around the object he saw a glass case containing some jewelry.  There nestled among the folds of velvet lay engagement and wedding rings, watches, necklaces and lockets.  A dainty filigreed locket caught his eye, and he thought of Emilie.  Emilie . . . he could almost imagine it lying against that soft place between her breasts.  He had seen that place once when she had bent over to attend to one of the children.  She had been baking, and she must have been warm from the oven, because she had opened the buttons of her blouse just a little lower than usual.  She had bent over the child and there it was; that soft woman-place, where he had longed to lay his head and his lips many times since.

The locket stared at him like it had a life of its own, and he raised his head to call Tom back to the cabinet.

“Made up your mind then?”  Tom asked without showing his surprise to see Karl standing before the jewelry case.

“Yeah.  I think I’d like to take that locket there,” Karl pointed to the piece that had captured his attention.

Tom unlocked the case and withdrew the locket, and held it up for Karl’s inspection.  “How’s that new house-keeper of yours working out?”  Tom asked as innocently as he could manage.

“Oh fine, Tom,” Karl answered absently as he twirled the locket too and fro in front of his face.

“So do you think she will be staying on then?”

Karl’s gaze slid to Tom, and then returned to the locket.  “I’m not sure, Tom.  Her family wants her to return home to Germany.”

“That’s too bad.  I heard she is real good with the children; and her taking over the care of the Bell children was a right Christian thing to do, Karl.”

Karl smiled softly,  “Yeah, well that’s Emilie all right.  She’s one to take on almost anything.”

Tom heard the affection in his young friends’ voice and knew that Karl Wright was hooked.  Poor bugger probably doesn’t even know it yet though . . . probably whom the locket was for . . .

“I’ll take the locket, and the boots, Tom,” Karl said finally.  “Can you wrap the locket for me?”

“I’ll wrap them both for you; just take a minute,” Tom took the items and retreated to the rear of the store.   

When Tom returned Karl paid for the merchandise and remembered the butter he had brought to sell.

“Emilie has been making butter to beat the band.  Could you sell some, if we brought it in regularly?”  

“I can always sell fresh butter, Karl – especially at this time of the year.  How much you got?”  Tom asked as he followed Karl to the front door.

Karl returned with the butter and handed it over to Tom, who promptly paid him twenty cents a pound for the butter.  They made arrangements for the delivery of more butter in the next week, and Karl left with his two wrapped packages and two dollars of Emilie’s butter money safely tucked away in his pocket.

Christmas Traditions - Chapter 12 begins

Do you ever wonder how and when your family's Christmas traditions began?  Many come from an ethnic origin, or even a religious belief, but some come simply from a special memory, cherished from one generation to the next.

One such tradition in my family was the baking of Anise Cookies a day or two before Christmas.  The recipe hailed from my Grandmother on my Dad's side, but it is said that she got the recipe from her husband's side of the family, and the making of these hard little cookies hailed all the way from Switzerland with my grandparents ancestors.

I only have to smell these cookies baking, and I am transported back to my own childhood.  The tree is up, the lights are lit, there are no presents under the tree for Christmas has not arrived yet.  My Mom is in the kitchen doing the last of her Christmas baking, and probably trying to decide where to hide this last bunch so it survives until Christmas.  You see these cookies are the family favorites, and whether you like the taste of Anise or not, you just can't help popping one of these hard round cookies into your mouth, sliding it into your cheek and letting it sit there until it melts.  

When I married I continued the tradition of making these cookies, and if I happen to skip a year once in awhile, it is frowned upon by my family.  When I talk to my brothers, most who live far away, they always ask if I made Anise cookies for a Christmas treat.

I thought I'd share this family recipe with you.  If you are not familiar with Anise, it tastes like licorice, and believe me, when it is in the oven baking, your whole house smells wonderful.  So if you would like to try a Swiss tradition this Christmas, give these little cookies a try... kids love them.. enjoy!

Anise Cookies

"Mom Fischer's recipe"

4 cups flour

4 cups powdered sugar (icing sugar)

4 eggs

4 drops Anise oil (or) 4 teaspoons Anise seed.

Separate eggs.  beat yolks and add sugar, beat well adding sugar gradually.

beating continuously add flour and egg whites.

knead batter and roll out in long thin log-style strips on wax paper. Cookies should be a little larger than a quarter when sliced raw..

Place rolled strips in freezer and freeze overnight.

remove from freezer and slice about 1/4 inch thick and place on ungreased cookie sheet.

bake in moderate oven (350) until tops are gently brown.

(I use Anise oil, when I can get it or Anise extract.  It is becoming difficult to find here, but you can usually find it in a cooking speciality store.  If you use the extract, which is more commonly found, I would use up to a teaspoon in this recipe)

Chapter 12 begins...

Karl was gone the next morning when Emilie went down to the kitchen to prepare breakfast for the family.  His bedroom door stood ajar, his unmade bed and tangled sheets a testament to an obvious restless night.  Emilie wandered into the living room and noted that his heavy sheepskin coat was missing from the peg where it usually hung by the door.  

Her night had also seemed endless and she had barely slept at all.  She had tossed and turned for most of the night, her mind filled with thoughts of her family back home in Germany, and of her new family here.  She had mulled her thoughts over and over in her mind and she still was no closer to a decision about what to do with her future.  Try as she might, she could not erase Karl’s plea for her to stay from her mind.  She was confused about her feelings for Karl; she liked him, and now that she had gotten to know him better, she felt that she finally understood him.  He was a good man, a good father, and she had no doubt that he had been a good husband to his wife.  Since his return from the mountains he seemed so much more relaxed and tolerant, and she had not missed his warm glances directed her way from time to time.  She felt herself responding to those moments when their glances seemed to catch and hold even if only for a few seconds, and she wondered at times if there would ever be more to their relationship than there was now.

She knew that he relied on her for the care of his children, and now, also for the care of the Bell children, but now he seemed to want to share decisions that affected the well being of the entire family with her.  They worked together as a team in everything concerning the children; they thought alike, and at times they seemed to know just what the other was thinking.  She was becoming closer to him and his family every day, and it hurt her unbearably to have to think about the possibly of leaving them behind.  She knew for everyone’s sake that she could not put off her decision for too long, but even so, she was extremely glad that she did not have to face Karl right away this morning.     

George was stoking the fire when she walked into the kitchen, and as he straightened from the wood bin, his warm smile brightened her otherwise gloomy thoughts.

“Guten Morgen, Emilie,” he said as he bent over the kitchen sink to wash up.  

“Guten Morgen, George,” she answered his greeting with a smile as she acknowledged his use of the German language.  George was overly diligent about his appearance these days, and Emilie knew that her presence had a lot to do with his recent fixation.

“Karl said to tell you he had to go to town this morning.  He will be back sometime before nightfall,” George put the final touches to his already well-slicked hair and turned to face her.  “He said to also tell you he was taking ten pounds of butter in to the Mercantile.”

Emilie nodded and prepared her heavy cast-iron frying pans for cooking their breakfast.  “I guess we will have to go ahead and decorate the tree without him, then.  It’s Christmas Eve and the children will want to decorate the tree as soon as breakfast is over,” Emilie told him, as she sliced large slabs of bacon, and dropped them into one of the hot frying pans.

  “We’ll manage all right,” George insisted as he reached for a stack of miss-matched plates and began to set the table.  

Emilie knew they would manage, but Raymond and Anne-Marie would miss their father’s presence.  Christmas had become a very important event to the young children over the last few weeks, and Emilie knew that for Karl’s children this happy time of the year was a new beginning.

One by one the children emerged and congregated around the table.  Sue immediately went to work washing faces and hands while George continued to help Emilie place the hot breakfast on the table.  The kitchen became crowded and noisy and with all the commotion around her she smiled and realized that she had never been happier than she was at this particular moment.

She had to make a decision about going home to Germany, and she had to do it soon, but she didn’t have to do it today.  Today was for the children – no, today was for all of them.  She would do everything in her power to make this a Christmas Eve that they would never forget; so she served her usual large breakfast of potatoes and bacon and eggs, with just as much excitement and enthusiasm in her voice as the children’s.  She plunked herself down at the table to join them for breakfast and the day began in earnest.

First on the agenda for the day was the completion of the children’s daily chores.  Everyone had their own job to do, and Emilie made it very clear that all the chores would have to be completed before the decorating began.  The children eager to get to the decorating, quickly and quietly went about their chores and only when the chores were done and the kitchen was cleaned, did the decorations make an appearance on the kitchen table.  Each child located their own creations and made their way into the living room where the large balsam tree stood waiting in the corner of the room.

They took turns placing their decorations on the tree, and with the addition of each individual ornament a collective sigh swept through the room.   They worked tirelessly until the tree was completely filled, and then they all gathered before it in a semi-circle to wonder at its perfect beauty.

“It’s the prettiest tree I have ever seen,” Raymond breathed reverently.  His eyes shone with excitement as he gazed at the pretty tree, and without conscious thought he rushed to Emilie’s side and wrapped his scrawny little arms tightly around her legs, almost toppling her with his force.  

“Raymond, be careful Lieben,” Emilie chuckled as one by one the other children followed suit.  In seconds she was completely surrounded with the arms and legs of all the children and her delighted laughter became as loud as theirs by the time they fell to the floor in a huddled heap of human flesh.

“Oh you children,” Emilie giggled and picked herself up off the floor.  “You are too much for me!”

“Did you hear that?”  Raymond’s voice rose above the others,  “She forgot to say Kinder this time!”

“Well I should learn your English words too, don’t you think?”  Emilie teased lightly and helped the children off the floor one by one.  “We still have a lot of decorating to do, but first I think we need a break.  Who’s in favor of cookies and hot chocolate?”  

“We are, we are!” the children all yelled at once and in a rush of wiggling bundles of energy ran excitedly to the table and hurriedly took their seats.   

“Emilie, are we going to hang stockings for Santa Claus?”  Richard asked as his small jaw worked around the biggest cookie he could find.

“Nah – I think we should set out shoes for the Der Wein- guy”  Raymond insisted before he took a steady gulp of his chocolate drink.

Emilie noticed a lively discussion forming as the other children tried to swallow quickly around the food in their mouths.  “I don’t know.  What do the rest of you children think we should do?”  she put the question back to the group.

“Didn’t you say that Der Weinachtsmann came on December sixth?”  Charles Jr. asked, and Emilie was not surprised that he not only remembered the correct name for the Christmas Saint, but also the details of his coming.  Although the child struggled with his school work he could recall stories almost word for word as they were told.  Emilie thought Charles Jr. was exceptionally bright and attentive, even if his teacher did not agree.

“I did say that, Charles.”

“Well it’s December twenty-fourth already - kinda late for him to come now, isn’t it?”

She smiled at his logic.  “I guess you could say so, what do the rest of you think?”

“Too late I guess,”  muttered Raymond under his breath,  “But I wanted to see if he’d leave sticks in my shoes!”

The children all laughed at his silliness, but Emilie knew they wondered about the Christmas Saint just as much as Raymond did.

“And he might not know where Canada is either,”  Sue piped in, not to be outdone by the males in the room.

“Well I guess then, stockings it is,”  Emilie announced and then a frown replaced her smile.  “But you know - the stockings must be clean and without holes.  How would your Santa Claus feel if the stockings he was to fill were soiled?”

“Good thing Fred’s not hanging his stocking near ours this year,”  George announced cheerfully,  “He has the stinkiest feet of anyone I know!”  he crowed about the brother next to him in age, who now lived with the Barnes’.  “Santa would get one whiff of them and then none of us would get presents!”

“Can we get our stockings now?”  Raymond wiggled on his chair impatiently.

“Off you go then– but remember – not dirt and no holes!”  she smiled as she watched them tear out of the room in pursuit of the perfect Christmas stocking.

The first one back was Raymond, who proudly held a large stocking in his small hands.  “I got me one, Emilie,”  he held it up for her inspection,  “How’s this?” 

“Raymond that’s not your stocking,”  she scolded gently and her eyes took in the large foot of the garment.  “Where did you get that stocking?”

“In Dada’s drawer.”

“Well you go put it back in his drawer, and go upstairs and get one of your own.”  

“But this one’s bigger than mine are, I’ll get more stuff if I have a bigger stocking!”

“No you won’t, Raymond.  Santa will know that you have cheated and he will give your presents to the children who were honest and did not try to pull a fast one on him!”  Emilie stood hands firmly fixed on her hips, her displeasure evident by the deep frown on her face.

He shrugged, defeated and chastised, and slowly made his way back into his father’s bedroom to return the stocking where he had found it

The children returned to the living room with their odd assortment of sizes and shaped stockings and one by one they nailed the stockings to the wooden mantel of the fireplace, starting with the youngest child and continuing to the oldest.  George rolled his eyes at the motley display of hose that adorned the fireplace, but Emilie noticed that even though he probably no longer believed in the legend of Santa Claus, he too produced a stocking and hung it at its rightful place at the far end of the row.

They decorated the front door with a spray of dried asparagus branches that Emilie had found tucked away in the barn.  The berries of the bush had dried right on the twigs, giving the branches a festive look.  Red ribbon tied around the stems finished the spray off just beautifully.

Sue tied a bright red bow on the post of each kitchen chair, and a long red ribbon draped the tops of the cupboards like festive streamers.  Along with the pine scent from the tree; the scent of fresh baking and cinnamon; and the glow of the cheery fire; the house was transformed from a simple farm dwelling to a place of Christmas dreams.

When they were done, the house became quiet, and instead of the giddiness of before, the mood became peaceful, tranquil; solemn even.  They stood crowded around the tree, arms wrapped around the person next to them, so they resembled a human chain.  In each of their hearts was a loved one who would be missed this Christmas Season.  It was the delicate filament that bound them all together; it was the golden thread that made them a family – mismatched as they were – but a family none-the-less.  

“I wish my Mamma could be here to see this,” Sue whispered softly, her eyes misty with unshed tears.

None of her siblings uttered a word, but they all nodded their heads in agreement their eyes also wet with tears.

“And Father too,” George whispered.

“And my Mamma,” said Raymond, so quietly that Emilie barely heard his words.

“And Wilhelm . . .”  Emilie added in a whisper.  She knew that no matter where she would be this time next year, she would never forget her first Christmas in this new country.  Wherever she went she would take with her the very special memories of these dear children.  They were her heart and they had become her soul, and she would never ever forget them.

LOOSING THE MESS .... and Winter Wheat Chapter 11 cont'd

I just noticed I have a new follower - welcome, and thanks for joining my site. 

Things have settled down in my world.  Now if I could only remember what I was up to last week, I would be really really happy.  Last night after catching up with my laundry, I decided to iron some clothes for work this week.  I went in the craft room and saw evidence of several projects in various stages of production, all over the room.  The ironing board was buried under fabric, patterns, felt, fur, scissors, thread and containers of straight pins.  There is a miniature wedding dress draped over one sewing machine; doll-sized fur slippers cut out but not sewn on the chair, patterns sitting on top of the second sewing machine; crochet cotton with needles sticking out of projects on the cabinet; and, and, and... 
So I gave myself a lecture, muttered to myself for quite some time, as I straightened and organized and generally tried to clean up so I could iron my clothes.  My craft-room roommate (Churchill - my 20 yr old Cockatiel) was so happy to see me he whistled and sang, and carried on as if I hadn't been around for weeks...
I did manage to iron all the clothes in the basket that needed ironing, and I truly felt better that I could now see surfaces in my work area.  So I am good to go again - well kinda, sorta...
Maybe not - on the way home from work on Friday evening - I made an unexpected visit to the library.  In my bag when I left there, was 7 novels, 6 doll books, 4 cd's and 5 magazines.... might be awhile before I get back to those projects!


Winter Wheat continues....


By the time they arrived home, it was late afternoon, and the sun was threatening to retreat for the day.  Emilie ushered all of the children out of the wagon box and into the house.  The fire had died down and the house was cool, so she added wood to the stove and the fireplace, shooed the children to their rooms to change into dry clothes, and put milk on the stove to warm for some hot cocoa.  She fixed a light meal to go along with the hot drinks, and by the time Karl returned to the house the children were all well on their way to their beds for the night.  They stayed awake only long enough to see Karl drag the tree into the house, trim off the lower branches, and place the tree into the five gallon pail of sand that he had brought in with the tree.

When the children were assured that the tree would be ready for decorating the next day, they tiredly made their way to their beds, the smaller ones needing help from the adults to get to where they were going.  When the children were settled, Emilie made her way back to the kitchen and put a pot of water on the stove for some much needed hot tea.

Karl followed her into the kitchen and set himself up at the table to open the large stack of mail that had arrived sometime that day.  In the pile of correspondence was a letter from Martha, and one from Emilie’s uncle in Germany, which had been forwarded along by Martha as well.  

Karl silently held the letter out to Emilie, and waited until she came across the kitchen to retrieve it.  “This looks like it might be for you, Emilie.”  

She took the envelope from his out-stretched hand and lowered herself to the chair on the opposite side of the table from where Karl sat.  

He watched closely as she gently fingered the stamp, and then turned the envelope over in her small hands and tore a small corner of the envelope open.  With shaking hands she ran her finger along the edge until the envelope was completely open; then carefully retrieved the letter inside.  She looked up once, and gave Karl a weak smile, before she lowered her head and read the letter.

Dear Emilie . . . her uncle’s strong German scroll started off the letter . . .

 We received your letter and are so saddened at the news of Wilhelm’s passing.  We cannot believe that you have been left all alone, especially in a foreign place.  Auntie and I discussed your situation and we both agree that you should return home to Germany at once.  I have enclosed enough money for your passage, and for anything else you may require before you reach home.  Once you are here, you will stay with us until you can get your life back in order, and then whatever you decide to do, we will support your decision.

You know Auntie and I were never for this idea of Wilhelm’s in the first place.  That it cost him his life is beyond belief.  Please come home as soon as you can arrange your transport.

You’re loving 

Uncle Helmuth   

   

Emilie folded the letter and placed it back into the envelope.  She glanced at the pile of German money that had fallen out of the envelope along with the letter, and then stuffed this back into the envelope as well.  When she raised her eyes it was to find Karl’s steady glance directed her way.

She nodded to the envelope lying on the table between them.  “That’s from my Uncle Helmuth in Germany,” she said softly.  “He wants me to come home to Germany now that Wilhelm’s gone  . . . he’s even sent me the money for my fare home . . .”  

Karl’s heart pummeled his chest.  He caught her gaze and lost himself in the blue pool of her eyes.  “Don’t go . . ." he whispered past the huge restriction that had formed in his throat.  “Emilie . . . I . . .” he swallowed hard and shook his head as if to clear it.

She watched his struggle and before he could say anything further, she rose, snatched the envelope up off the table, and tore from the room and up the stairs to the sanctuary of her room.  Long before she reached her destination she lost her vision to the blur of tears that rushed to her eyes, and her choked sobs were heard by the man who sat holding his head in his hands at the table, a floor below.

In her despair she curled her body around the child who occupied the bed with her.  She placed her head alongside that of Anne-Marie’s and hugged the small body close to her own.  She let the tears fall as her heart slowly broke for the third time in her life.  She heard a chair scrape across the floor in the kitchen below, and then heard the soft thud, as the heavy door to Karl’s bedroom closed.  As she lay in her misery she heard something hit Karl’s door with force, and then the unmistakable crash of breaking glass.  He cursed loudly and then one more time something hit the door.

She listened for only a moment more, then covered her ears with her hands and fell to pieces. 

I'M BACK!

I must apologize for being absent the past couple of days.  I have had an exciting weekend, well sort of...

My son was ill last week, at first we thought he had food poisoning, then when he didn't get better, we thought it was a really bad flu, but he kept getting sicker and nothing seemed to help him.  Finally on Saturday I called a physician friend of mine, and he happened to be working in the local ER Saturday night so he told me to bring him in.  We went in there at 8 pm, and they whisked Jon to the back almost immediately.  Some blood tests, IV's and examinations and shortly after a diagnosis of acute appendicitis.  So a surgeon was contacted and by 10:30pm we were heading over to a larger hospital so he could have surgery.

He was in surgery by 1 am and out at 3am, and back home by 8pm Sunday evening... what a 24 hrs!  The main thing is he is fine, and now just needs to start eating again ( hasn't eaten anything solid in 6 days).

So there went my weekend...

I actually forgot today was Monday and we were supposed to do the contest over again...  This time around I will make it really simple.... the winner will be the third person to email me on Wednesday.  email me with your name and address Wednesday am to   erndales@mts.net.

So back to Winter Wheat we go.......

Long before the blizzard, Karl had promised the children that they could accompany him when it came time to cut the Christmas tree, and all too soon that day was upon them.  

Emilie balked at the idea of the whole family riding a good distance away just to cut a tree.

“Why can’t you just take the older boys and go?”

“Because I promised, and a promise is a promise.”  He watched her struggle with herself and knew what lay behind it.  She had had a terrible experience – they all had – but winter travel was a way of life and she needed to put the experience of being stranded in the blizzard behind her.

“Sooner or later you are going to have to get on that wagon again, Emilie.  This is the best time for you to do that.  We will go in the daylight, and be home before dark and we will not be traveling alone.  Frederich’s wagon will travel with us this time.”

She knew all that – still the thought of being stranded again terrorized her like nothing ever had before.

In the end, Karl and the children won the argument.  Two days before Christmas, two sleighs loaded with men, women and children and packed with enough food to feed a small army, left Karl’s yard in the frosty early morning air. 

The children were wound tighter than a top, and the adults were hopeful that it would be the happiest day that any of them had experienced in a long while.  

As they set off, the children playfully rolled around in the wagon bed, singing Christmas songs and telling stories to one another about their idea of the perfect Christmas tree.  The older children playfully tossed one another over the sides of the wagon, and then ran alongside until they could swing themselves back up into the box.  The younger children cheered and wished that they too could be tossed out into the deep snow, but they remained safely tucked close together in the wagon box.

The day was sunny and bright, and even though the air had a biting nip to it, the would-be foresters were content to travel along the snow-packed trail that would take them up to the mountains where the best spruce trees could be found.

They rode for an hour, passing bush after bush of poplar, oak and willow, and it was only when the flat prairie disappeared and the first of many steep hills leading to the small mountain range began, that they spied their first pine.  Tall thin pines now replaced the willow – the lush green vegetation of the pines stuck out above the tree line, and beckoned Karl to the section of land that they had come so far to see.  Karl slowed his team, and inspected the area.  An expectant hush came over the occupants of the wagons until Karl nodded his head and pulled back firmly on the reigns.

“This is it!  Everyone out!”  He ordered his helpers.

The second wagon came to a stop behind Karl’s rig, and one by one the families began to leave them.  Anne-Marie and Warren were placed on the long toboggan that had been added to the supplies for the day; then the whole group of adults and children set off for the thick bush to the right of the road. 

Karl led the way; his long strides efficient and sure blazed a trail of human footsteps through the virgin snow.  He moved quickly, so quickly in fact, that everyone, save Frederich, had difficulty keeping up with him.  He strode forward like one born to the land; his wool hat pulled low across his forehead, and the large thick axe he carried, slung carelessly over his shoulders.

The children, anxious to cut a tree, chose several likely trees along the route, but he insisted with every step he took that better trees were still ahead of them; and he was right.  A few more paces brought them to several trees that were absolutely beautiful and perfect in every way.

Emilie, who had never experienced this kind of adventure before, was almost as excited as the children by the time the two perfect trees were selected.  Within minutes the tree chopping had begun in earnest.  Everyone took a turn behind the axe; the children formed a line and waited patiently for their turn to take a swing at their chosen tree.  Karl held the axe for the smaller children and made a big play of praising their chopping skills, even though all they really had contributed was the holding of the axe handle.  Even Emilie was called forward to give it a try.

“Oh no, that’s okay,” she waved her hands in the air and backed away from where Karl stood with the axe.  “I’ll leave the cutting to you,” she indicated the line of children who were more than ready to take another turn at the axe.

Karl smiled, conspiring with the children.  “I don’t think that’s fair.  Do you?”  He questioned the group of children.

“No” they yelled out in unison.

Satisfied that he had forced her hand, Karl approached Emilie again, and opened his arms so she might take position inside them, close to the axe.

“Really, Karl,” she whispered, and her already rosy cheeks flamed brighter.

“Come on Emilie,” he chuckled as he drew her closer and wrapped his arms around her body.  He stood behind her, completely surrounding her, and directed her shaking hands to the axe handle.

“Everyone’s watching,” he breathed into her ear, as he placed his big hands over her smaller ones on the axe handle.

She felt the warmth of his breath on the side of her face, and the heat of it went straight to her toes.

“Now all you have to do is swing,” his deep voice soft and warm in her ear instructed.

Emilie turned her head, and realized her mistake at once.  Her action had put his mouth perilously close to her own.  She watched as Karl’s eyes slid to her lips, and for a moment she thought that he was going to kiss her again.  Their breaths mingled as an exhaust of frosty air surrounded their faces.  Time stopped, as they filled their eyes with each other, and then it was over.  Karl released her with a start, and she stepped out of his embrace, without remembering to swing the axe.

Emilie hurried away as fast as her shaking legs could carry her, but not fast enough to escape the pure mischief that was evident in some of the children’s eyes.  Their whispers and giggles told her that everyone present had witnessed the brief exchange with Karl; and that for some of them, it was cause for much delight.  Emilie moved off to where Annie was working at setting their winter picnic lunch out on the tailgate of the wagon box.  She knew that Annie had witnessed her moment with Karl as well, and she waited for the comment she was certain Annie would make; but other than the smirk on her face, and the twinkle in her eyes, Annie remained quiet. 

By the time the men and the children had cut two trees to the ground, lunch was ready to be served.  It took no amount of coaxing for the children or the men to come for the meal that the women had provided, and soon the large group was quiet as they sat around the makeshift campsite to consume their meal.

Emilie wondered at the children’s ability to adapt to different circumstances in their lives.  Rosy-cheeked and cold, none of them complained about the weather or the prospect of riding yet another hour to return to their warm homes.  They certainly seemed to have completely forgotten about another excursion not so very long ago when the outcome had been terrifying and could have been so much more devastating than it was.  Instead they ate heartily and then rushed off to play in the snow, until it was time to pack up and return home again.

One by one, the weary bunch was loaded back into the wagons and using the extra thick blankets that Annie and Emilie had brought along, the children settled down, huddled close and covered up.  Conversation was slow and quiet and Emilie knew that the smaller children slept as they slowly made their way home.  

At the front of the wagon all was quiet as well.  Karl and Emilie sat side by side, but they could have been miles apart, each absorbed as they were by their own thoughts.  Karl brooded over his growing affection for his housekeeper, while Emilie wondered about the look of desire that had been in Karl’s eyes as he had held her in his embrace.

Every now and then, one of the children would pop their head up and look behind the wagon just to make sure that the trees they had worked so hard to obtain were still following along behind where they had been secured with thick rope.  Then all would be quiet again.