56-years old and STILL learning

A couple of three lessons learned by this "old person" on her bike today and I go by the motto, "It's ok to make a mistake once, just don't make the same one twice."  I can live with that~


Remembered the valuable lesson about climbing up hills...once you start, you'd better be dang sure you can keep pedalling all the way up it.  If you don't, if you second-guess yourself for just one brief moment in time and cease to pedal,  well then ....it's not so good.  It wasn't a pretty sight, but I did it!  I made it up that stupid hill :)


Riding in the early morning hours of a summer day in June is smart, but riding in the early evening hours remains to be one of the silliest choices a person can make.  I did both today and learned quickly what I already knew....Why would someone choose to "fry their brains" on a bike when the temperature is still at 100+ degrees?  A second 10-mile ride quickly turned into a a 5-mile one.  All the while I was thinking, "Man, which takes less brain cells  to choose, jumping a curb or making a ride in high heat and humidity?"  It was a toss-up~neither are a smart choice for me.  LOL


And last but certainly never least, stay hydrated for crying out loud!  And since I was going to be taking along plenty of liquid to drink....hey, why not use the water bottle that fits perfectly into the cage?  I made the huge mistake of putting my Wendy's (and if anyone from the Wendy's Corporation should happen to read this, yes...I frequent your local establishment often) large size cup into the bottle holder and by the time I had ridden the first mile, I realized what a distraction it was to me as the rider.  It didn't fit correctly, hanging out too far and many times I would knock into as I was pedalling.  I have two perfectly good bottles that were made for my bike and to top it off, they provide a good of insulation for the drink inside.  By the time I was able to pitch the Wendy's cup in the trash, my ice tea was more reminiscent of luke warm water.  Not too appetizing and certainly nothing that would make me want to ask for a "refill" on this very warm day in the Great Plains state of Kansas.  But other than those things, I actually did ok and I hold fast and tight to the thought that says, "I can do this!" It's just gonna take some time.


On a parting note, a word of "thanks" to all of the drivers that I encounter each and every time I am out riding my bike.  Those of you who ride bikes, or motorcycles for that matter, will know exactly what I mean when I say this.  I'm very grateful to the drivers who see that I am there, who don't crowd me as I ride alongside them on the street, who allow me the time I need to safely make a turn and remain "upright" as I do it.  It used to be that back in the "old days" (which would have been any day prior to August 4th of last year) that I made a habit of uttering the phrase, "What do you think I am, invisible?" to any driver that would cut me off in traffic or act as if I wasn't even there.  Now I know for sure that in order to remain safe on the road that I cannot assume that any one out there sees me and for all intents and purposes, I AM invisible to them.  My job is to be a responsible cyclist who follows the rules of the road just like any other moving vehicle should be doing.  Smart riders who want to make it home in the proverbial "one piece" know how wise it is to practice safe cycling.  And because I come across many of you who are reading this post as I am on streets of Hutchinson during the day, please friends...if you EVER see me doing something that you know isn't safe while I'm riding, call me out on it.  Remember, it's ok to make a mistake once, but after that...I oughta know better.


The end to this last Friday in June of the year 2012 is drawing to a close.  The temperature outdoors here in Reno County, south central Kansas is now at 96 degrees BUT it only feels like 94 degrees.  Hey, things are looking up friends!  Have a great weekend upcoming and stay well, be at peace with life.  Good night friends!

The end of a very long 10-mile ride that got cut in half within the first 5 minutes!  Back in the "old days", prior to August 4th of last year, I often times would use the lame, lame, and even MORE lame excuse that a helmet was just too hot to wear.  Besides that, my hair would always get too sweaty and I was sure that I'd be fine (and stupid) without it.  But thanks to my dear friend and former first student from the "land of long ago and so very, very far away", my dear Amy Brittain Pratt, I put it on all the time now.  And Amy, each time I wear it I remember to utter a word of thanks to you for the times you gently reminded me. I promised you my friend that I would never go without it again...and I try always to keep my word. 

Miller Bucket List Item #4

Seems like I've been trading a lot of "daylight for dark" since returning from Maine in early June. I'm  looking at the calendar and with only two more days left in the month, it makes me realize just how fast time has flown by already.  Earlier this week, I began to ride my bike once again, making my customary 10-mile journey each morning now since Monday.  If I use my imagination, it almost seems like last summer, well at least up to the part where I smashed "old lefty" to smithereens in early August.  Each day has gotten a tiny bit easier and my level of confidence has grown stronger with each "push down" of the pedals.  


I've returned to riding in anticipation of completing "Bucket List Item #4"~To ride the 20-mile Sterling 4th of July Bike Hike.  I've been on the Sterling ride now for 5 of the last 8 years.  It's always been a fun activity to look forward to and because it happens in the early morning hours, it's generally completed before the sun's scorching rays beat down upon the earth.  The "bike hike" is put on by the small Rice County community that is home to my alma mater, Sterling College and to me, it seems like the ride has grown each year.  The first year I went (2001) I knew absolutely no one.  Last year the group of cyclists had grown in number to well over 100 and I was really blessed to be able to ride with a fine group of folks.  And as I have said many times over, I can ride by myself and do just fine but it is so very much more fun to have friends along to share the road with.


A couple of weeks ago, I spoke of what makes a blog post difficult to write.  There are a variety of reasons that certain topics are a challenge~having to admit my faults and weaknesses, not being able to do what I set out to do, and now adding to that list of excuses--not being the cyclist that I felt I once was.  And I look at it realistically and since for me, I figure if I admit it to myself and go from there, then maybe there's a chance that come the 4th of July, I will actually be able to ride the entire 20 miles.


It's a weird feeling to have~ to go from the unbelievable idea of riding my bike halfway across the state of Kansas last June to now, just a year later, feeling as if the 20-mile "bike hike" could well be a goal that is out of my reach.  And friends, believe me, it's not that I don't want to do it because I most certainly do~it found a spot on my bucket list because I thought it would be an important milestone in "old lefty's" total recovery.  Now, I wonder about it.


August 4th of last year was a day that I will never forget and even if I would somehow, "old lefty" will always be there to remind me.  5 different scars from 3 different surgeries, a left hand that looks as if it has aged 10 years more than the other, and a left arm and wrist that will never return 100 percent to the way it was once before.  Oh, and wait a minute....a huge smile on my face as I remember a conversation in the last days of summer school this June with a young man in my class~


Jamie-"Mrs. Miller, I forgot.  I know you were riding your bike when you hurt your arm, but how did you do it exactly?"


Me-"Uh, remember Jamie?  I was trying to jump a curb with my bike that day.  It was in front of my own house."


Jamie-"Oh yeah, now I remember.  Mrs. Miller, why don't you let me teach you how to do a "bunny hop" for the next time?  It's a lot better.  But you really gotta use your whole body. Do you think you could do it?"


Me-"I think I need to take a raincheck on the bunny hop idea Jamie.  If I ever get hurt again, my 3 kids are going to ground me and take my bike away!  But thanks anyways."  


When I was injured, I really had no idea that I would ever even be able to ride a bike again.  Forget pedalling 20 miles or  even across the state of Kansas, I wasn't sure that I'd be able to ride from my front yard to the stop sign just 3 houses down.  I can remember the good doc, Prince Chan, giving me the first of his many "frowny faces" back in late September as I asked permission to get back on the bike between my second and third surgeries.  His response, forever burned into my brain was,  "Ok, but be careful.  I mean it!  Really careful.  One mile only and don't crash and burn Peggy!"  I assured him that would not be my intent and I promised to be careful.  But I never even really had the heart to go more than 150 miles between August 4th, 2011 and early spring of 2012.  I wasn't afraid.  I just didn't want to go through all of that again.


As I've been riding this week, I've found myself slowly regaining a little of the confidence that I lost that day.  At first, I tried to be almost "over vigilant" as to the hazards of the road. In my mind, I sometimes asked myself..."If I had to crash, where would be the best place to aim for my body to land?"  (oh yeah, like I'd have enough time or sense about me to do that? LOL)  I know that's crazy but I found myself trying to figure out stuff just like that. Yet with  each first "push down" of my foot, the fear seemed a bit less until yesterday morning as I set  out in the very early morning hours, I didn't feel any fear at all.  And for the first time in all of this week, I enjoyed the ride without the worry of whether or not I'd make it back home in one piece.  It seemed like last summer, all over again.


So in the week that lies ahead of me, I have much riding to do.  Beginning Saturday, I'll be riding 10 miles in the morning and 10 miles in the evening in preparation for the July 4th bike hike.  When the day of the ride comes, I will blessed to be joining my good friends and teaching companions, Patti Mazur and Tonya Saiz.  Those two gals are young whipper snappers (oh man, what an old geezer term) and I know that they will encourage me to continue on, even if the miles get long for me.  It's a great route, basically a 5 mile x4 route around the city of Sterling with a great sag stop in the tiny Rice County community of Alden, Ks.  And when I finish, there will be no better feeling than to see the Sterling College campus ahead of me as I return to town.  You just can't beat it!


It's 5:06 a.m. as I close this post.  I've been up since 4:00, an old habit that just won't seem to die out and I always chalk it up to being a farm kid for too many years.  There are some, ok there are many, who think I'm crazy for getting up at this hour.  They may be right :)  Time to have my "usual" breakfast of toast and peanut butter and a banana.  Sounds exciting, right?  At 5:45, I'll be out the door, helmet on of course Amy!  


I've read with great interest, and maybe you have as well, about the young woman named Aimee Copeland who was stricken with the "flesh--eating" bacteria that we hear so often about these days.  3 days after an accident involving a zip-line, she came down with the symptoms and now, nearly 8 weeks later, Aimee's leg, her remaining foot, and both hands have been amputated in order to save her life.  It was so inspiring this week to read her story as her condition was upgraded and to hear the comments she made about this accident being a blessing to her, that she would be forever a better person because of it.  Before my accident last August, if I would read Aimee's story and heard her make the remarks she did, I'm positive that I would have said she was crazy!  Are you kidding Aimee, a blessing?  But in my own way, I understand what she means and believe me, unless we've gone through her experience, we'll never understand completely.


As I have said before and will continue to say until my last breath leaves me, the accident involving "old lefty" is the very best thing that has ever happened to me and I know it.  Life forever changed, my perspective on the fragility of our time here on earth was honed to a much finer point.  Our days are numbered and only God knows when they shall end.  I'm so glad, so very thankful that I made that very first ride to the stop sign 3 houses down last fall.  It taught me an important lesson about myself and the lesson was this....I may be scared and have all kinds of self-doubt.  Yet the bottom line is this, I still, even now 11 months later, am more determined than I would ever be afraid. 


Have a good day out there friends and family...be sure to get plenty of fluids into you this day.  It's gonna be another hot one!

What a great group of friends to ride with!  The Sterling 4th of July 20-mile Bike Hike from the year 2011.

Tonya Saiz and Patti Mazur-Two good friends who encourage me all the while!  They are just young folks yet~  Thanks ladies!

With respect to her wishes~

Good evening friends from south central Kansas where the high temperature, at least for this part of the state, reached 108 degrees this fine Wednesday in June.  It was the kind of summer day when those that were able to, chose to do their outside work either in the early morning or late evening hours of the day.  Before going any further, may I please give "kudos" to all of the folks who make their living in the great outdoors, year round.  Through summer's unrelenting heat to winter's unforgiving and bitter cold, people like farmers, city workers, mail carriers, fire fighters, police officers, and so many more daily brave the elements to make sure that life runs smoothly for the rest of us.  And I would be remiss if I didn't say that those of us who live in places where wild fires are not threatening our lives and property should be ever more grateful.  The news from our neighboring state to the west, Colorado, looks dismal at best.  Praying that the fires are contained as quickly as possible.  


I've been working outside a lot lately, planting and weeding, watering and rearranging things in my backyard.  While I was out earlier in the week, I went into the garage to put something away that I'd been using and came across something that I'd nearly forgotten about.  In the corner on a dusty shelf stood the old aluminum cake pan that my mom used for more than 10 years to bake, suffice it to say, more than a dozen delicious angel food cakes.  And as I picked it up and turned it over, I knew exactly what I'd find on the bottom~a message that my mom wrote to me with an old black magic marker now, well over 8 years ago.


"Do not throw away!  Use for planting flowers in!" the message read.  I was with her the day she wrote it and believe me, even if she hadn't used exclamation marks, my mom MEANT it.  Only a very foolish kid would have even attempted to put it into the dumpster and while I admit that I have done some pretty dang foolish things in life, I knew better than to attempt THAT one.  


I can remember it was one of those times when I was helping her clean out stuff here at home and all the while I was encouraging her to throw stuff AWAY!    We were working in the kitchen and I was busy going through cupboards that were stacked full of stuff that I really thought needed to be pitched. Some of the things she actually did let me throw away while other things were definitely in my mom's "over my dead body" pile.  The angel food cake pan was one of those things.


I remember saying to her, "Mom, remember this is the one that leaks batter out all over the oven.  Don't you think we should toss it?"  She didn't need to say anything because the look on her face told me the answer and the answer WAS "I don't think so!"  And so even though no words were spoken, I just put the broken pan over with the other stuff that she was saving.  Later, I saw her pick up the pan and with a magic marker in one hand she wrote the message.  The old angel food cake pan had been given its "stay of execution" by my mom.  It was not going anywhere, well at least not to the Reno County landfill.


I don't even remember how much we got rid of that day as she and I cleaned up the kitchen.  I will admit to this, and I am kind of ashamed of myself, once when she wasn't looking, I took a tall stack of old cottage cheese containers out to the dumpster without asking.  (sorry Mom...now you know) .  Hey, I figured a few were ok but 100 seemed just too many. Sure was thankful that it was "trash day" on 14th Street because I definitely would have hated to be the one who had to go out to retrieve them when she found out.  Not sure if we even made a dent in things that day but at least we tried.


As the years after Mom's death in 2007 passed by, I finally came to the realization that there was indeed a "method to the madness"of her keeping so many things.  She had been a saver of everything and I never realized just how much until I cleaned out the house for her once she moved into a long-term care facility.  Besides dozens upon dozens of old plastic containers, with or without the lids, Mom was a collector of rubber bands off of the newspaper, clean napkins from fast food restaurants, boxes filled with recipe clippings from the paper and magazines, as well as huge plastic tubs filled with left over wrappings and ribbons from her yearly wrapping spree at Christmas time.  If you added in the boxes full of old mayonnaise and pickle jars (always handy when she made jelly), the stacks full of old magazines and catalogues (of which she was sure someone could some day use), and a dozen address books containing the "former" addresses (and by that I mean REALLY former) of friends and family members, well you could sure say that we had more than a little to think about going through.  


Born in 1920, she was a "product" of the Great Depression, a member of the "waste not, want not" generation of folks.  No doubt, many of you reading this have similar stories to tell of family members who believed, because of their upbringing during that "economic nightmare", that you didn't throw away stuff just because you thought its original purpose was already spent.  Things were used, reused, and then reused once more and it had to be in pretty desperate shape to finally be relegated to the junk.  


The lessons my mom learned were carried with her throughout the remainder of her 89-year old life.  As her adult-daughter, it took me many years to understand the significance of it all.  With great regret, I acknowledge that I wasn't like her at all in that respect of being "thrifty"  for most of my 56 years of living.  It has been only recently that I have seen the value in having less and living a more simplified life each day.  As I have said countless times before in this blog, Peggy Miller is one "slow learner".  But once I learn something, I generally never forget it again.  


So yeah, about that little cake pan...well I drug it out of the garage and dusted it off, holding it in my hands for just a moment as I read Mom's now fading black magic marker message to me and to anyone else for that matter who would find it.  And I did what any self-respecting daughter who generally tried to mind what she was told to do....I planted geraniums in it.  You know how it goes...no matter what age you are, no matter if your mom is still alive or has been gone from the earth for many years...You do what she would have wanted for you to do...because you love her!

The summer after Mom died, I planted her favorite flower, rose moss, in the pan.  Some of it was still what she had planted from seed in the front flower beds.  

Rural Kansas school children and their teacher at the very beginnings of America's "Great Depression", the year 1931.  These students attended Harvey County's "Prairie Flower" school and were all taught in one room by the little short girl in the back row, left hand side of photo. And you can bet that teacher did it all without the aid of computers, modern technology, Smart boards, or cell phones.  And if there was any trouble with students, she took care of it herself.


 My mom, Lois Brown, is on the second row, the 6th one over.  She'd be the girl who looks like "I can be ornery if I want to be" is written all over her cute little face.  Mom and I talked about that photo once and she said it never took her very long to get ready for school each day.  When you had only two dresses to choose from and no shoes were needed until the weather got colder, well the only excuse for being late to school was...wait, there WAS no excuse!
  

Why not today?

Greetings everyone from my home here in south central Kansas.  The sun is shining, sky is blue with not a cloud to be seen, and a nice little breeze out of the south at 13 mph.  The temperature is already 80 degrees and I don't anticipate the mercury "dropping" any during the day.  With all likelihood, we will see close to the century mark here in Reno County.   For all intents and purposes, life is very good this fine June day.

You know, before I went to bed last evening, I took a look at my bike.  It's been parked in front of the fireplace ever since my friend Mike brought it over for me last week from his garage here in town.  I'd kept it there in storage for so long that a fine layer of dust had accumulated on it.  Parked against boxes of photo albums, my bike had now become just another piece of furniture to dust and take care of.  And I knew that something was very wrong with that picture.

Since I got hurt last August, I probably haven't ridden the bike more than 150 miles or so.  Always seemed there was an excuse for not getting back on it.  Most of them were lame ones...with absolutely no merit behind them.  Things like being too tired, not having enough time, moving back to Hutch again and many others were my "good reasons" for not riding.  The more I thought of them, the more pathetic they sounded.  What was I waiting for?

So this morning when I woke up, I thought "what the heck"?  Maybe today we be a good time to see what I had left in me as far as riding a bike would go.  So I got dressed, found my helmet and biking gloves, checked the tires of the bike and started out.  It was one of those "now or never" moments for me.  And off I went.

My plan was to head south towards the McDonald's in South Hutchinson.  From my home to there, the total distance is 4.75 miles.  The path to get there isn't bad at all, especially if you take out early, like I did, on a Sunday morning.  I just head the 3 blocks west to Main Street, "hang a left" and keep on going until I get to the Frank Hart Crossing that leads from Hutchinson to South Hutchinson.  Then it's "easy sailing" the rest of the way if I use the bike path that the city of South Hutchinson constructed several years back.  Well, I gotta be honest...that whole idea of "easy sailing" wasn't so easy today. My lack of ambition in riding my bike over the past nearly 11 months began to catch up with me about the beginning of the first mile.

I will so well remember the very first time I tried to get on a bike again last November, between surgeries 2 and 3.  The scariest thing I ever had to do in my whole life was to put my foot into the right toe clip and push off for the very first time since the disaster with "old lefty".  I didn't die that day as I rode again and this morning, even though I felt a slight trepidation when I started off, the world didn't lose me today either.  :)  

But by the time I had made it to about 11th and Main, my body began talking to me and it wasn't very happy.  Used to be back in the "old days", the worst thing that could happen would be a very sore "behind" from having to sit on a seat that was not so comfortable.  If ONLY that would have been the only ailment today.  All of a sudden, my once very strong legs became immediately tired and "old lefty", well "old lefty" was the leader of the complaining pack.  If an arm could talk, I'm sure it would have said, (and by the way, this is CLEANED UP version of that story)  "What the heck are you doing Peggy?  Don't you know what happened to me?"  I'm sure that I was huffing and puffing and the look on my face would have been similar to the "frowny face" that Dr. Chan always wore when I wasn't doing what I was supposed to be doing in regards to "old lefty".  

One thing I've learned in this life, especially since last August 4th, is just how strong the mind and the spirit of a person CAN be.  This morning, I became my own "cheerleader" and every time my legs said "that's about enough" my mind said, "You've got to be kidding!  You're not even there yet!"  When "old lefty" became too tired, then my right arm picked up the slack.  I remembered to rest my injured arm and move it around in order that the pain could ease up a bit.  When my huffing and puffing became noticeable, I told myself, "Peggy this is what happens when you quit exercising and become less active."  I kept encouraging myself until I found that I had made it to the Frank Hart Crossing and then, well, then what was I going to do?  Turn around and go home?  Heck  no...I was going to make it the whole way.  And I did.

I cannot describe the feeling I had when I finally got off my bike, the nearly 5 miles from home.  I don't know fast I travelled or how long it took me to get there.  I have taken the bike's odometer/computer off on purpose and I'm not sure when or IF I will put it back again.  Used to be that in the "old days", prior to and right up to August 4, 2011, I wasn't happy unless the odometer said I was keeping an average speed of somewhere between 10-12 mph.  If the wind was with me and the traffic was light, I could make it to South Hutch and back in great time!  I yearned for the times that I could coast down a hill on the bike path at 20-24 mph, given the right conditions.  Not now.

For me, at this point in life, the most important thing is just to get back on that bike and remain active.  So if I don't have the computer to look at and "judge" myself as I ride, then I feel a whole lot better about it.  The time may come in future when I put it back on.  But for now, I'm a whole lot happier and a better rider without it.  And to my dear friend and former student, Amy Brittain Pratt, I want you to know dear Amy that I never ride without my helmet and I think of you each time I put it on.  I promised and I won't forget.

Many of you reading this blog post are "young folks" and by young folks, I mean anyone younger than me!  Although at times I don't like to acknowledge it, this is the summer of my 57th year.  And even charter members of the "I Hate Math Club" like me, can figure out that if I make it that long, in 3 years I'll have reached the age of 60.  Perhaps you will understand if I say that even though my body is aging, my mind (well, when I'm not forgetting stuff) and spirit remain young.  Sometimes, that's a dangerous thing, if you know what I mean.  Yet other times, I think it's a wonderful thing~something that inspires me to keep trying until my last breath is taken.  

My dear friends, I encourage you to remain active as long as you can in life.  For those of us, former children of the 70's and older, there are many things that we can do to ensure that we stay in the best shape possible even as we age.  Some of the top activities listed for people my age and older are water aerobics, bicycling, walking, gardening and yoga.  There are many, many others.  Keeping our bodies fit and our minds active are going to be "key" to having a healthy life as possible.  For our "own sakes", we have to do something!

I think I'm developing "thicker skin" as I grow older about certain things.  I've been told by students that they just love the way my "grandma skin" feels.  At summer school last week, one of the little kindergarten kids said to me, "You know Mrs. Miller, you remind me of one of the old grandmas that goes to my church!"  I was smiling at her when she said it but in my mind I was saying "Geesch, I hope her idea of an old grandma is someone in their 50's not 90's!"  When one of my fourth grade students asked me on the second day of summer school why my left hand looked so old and wrinkly and the right hand didn't, I just had to laugh and say that it was because "old lefty" was so very special :)  And when I explained further that "old lefty" would always have a little bump in it, one of the other kids spoke up saying, "That's not a little bump Mrs. Miller, that's a BIG bump!"  They didn't mean any harm at all by their comments.  They are innocent in their remarks and because they have gone through the entire healing process with me from the very beginning, they know that they can ask me any question at all and if I can, I will always answer them.  Yep Mr. Linkletter, you were right..."kids say the darndest things!"

Time to get busy and get this day started.  It's strange, when I got up this morning my body was aching terribly.  Old age, arthritis, being lazy...whatever you want to call it.  I was tempted to take some Ibuprofen just to get started in the day.  But now, an hour after returning from my bike ride, I'm feeling actually pretty decent.  Exercise could replace medicine??  Hmm, now that's an interesting idea.  Have a great day everyone~June 24, 2012...another great day to be alive in.

Bicycling is always much more fun when you do it with others-My friends Patti, Tonya and her family when we rode the Sterling 4th of July 20 mile "bike hike" last year.  

My good friend and a "former" student, Mike Fazio.  Mike was working on Main Street with his job for the city August 4th last year.  I came across him and stopped to visit about riding bikes with him one day soon, just prior to crashing my bike.  I believe if I would have seen him this morning, I might have just stopped wherever I was at and walked my bike back home.  Not that I'm superstitious or anything!

 

Keeping it in the family~

When I first decided to write an online blog, I consulted my son Grahame to see what he would recommend to be the best Internet site to work with.  He immediately suggested "Blogger" after having some experience using it while he hiked the Appalachian Trail in April of 2011.  Because I have limited knowledge of anything like this, I gladly accepted his advice and thus 'Peggy's Bucket List Journey of 2011" began.


One of the very interesting aspects of using "Blogger" is the ability to track the number of "hits" my page has online as well as the wide variety of web browsers that are used.  One of the first things I took into consideration before even posting for the very first time (May 19, 2011) was the fact that once that "publish" tab is clicked, my words and thoughts are out there circulating on the "world wide web" for anyone and their brother to see.  In a way, it's kind of a concerning thought and because of that concern, I do try to be careful as to what I say in each of my posts.  But as I have learned just recently, sometimes some very unexpected things happen when you write a blog and when you least expect it, opportunities arise that you would never have dreamt of.


On December 6th of last year, I wrote a post called "The 100 Thing Challenge".  It had to do with the concept of downsizing your life to the point of whittling your possessions down to the 100 most essential and important things in your life.  It puts the whole notion of "simplifying' on the front burner.  Towards the end of the blog, I used the example of my great-grandmother who came here to the New World as a 17-year old young woman from Bremerhaven, Germany in the 1860's.  Everything that she brought with her fit into a medium size steamer trunk and with those meager possessions, Christina Billhardt Schilling began a new life in America.


Hey, I didn't think anything out of the ordinary would come from that posting, now 7 months ago.  I just hoped that people would read it and give some thought to all of their possessions.  With luck, they might even ask themselves the questions, "What are the things that I could never part with?  What kind of stuff might I easily live without?" I expected nothing more than that.  But as of 5 days ago, that post was read for the very first time by someone who unknowingly found a connection between herself and me.  


Out in the Denver, Colorado area, a woman named Diane was researching online for some information about her great-grandmother.  When she typed in the name "Christina Billhardt Schilling" the first site that popped up online was my December blog post in which I used my great-grandmother as an example.  A few days ago, an email message came to me from Diane, explaining that she had just read the blog post "The 100 Thing Challenge" and wanted to tell me that both she and I shared a common great-grandmother.  In other words, I found a second cousin that I never even knew I had.  


As I write this blog post, I'm getting "goose bumps".  For me, the idea of having family members all over creation that I would have never met, is something I hadn't even considered.  My Great-Grandmother Schilling died of a stroke in 1953, 2 years before my own birth.  I had only heard stories of her~our "German grandmother" who came here to America and started a new life as a very young woman. Christina's first born child, a  daughter named  Catherine Schilling Brown, would later become my grandmother.   


When my Grandmother Brown passed away in 1997 at the age of 105, I thought that I knew about as much family history as anyone could have learned.  Little did I know that a woman living not even that far away from my home here in south central Kansas had a close connection with my life.  And the sobering and often forgotten fact is this~the blood of my great-grandmother flows through the both of us, Diane and I, two of her many great-granddaughters.  


Many of you reading this post have probably done some research on your family's history.  Genealogy, or the construction of your own "family tree", is an exciting and very worthwhile hobby for folks to take part in.  Preserving important facts about your family's ancestors and the descendants that followed them can reap amazing rewards down the line.  It can be a time consuming project and certainly one that requires a great deal of patience and planning.  I have known people who searched for many months just to find the correct date of death for one of their grandparents.  Each little bit of information is important and accuracy is of the essence.  I encourage you to learn as much as you can about your family's history~it's actually kind of fun to do!


Over the years as I have worked on our family tree, I have learned the importance of collecting as much accurate data as is possible.  While my mom and grandmother were still living, I asked as many questions of them as I could think of in order to learn all about the people who came here before me.  They both helped me to identify the subjects of old family photographs and where they were taken.  I saved old letters and postcards that my grandmother had received because of the great value they had in explaining our family's life here.  Some of you already know that I am a collector of obituaries (I can only imagine yourselves saying, "Geesch, I never met one of THOSE kind of people before!) as well as the customary "funeral" notice that people are given as they attend services for friends/family members and that "buried" (no pun intended) deep in my bedroom closet is an old box containing at last count 200 death notices for family or acquaintances of mine.  (Holy Moly, that's the longest sentence that I've ever written~English majors, my apologies.)  These things are a written record also of life yet, once again, while working on your family tree, you must hope that all of the information contained therein was accurate.  A couple of years back, I finally told me kids about my "collection".  I didn't want to them to find it after I had died and wonder what the heck their mom was keeping it for!


You know, as I think back to the beginnings of my own interest in genealogy, I am so very glad that I learned to "walk" the cemeteries as a young girl.  Both my mom and grandmother played a big part in that happening.  As I walked through the cemeteries with those two women, I learned a lot of oral history and it forever, to this day, amazed me to learn about how much they knew about each person who was buried there.  And lest I forget, they also taught me how to read the grave stones and to use that information to further understand the circumstances of both the life and death of the person whose name was found on the headstone.  For instance, when I first saw my Great-Aunt Mary Brown's grave in the old part of the Halstead, Kansas cemetery, I noticed that she had died in 1918 at the same age that I am now, 56 years old.  Grandmother told me that Aunt Mary (her sister-in-law) had become very ill with Spanish Influenza and had succumbed to it only a short time after coming down with it.  The year 1918 was the beginning of the epidemic that claimed 3% of the world's population and my Great-Aunt Mary was a part of that ill-fated group of people.


And while we are on the subject of "graves", there is a great spot online called "Find a Grave".  (www.findagrave.com)  If you have never seen this particular page, it is well worth the time to go there, especially if you are interested inlearning more about your family's history.  At present there are over 81,000,000 records there with photos of the grave and marker as well as the cemetery plus other items of information that are helpful to know about the deceased.  As you view the site, you have the ability to leave messages there for family members to view as well as provide more information about your family member or friend's death.  I stumbled upon it accidentally one day and after I saw what it was about, I became a very frequent visitor.  


I've never entertained the idea of adding to my bucket list journey the thought of further working on my family tree.  But after my second cousin's email, I am beginning to think that might not be a bad thing to add to the list some day soon.  How about you friends?  Have you ever followed your family tree back as far as it could go?  If so, I applaud you and commend your fine efforts.  I remember thinking (quite smugly) once that I had been able to trace the Brown side of my family back to the Revolutionary War times.  Then I met a friend who had done his research clear back to the 1500's.  Man, I sure can't top THAT one!  


If you haven't begun, who knows?  Maybe it's time to give it a try.  And friends, even if you have no interest in working on your family tree, you still have the ability to save, in some form or another,  a record of the dates of birth and death, marriages, jobs attained and places lived, for your children and grandchildren. That information, kept by you, may be just the information a second cousin down along the line is looking for.  And if YOU can provide it, then you have supplied a crucial "leaf" to your own family tree.


I am very anxious to meet Diane some day in the near future.  I'm sure that our great-grandmother would be very pleased.  And as always in this life, it's important to know where you are heading but it is doubly important to know from whence you came.  In the future, some of us reading this will be the "great-grandmothers" or great-grandfathers that someone speaks of.  What will they say of us, you and me?

Christina Billhard Schilling and her family-taken on the homesteaded place in the Sandhills between Halstead and Burrton, Kansas.  My mom is the 7th person over in the row behind the kids.  My dad is the guy on the far right with his hands behind his back.  None of us 7 kids had been born yet...we are only the "twinkle" in our daddy's eyes.  Diane's grandfather, Albert, is on the back row, far right.  ca 1940

Christina and her children....Rose, Christina, Anna, and Catherine (my grandmother)
Adolph, Rudolph, Michael, and Albert  ca 1940

Good Bye Valley Center-Thanks for taking good care of me.

Looking back on it, he probably knew that he wouldn't make it until Christmas Day.  I guess that's why my dad gave my mom explicit instructions on what he wanted done for his two youngest grandsons.  He told her that he wanted her to buy two "child size" combines as Christmas gifts from him.  One was to be for my nephew, 5-year old Christopher and the other for my son, Ricky, age 2.  And they weren't to be just any old combine, they had to be Massey Fergusons.  Mom knew better than to come home with anything other than those.  So off she went to the Massey Ferguson dealership, Howards, in Mt. Hope, KS.  Dad approved of the ones she bought and they were tucked away safely in her bedroom closet for the upcoming Christmas morning.


A week and a half later, Dad passed away in the early morning hours of December 11, 1982.  He had fought the "good fight" against lung cancer but even that couldn't seem to stop it.  After awhile he just became too tired to go any further and blessedly God said it was "enough".  The two little combines that he had requested to be bought remained tucked safely away and on Christmas morning, he would have his wish.


I remember as we adults watched the two boys open up the combines that first Christmas morning without him there with us, there wasn't a dry eye in Mom's living room.  They were really too little to realize the importance of the gift that they each had received, but the rest of us knew.  And even though 30 years have passed and both of those little boys have now grown up into adults, I still remember.  This morning, as I packed up the last of the things from my garage in Valley Center before moving back to Hutchinson, I came across the combine once more.


As I held it in my hands, I had to laugh at the way it looked, now 3 decades later.  In its former "pristine" condition, the Massey Ferguson combine looked to be an identical replica to the kind of combines my dad loved to operate as he cut wheat each summer.  That's why Dad was adamant that the boys receive Masseys....and my apologies to the people reading this whose blood runs green, like in "John Deere" green.  But there was something about a John Deere piece of machinery that didn't set quite right with my dad.  Others of his friends could run them, but as for dad, it was Massey Ferguson "red" or nothing.  And he stuck to those principles, no matter what.


Today as I looked at the combine, I remembered the two key pieces that were missing from it. After a few years of playing with it, my little Ricky had managed to break off not only the auger but the header as well.  In a real combine, if those two pieces are missing, well I guess you'd have to say the harvest is over.  I can remember the day that he broke the header off.  With the sweetest smile a 4-year old can offer, he said to me, "Momma the wheat was too tough.  Just look what happened!"  The auger, well we never did learn the mystery to its demise.  Ricky didn't offer much explanation for its "disappearance" but I can only imagine what might have occurred.  


Ricky grew up and the days of playing with the combine were through.  As time went on, he forgot about it and certainly didn't remember the grandpa whose dying wish it was for him to have one.  I didn't have the heart to throw it away, it seemed "dishonorable" or something.  So wherever we moved (and there have been plenty of places over the past 30 years) the little combine went with us.  Mostly it ended up on a shelf in our garages or sheds and in my recent move to Valley Center in the spring, the combine sat atop a high shelf.  


When I found it today, it was at the end of a very long day of packing up life in Valley Center and getting ready to take the last load back to Hutchinson.  If you have ever had to move, then you know what I mean when I say that the last load is the toughest.  I knew that it would be almost impossible for me to put the remaining items into my Honda Civic without having any difficulty.  That car was packed to the roof and any more packing, one of Valley Center's "finest" would be stopping me on the way out of town and asking me how on earth I could see out my window.  


I made one last pass through the garage to see what I had missed.  Lo and behold, there sat the combine, just waiting to go on to the next stop in life.  Half-heartedly, I grabbed it off the shelf and wondered how on earth I was going to fit it in the already over-stuffed car.  For a moment, I thought about giving it up.  Maybe now would be a good time to throw it in the dumpster and give it a final rest.  


But as I walked down the driveway, I found myself talking to my Dad just as if he were standing right by me.  I said, "Daddy, I hate to do this but I think I have to throw the combine away.  I wish there was something else I could do.  I'm out of room!"  There was a tear in my eye as I said it and I thought there was no choice except to throw it away.  I was wrong.


Racing down the street as fast as he could go, was my little neighbor boy, Kaleb.  He knew I was leaving and wanted to say good-bye.  I remembered that I had one last thing in the house, a crate full of my old 33 1/3 record albums.  It was so heavy that I had waited until the last to load it but there was a space reserved in the front seat for it.  "Old lefty" was getting pretty tired and achy and I knew there was no way I could carry it myself.  So I asked Kaleb if he would mind taking one end of the crate while I took the other.  He was glad to help me...what a good kid.  


After we got the crate of albums in, Kaleb glanced over at the combine on the sidewalk.  He asked me if it was a tractor and I told him, well no, it wasn't a tractor.  It was called a combine.  I tried to explain that if it were a real one that it would have an auger and a header.  I told him about my little boy named Ricky, now 32 years old, who had played with it so much that it was all broken up.  


"You're not going to throw it away, are you?" he asked me.  


I thought a minute and then I said, "Well yes, I was.  But would you like it instead?"  


You would have thought that 9-year old boy had won the lottery!  With a smile on his face and eyes that were sparkling he said to me, "I'll take it!  It's fine for me."  And with that, I handed off the combine into the grasp of a small child who thought he was receiving the finest gift he had ever owned.  We said our good-byes and I started for my car.


Now, I don't know how you guys look at things, perhaps not at all like me.  But as I sat there for a moment for the very last time in my driveway at 640 N. Abilene Street, I thought about my dad.  It was weird because even though it's Father's Day, I had tried not to think about him.  I was worried it would make me too sad today.  But instead, it made me really happy.  That gift, costing all of $20 back in 1982 had now made not only one boy, but two boys happy.  I couldn't help but think that my father would be glad to know that his Christmas wish from so long ago how now found its way to a new boy. Without a doubt,  I know that God put everyone in the right place at the right time today.  One minute, either way, and the combine would have gone to the Sedgwick County Landfill.  As it was, in God's perfect timing, it went home with a young man who I have grown to love over the course of the last 3 months.  Not sure I could have asked for my last day in Valley Center to have ended any finer.  


I'm at home in Hutch now with boxes every where.  My arms and legs ache from lifting and scooting things around.  "Old Lefty" is saying, "That'll be about enough of THAT stuff Peggy!"   But on this June 17th, "Father's Day", I give thanks for a man like my Dad who wanted his children and grandchildren to remember just how much he loved the land.  He was a good steward of wheat ground.  He took great pains to make sure that every kernel of wheat that could be cut was indeed harvested.  


My 3 children will never have known him, but the stories of his life will live on forever in the minds of the people he loved and who loved him back.  I was blessed to have him as my father. May my two sons grow up to be the man and the father that he was.  What a great way to honor his memory.  


You know, I thought I'd miss the combine but actually I am glad for it to be in the hands of another little guy.  Who knows, maybe some day Kaleb's own sons will have a chance to see it and hear the story of how he got it. It could happen you know.  


Good night everyone and a good sleep for all!

The "three Ks"-my neighbors in Valley Center~left to right are Karter, Kaleb, and Keaton.  I will sure miss those little guys.  Just look at their faces..."ornery" is written all over them.  They've got "spunk" and that's what I like about them!  

                        The combine's "first owner", my son, Ricky Miller in 1983.

The "real" thing-Dad's MF combines lined up ready to leave for the harvest in Haven, Ks., our home town.  You might notice as you look to the far left an International Harvester combine.  Don't know how that happened but it did!  Dad would say, at LEAST it's not a John Deere!  LOL  Happy Father's Day in Heaven Dad.  I love you!

It feels like it's time to go home~

Since beginning this blog, now well over a year ago, I have made 370+ posts.  This past week I took a look at them all and made a trip down "memory lane" and remembered some things I'd written that I kinda long ago forgot about.  The blog has done a good job in serving  its original purpose~to chronicle not only my "bucket list" quest but also to serve as a diary of life for my children and grandchildren (none yet,  but it COULD happen you know) to remember me by, long after I am gone.

As I read, I took notice of the variety of emotions that I must have been feeling at different times throughout the past 13 months.  Anxiety at making my first real attempt to ride my bike across Kansas~Elation with seeing a former first grade student graduate from high school,~Grief with the loss of dear friends in death~Sheer happiness with FINALLY being dismissed from Dr. Chan's care, and a host of many others.  

The majority of the posts have been easy to make; the words flowed quickly from my computer keyboard.  With a little editing "here" and a little editing "there", each one was ready.  By the way, just as an aside~there have been times that I may have edited a post a jillion times but after I actually published  it online and reread it as if you are reading it, I have often found more errors than I realized.  So if any of you reading a post find some really weird misuse of the words "their, they're or there" or any other "issue", rest assured that sooner or later I will read it again and correct.  Those kinds of mistakes stick out like the proverbial "sore thumb" to THIS teacher but seems like I have to read it more than once or twice before they do.

Yet, for as easy as that 98%, the MAJORITY of my posts being easy to write, the other 2% are so very much harder.  You may wonder "what makes a post so difficult to write?"  As for me, any post in which I have to admit my shortcomings, my own character defects, my own inability to be able to follow through with something, OR just for those times when life doesn't go like I figured it would, well THOSE are the challenging ones.  

Up to now, I believe the hardest post I had to make was last June while on the Bike Across Kansas.  It was very humiliating to me to sit down at the computer keyboard on the day that I had to quit, halfway across the state, and say to you all that I couldn't finish it.  It didn't matter if I WAS suffering from dehydration and heat stroke. Couldn't have cared less that I rode nearly 250 miles before quitting, I wanted to ride double the amount.  In my mind, I only looked at it as defeat. 


It wasn't near as "tough" to admit that I tried to jump a curb on my bike and broke "old lefty" as it was to acknowledge the fact that 3 days later, I couldn't even make a peanut butter sandwich.  (That saga involved a jar of unopened peanut butter, a full loaf of bread, "old lefty" in the first cast and a whole lot of crying over absolutely nothing).  And last summer, when I first spoke of suffering from depression from time to time, it was with great reluctance.  "What would people think?'' I wondered.  Turns out, many of the folks who read that post suffer from it as well.  I only THOUGHT I was alone.


But now, well now I have a different kind of challenge to write about and it is certainly not one that I thought I would ever have to address.  But life has a way of taking the strangest of turns and no one can imagine sometimes what truly will lie ahead of them.  I guess that's where that idea comes from that says, "If we knew what lie ahead of us each morning, most of us would never get out of bed."


On the last day of March, now a little over 2 1/2 months ago, I  made the decision to move to Valley Center, Ks.  I left my home in Hutchinson and ventured out into the world, all 42 miles away of it.  I rented a beautiful house from some fine people named Susan and Mark Rohlman.  I made friends with a handful of people here and even anticipated perhaps thinking about going to work for the school system here in Valley Center somewhere along the line in the future.  I drove back and forth each day to my job in Hutchinson and really, I guess I continued to feel like I was a part of two communities at once.  Turns out that was ok, too.


Because of things that sometimes happen in life, and if it's ok with you, I won't go into them  here on this blog, my plans have changed.  And so today, Friday the 15th,  I will make the journey back home to live in my house on East 14th Street in Hutchinson.  Certainly not the way I thought things would work out, but indeed, this is the way that they have.    Please don't be concerned for me because I am just fine and absolutely no need to worry about anything.  Life's circumstances can "change on a dime"  and mine have done just that.  


So this morning as I type these words to you, it will be the last time from my home here in Valley Center.  Oblio the cat will be ecstatic about finally being home as well.  She wasn't really crazy about being a "Wichita" cat but sometimes even cats have to do what cats have to do.  She and her "friend/owner/anything else a cat needs", Grahame, lived with my oldest son Ricky and his girlfriend Angie for the past 2 months.  For the past 2 weeks, our good friend, Ron, took on the job of "cat sitting" at his home.  And even though this move has been hard on Obie, she will still live the "life of Riley" once she is officially "home".  I look forward to Monday evening when, since cable is back again, I can watch my two favorite shows~The Daily Show with Jon Stewart and the Colbert Report.  The best part, the one that I've missed the most, is when I fall asleep about halfway through the Daily Show and Grahame has to say over and over again, "Mom are you awake?"  Strange thing to "like" but it's Grahame's way to say in an endearing tone of voice-"Mom, you need to go to bed!"


I came to Valley Center to find out some answers about life and where it might be going for me.  But instead of answers, I just came away with a whole lot more questions.  Now THAT sucks!  I remember once, when I was taking care of an elderly friend named Ruby, she often asked me this question~"Peggy, sometimes I wonder what life is all about. Do you think I'll ever know?"  I told her that heck I didn't know either but if she ever figured it out, please to let me know.  I was taking care of her the day she passed at the nursing home.  In some of her last lucid hours, we talked again about that subject of "life".  She had a smile on her face and I remember saying to her..."You figured it out, didn't you?  What IS life all about?"  I'll always remember what she said back to me...."Peggy you HAVE to figure it out on your own."  I doubt that I will ever forget that conversation and even though it took place 3 years ago now, I still haven't figured that thing called life out yet, dang it!  


Even though I was only here 3 months, there are many good memories that I will take with me as I return home to Hutchinson.  I'll always be beholden to my good friends the Rohlmans who allowed me live in their home here on Abilene Street.  What kind and caring people they have been to me.  I'll never forget the first weekend I was here and the tornado season had begun for Sedgwick County.  About 10 p.m. the phone rang and it was Mark telling me that the sirens were going off and wondering if  I was heading to the basement.  He wouldn't have had to do that, yet he did.  So to them, Mark and Susan, a heartfelt "thank you".  You two were my very first friends here in Valley Center and I won't forget you.  And by the way, Susan is another former "Havenite" and how wonderful it was to reconnect with someone from the "land of long ago and so very far away"! 


Can't forget about the 3 young boys that live the first house south of me, the 3 K's..Karter, Kaleb, and  Keaton.  It was Karter, the 6-year old, that was the first person to ever smile and say hello to me here in this town.  We bonded immediately because he was sporting his own cast, having broken his arm 6 weeks earlier.  When those 3 guys grow up and get married, they for sure had better choose wives that like fishing!  It was always fun to listen to them as they told me how their recent fishing excursions had gone.  Those boys helped me to feel as if I was a real part of their life and helped to alleviate some of my initial loneliness in the first few weeks here.  It's kinda hard to feel lonely when you have a 6-year old waiting on your porch for you when you get home from school each day.


 Then there's Ashton and his folks to the north.  It was this young man who came over one day and asked if I could help him tie his tie for the prom that night.  I couldn't but hey, it sure felt nice to be asked to do something like that.  And just this past week, he stopped over to tell me he had finally gotten a job, after a year of trying to find something.  I told him how proud I was of him and that I knew he'd do great.  No matter where I ran across Ashton in Valley Center, he would always yell out to me, "Hey Peggy!" I'll probably miss that.


And finally, Jan, our good friend who lives right across the street.  She never knew it, but during my first weeks here in Valley Center when it was really lonely at night, I'd look across the street and see her porch lights burning and somehow, I didn't feel so alone after all.  Jan and her two grandchildren often walked right by my house in the evenings and those little kids, well they don't know a stranger.  How wonderful it was to hear their little voices sing out "Hi Peggy!"  


You know, all in all, Valley Center is really a pretty nice town to live in.  It amazed me to no end to find out that paper bags are still offered for your groceries if you visit Leeker's Supermarket.  I know, it takes SO little to amaze me.  There are beautiful parks with a wonderful walking path not far from where I lived.  Fine schools and teachers abound there and if your throat is dry and parched after school, you can just go to the Sonic on Main Street and order something to quench your thirst.  And to the folks at Sonic, no offense friends, but you guys cannot "hold a candle" to a diet vanilla Pepsi from Bogey's on 17th Street in Hutch.


Oh and can't forget, Valley Center is only 5 minutes from the 53rd and Meridian St. Wal Mart.  I have spent a lot of time there in the past nearly 3 months and thankfully, my opinion of it has turned out to be favorable.  In the beginning, that would be the first 5 trips, I thought I'd hate having to go in there.  The people seemed rude (sorry to the folks of Wichita, but my first thought was, "I can tell I am not going to like Wichita people!) but it got better.  My opinion of the store and its workers changed the night that I decided that life would get better enough to buy 2 blue dinner plates.....and a young cashier named Christian rang up my purchases.  He was the first adult to smile and be friendly to me there and I will always remember his face and  name.  Christian, single-handedly  had the power to change my very poor opinion of the 53rd and Meridian Wal Mart and all he had to do was be his normal, "considerate" self.  Way to go Christian~they need to promote you to store manager some day.  If any of you reading this have any kind of pull with Wal Mart, can you pass that word along?  Hey, Michael Wilde, I believe you have some "say so" with Wal Mart.  If this young man ever comes to your store looking for work, be sure to hire him on the spot.  Thanks...


I told you that instead of getting answers to my questions of life while I lived here in Valley Center, that I only came away with even more questions that were unanswered.  Yet there was one thing that I did learn from my stay and it was a lesson that I already knew before but had forgotten in my haste to figure out life's mysteries. It comes from the "Good Book", and it is  found in  the Old Testament  book of Jeremiah, 29:11.  Loosely translated, with myself in mind, it reads like this...

"For I know the plans that I have for Peggy", declares the Lord, "plans to prosper Peggy and not to harm Peggy, plans to give Peggy hope and a future."


By my calculations, and remember I am a charter member of the "I Hate Math Club", by the time my 57th birthday rolls around in late October, I will have been alive on this earth nearly 21,000 days.  A lot has happened to me in that time...many good things and many bad things too.  Yet I know that nothing has happened to me that wasn't a part of a wonderful plan for my life.  I figure you have to go from one place to the next in this life in order to get to wherever your final destination shall be.  


For now, hey probably for the remainder of the summer, I'll be busy getting re-established here in Hutch.  The gardening season will have come and gone for me and the only flowers in my flower bed will be the 300 geraniums (OK, OK I am exaggerating on that number, but there are a bunch of them) that I brought over from Valley Center.  God willing, summertime and  planting season will return next year and I will be back at work doing things that I really do love.  "Old Lefty" will be another year stronger and so all in all, it worked out for the best.


Don't have a clue as to what adventure will come next nor do I really want to know.  Some of my best times have been those done with very little planning.  Less time available=less chance of thinking of an excuse why I can't do it!  :)  For a roof over my head, food on my table, a wonderful job to go to, family and friends who love me in spite of everything, I do so give thanks.  So today in the summer of my 57th year, June 15th, 2012 I say to you that it is a great day to be alive!  Enjoy each and every minute of it my friends.  I love you all.

My "then" 15-year old son, Grahame Hemman with his grandma on the day she came to say  "good-bye" to her house on E. 14th Street.  8 years have passed since then~He and his brother,  Ricky and sister, Ursela have all grown up now.  But the "little kid" that still lives within each of them has fond memories of her house of 25 years.  Who knows?  Perhaps some day there will be little people running around the very same house yelling to me, "Grandma Miller, are you home?"  Stranger things have happened you know!

Hey, it really takes so very little.....

This  may well be the shortest blog post you will ever see me write :)  But I can cross yet another thing off of the "Miller Bucket List"..."to make a difference in my new community of Valley Center."  I knew that I couldn't reach the entire town of 6,000 + people.  But I could reach my back alley neighbor, Jean.  She's the one who pointed out to me a neglected flower bed in our alley way that was in desperate need of attention. In her 80's, she wasn't able to get out and pull the weeds away on her own.  So, I decided to take it over for her and I planted my favorite flower of all time~zinnias. For reasons that I will tell you about at another time, I have surely  been praying to see their "little shining faces" before this week is through.  God heard my prayers because when I went out to water everything this evening, here's what I saw.....

I told you guys that my "sixth sense" was telling me that the first flower to bloom would be purple.  Now lest you think that I ONLY planted purple flower seed, please don't.  The alleyway zinnias are from a mixed variety.  As time goes on this summer, everyone will see reds, pinks, whites, yellows, oranges, and even greens.  Don't ask me why, but there has never been a year that I planted zinnias, and believe me there have been many, that the very first flower out wasn't always purple.  There's a flower bed in front of my house filled with zinnias, growing strong and tall.  By next week or the week after, that flower bed will be filled with a colorful palette of the most gorgeous zinnias ever. And tonight I am so very happy to have my prayer answered.  To Jean, my back alley neighbor, "thank you for showing me how to make a difference.  And the most beautiful thing about it all, is that you didn't even know you were doing it."

It started out like this.....about 8 weeks ago... All that was needed was some "sweat equity" and $12.00 worth of seed.  It took very little to make a difference.  For all of the times I have wasted in this life, thinking that one person could do nothing alone, I give thanks for the chance to do something all by myself.  I hope for the opportunity to do many more things to make a real difference in this life....I pray my eyes are always open to see them.  Sometimes the things that need your attention, the places where a difference can be made, are found in the most "lowly" of places just like the alleyway.  Good Night my friends!

A new variety of zinnias (at home, growing up, we always called them ZEE NEES) from the flower garden of 2009.  These are called Oklahoma zinnias...don't ask me why.  No matter what state is in front of their name, I don't think you could wrong with loving a zinnia garden.  There's just something about them~ 

While I was searching for my father~

At home in Hutchinson, it always stood over in the corner of the garage.  Nothing fancy or spectacular, just an old heavy steel filing cabinet filled with business papers from my mom and dad's restaurant and service station in Haven, KS.  And there was a pretty hefty layer of dust that always covered it because, for one reason or another, I just never had the heart to open it and face what was inside.  It seemed the longer that it sat, the easier it was to never open it again.


But I'm doing a little housecleaning and throwing away at my home in Valley Center and last night as I was in the garage here, I caught a glimpse of that old filing box tucked way over in the corner.  For whatever reason, I finally found the courage to open it up and peek inside.  The amazing thing was, there was nothing contained therein that would have hurt me.


Our folks were business owners in the small Reno County town of Haven,  Kansas.  They opened their business, Scott's Cafe and Service in April of 1967 and operated it until December 31, 1978. All of us kids worked there, and depending upon which kid you were, you worked either in the filling station (for you young kids reading this that was the 70's version of a Kwik Shop only with way more service~just ask a grownup, ok?)  or in the restaurant.  I can remember at times it didn't matter if you were a son OR a daughter, everyone of us had to take a turn with the dishes.  We worked together as a family and made a go of it and those years together were the impetus for a lot of wonderful family memories.


Our father was also a custom cutter and it was that "vocation" in his life that called him away from his family and home in Haven every year for at least 5 months straight.  By early May, he was already on the way with his combines and heading south for his first stops along the Oklahoma and Texas border to cut the first crops of wheat for the year.  He continued onward, pressing north through the Great Plains states until finishing late in the season in his "second home" North Dakota.  When the Dakota wheat harvest was over, he would head back to Kansas in order to change out all the headers of the combines and be ready to head south once more.  This time Dad would relocate to the Panhandle region of Oklahoma and Texas to cut their crops of milo (we always called it maize at our house) and corn.  It was just a normal life for us and looking back, it really wasn't a bad life after all.  We only thought it was from time to time.


Both of our folks are gone now~Dad, two weeks before Christmas in 1982 and Mom, two weeks after her birthday in September of 2007.  Most of their personal effects have long since been given away to others.  Nearly everything gone, well except for the steel filing cabinet.  And last evening, Wednesday the 6th of June, 2012 it just seemed to be the time to finally open it up.  I did.


I'm not sure what I thought really might be in there.  Mom had always told me it was just receipts and sure enough she was right.  But as I poured through all the papers, it was as if I was meeting my father for a nice visit outside in the garage.  It was a visit that I'm glad I finally had and really what had I been afraid of seeing all along?


Dad's harvesting receipts were the bulk of paperwork that I located.  The return addresses on the envelopes led like "Hansel and Gretel's trail of breadcrumbs" to map out the course of my dad's yearly journey......A. J. Linker's Service Station, Frederick, OK~The Farmer's Co-op in Nash, OK~The Farmer's Co-op of Haven, as well as co-ops or implement dealerships in towns like Alliance, Nebraska, Herried, South Dakota and finally the elevator in Drake, North Dakota.  I could almost imagine him telling me about all of the stops that he made along the way and I swear, I don't how he would remember, but he could recall the names of the guys he cut for long after he stopped harvesting.  That life meant a lot to him.


I found the receipts for insurance for the old 1966 green GMC wheat truck that he had.  For $66.00 a year, you could have full coverage. There was an invoice for a 1972 bill from Truck Parts and Equipment in Wichita for $53.33 to repair another wheat truck.  Countless other receipts from places like the Empress Cafe in Drake, ND (where dad and his crew always ate their meals) and diesel fuel expenditures from the Offerle Co-Op here in Kansas.  As I looked at them, I remembered the sometimes "tight times" at the Scott house and especially when a harvesting year wasn't all that great and profitable.  I was a kid then and I had no realization of money or bill paying.  Heck at the time, I was just glad to make enough tips as a waitress to go with my friends to Hutch on a Saturday night for pizza and dragging Main.  As a 56-year old and very grown up daughter, I looked at those bills and wondered "How on earth did they make it?  How did they know what to do in order to survive and take care of us all?"  Whatever it was, they did it!  And we all came out ok.


As I made it to the bottom of the filing cabinet, I had to make the decision of what to do with all of the stuff that I had gone through.  Obviously, I believe the "statute of limitations" has long run out on things if you are dealing with paper work nearly 40+ years old.  I think it's safe to give them a toss now.  A few things, like the deed for the land that the restaurant and station were built on, dated January of 1967, was surely a keeper as well as a few other things. I know it sounds crazy, but I saved a document, not even important, simply because both of my  parents' signatures were on it.  I just wanted to remember that.  I'm not crazy, am I?  Wait, don't tell me what you think....LOL


Well tonight, the filing cabinet is empty and instead of sitting "dust covered" in the  back corner of a garage, it is sitting in the house here.  Not sure what I will do with it but for a while, I just want to keep it.  But memories of my father and the life he lived as a custom combiner have filled my heart and mind.  


I kind of hope that when I finish growing up, that I will have become the kind of person that my dad, John B. Scott, Jr., was.  I would like to have his qualities of character like determination, never quitting, and doing a job well done.  My mom always told me that I had my father's hands and fingers and she's right.  Only my father knew well enough to never jump a curb with a combine OR a bike.  His "old lefty" was the way God made it LOL.  


To those of you reading this who may be facing cleaning out the possessions of a father or mother, grandmother or grandfather, please may I tell you something?  Go through everything, every little envelope and every box you find.  Take time as you do it, not only so you don't miss anything but also to reflect upon what those material things, those possessions, really say about your loved one.  And ok, it's taken nearly 30 years to finally go through the last thing Dad was in possession of, but that's ok too.  Sometimes it takes a little longer to be ready for it but don't give up.  The right time will arrive and you will be glad when you finally can do it!  I was......


So, to my Father.....Oh Daddy, tears in my eyes as I type this message to you.  I always knew you were a hard worker but I never realized just how hard.  I'm glad that you saved receipts for me to read this evening.  How did you know I would need to see them?  The wheat harvest came early to our state of Kansas this year Daddy.  It was beautiful and you know what?  For the first time since you passed away, I was able to pull over to the side of the road and watch a combine unload the wheat into the trucks without crying.  I think that shows progress, don't you Dad?  If there is wheat to cut in Heaven where you are Daddy, then I know that you are having fun....no mud holes, no plugged up combines, the farmers are all happy, and the wheat gets 60 bushels to the acre.  Now THAT would be one heavenly harvest!  When it's my time, I'll see you there Daddy, you and Mom both.  You'll recognize me right away~I haven't changed all that much. Still short.   I'm glad that of all the men in this world, God chose you to be my father.  Good night!


Love, Peggy Ann

This was always one of my mom's favorite harvest pictures.  My dad and my oldest son's father, Rick Miller.  They spent many cutting seasons together.  Taken the summer of 1976 at Haven, Kansas.

                                       The box where I found my father~

Taking "old lefty" 10 months down the road

How it all began-August 4, 2011

I always hate to admit it when vanity plays an important part in who "Peggy Miller" is, but the truth is that I've had a little trouble with that ever since "old lefty" was released from its last "exoskeleton" in March.  I found myself feeling really self-conscious about the scars from the three surgeries and what I perceive to still be a prominent swollen area, or as the kids at school always called it, "the bump".  I still notice it all the time but people who know me say it really doesn't look that bad at all.  Usually, I "beg to differ" with them, but that's just me.


For the past 3 months I've been accustomed to wearing 3/4 length sleeves in my shirts.  Now I didn't take up that practice because of my beautiful "grandma arms and skin", although I admit to having them.  I was wearing that particular length of sleeve because I knew that it would cover up some of the evidence of my accident last August.  Then I always put a t-shirt over the other shirt because it just made me feel better....almost like "old lefty" was more protected.  People who know me, especially my friends at school, are saying to themselves right now, "Oh my gosh, she's right!  She did dress like that."  


It worked for awhile, as a matter of fact a nearly 12-week while, It was a habit I got into and since the weather wasn't the "summertime hot" that it is now, it actually felt "ok".  And then summer came and I gotta tell you friends, wearing a long sleeved shirt in the month of June not only doesn't feel good, it's just not right.  I knew it would soon be time to stop wearing the long sleeves.  Sooner or later, I'd have to wear a t-shirt only and whether I was ready for it or not, "old lefty" was going to have to be bare.  Believe me when I tell you it was a hard thing to do.


You know how some people take cute pictures of their dogs or cats, or maybe the new grandkids, or their child's first piano recital?  Well I take pictures of "old lefty", starting last August and right up to now.  I have done it to remind myself just how far I have come since that ridiculously fateful day, now 10 months past.  Some of them are not very pretty, in fact a couple of them look downright "scary" to some people.  But it is what it is, my left arm.  "Old lefty's" progress is shown below.....from August until now, June 5th, 2012.

                                                       August-2011

                                                     Late August-2011

                   Late September-2011, "Old lefty's" wrist could only turn that far.

                                 Actually looking pretty decent-late October-2011

Not too bad here and a reprieve was granted before the 3rd surgery in December to get rid of the "bump".



Before my December surgery     (top)                        
In January, after cast removal (bottom)


Every once in a while, even now almost a year after it all happened, I need to remind myself of how far I have come.  I had a chance to visit with Dr. Goin, the surgeon who did the initial emergency repair in the early hours after I got hurt, in early May.  He couldn't believe the way my arm had healed up!  I knew, early on that Thursday morning, that this was a serious problem.  Dr. Goin had not given me a whole lot of hope that things would get better soon and sent me on to a specialist right away in Wichita.  Now, 9 months later, he was ecstatic about my progress and told me how fortunate I was to have an arm, wrist and hand to use again.  When Dr. Chan saw me again in May, he too expressed joy that things had come along so well.  


So here I am, with a modern-day miracle attached to my left shoulder and I'm worried about what people will think about 4 scars and a swollen area?  As I sit here typing this, I'm wearing a t-shirt and "old lefty" is about as bare as can be.  It may indeed take a while to be comfortable with how it really looks and what I perceive it to be.  If my friends, say it's looking "ok" then who am I to say it is not?


A good friend of mine suggested that I should let a tattoo artist "tattoo" around the areas of the stitches so that I'd always remember them.  Really, this happened to me-someone suggested it.  I'd probably jump on that idea except for one of my very dear friends, who absolutely would "blow a gasket"  if I got one more tattoo. He made it pretty clear to me, and since I do value his opinion-I just don't always follow his ideas, that I should not get ONE MORE tattoo!  So I'm going with the advice of one of the truest friends I have and nix the idea of tattooing my scars.  I won't get in near the trouble that way.


"Old lefty" is hanging in there, getting stronger every day.  Still having trouble with some of the fine motor stuff and have to ask for help a lot when it comes to opening up things like salad dressing packets.  But hey come to think of it, I had trouble with those things long before my accident.  So do a lot of other people, by the way :) And on my recent 4,000 mile journey to Maine and back, "old lefty" held up her part of the driving responsibilities.  In fact, I am now sporting one heck of a callous on the left palm but ironically, not the right.  With limited feeling yet in the left hand, I'm sure the "death grip" I had on the steering wheel was a little tighter with my left hand than the right.  Just one more souvenir of a wonderful New England vacation.


I'm gonna work on this "vanity" problem and try to do better.  You all are my good friends and I bet you didn't choose me as your friend  because I had the most beautiful left arm in the world.  You chose me for who I am on the inside and that, my friends, is what really counts for all of us in this world of ours.  Good Night from me and "old lefty".

Nah, come to think of it, it doesn't look too bad after all.  Maybe everyone was right!