Writing Group      11/30/12

Christmas at Olds, by Lois Myhr

The same yet different. Christmas at Olds was very similiar to what it was at Dog Pound. Partily because of locality, partily because I was older. The season started out with the planning and practice for the secular Christmas Concert always held at our school. I believe every school, at least every rural one room school in Alberta had a special Christmas Concert with songs, plays, poems recited and other skits.

Unlike Dog Pound where we went to the community hall, at Cobourn school we held it at the school house. A stage was built across the front of the room and curtains made of sheets and or blankets were put up to enclose the stage. A wire was strung across the room to which blankets were somehow attached for the closing curtain. It always drooped because it was hard to stretch the wire tight enough.  There was little room for a backstage area and we all sat in the front row of the audience except when we had a part to play. A decorated tree sat on the main floor to one side of the stage. A few gifts were always under the tree as well as bags of goodies for all the children in attendance. We, of course, had no electricity so there were no colored lights on the tree and kerosene mantle lamps were used to light the room. As I recall, the desks were all moved aside and temporary benches were put up for the audience to sit on.

It was wonderful, exciting, scary and the much anticipated arrival of Santa Claus at the end of the program just added to the drama.  The excitment was palpable. Somehow he always managed to show up with his HO HO HO. He distributed the gifts under the tree, which, I believe,  were mostly gifts from Miss Morrison, our teacher, to the students. I still have a couple books like "The Bobsey Twins" etc that she gave me. I loved getting those books.

In the bag of goodies that each child got were some nuts, a variety of candy, possibly some chocolates, and hopefully both an apple and an orange. These were a real treat for us.  All winter we only saw apples and oranges at Christmas time.

I can remember going the two and a half miles to the concert in our horse drawn sleigh. I remember it being very cold and we, sitting in the sleigh, covered with a horse blanket. This was a tanned or cured horse hide, very heavy but also warm. A good wind breaker. The temperature was cold, but the moon shone brightly on the glittering snow. All was well, except perhaps for Dad who had to stand up front and face the weather in order to drive the horses. 

School was now out until after New Years and Christmas preparations continued at home. Baking, and cooking, and gifts either made or bought had to be wrapped. Mom always made fruit cake, which was made weeks before and then wrapped in wine soaked clothes. Cookies of various sorts were baked and hidden away. Special bread and rolls were made shortly before the big day. I especially remember the apple and poppy seed rolls which were rolled up like cinnamon rolls. 

I don't remember many decorations except red and green streamers twisted and then strung from corner to corner in the living room, then attached to the ceiling with a red tissue bell.

Since we belonged to the Missouri Synod Lutheran Church, we, of course, had a very special Christmas Eve program. The Christmas Story would be enacted in pagentry and song by the children with goodies also distributed to all the children at the end. Yummy! More of the same treats. As I recall, we usually got there even though we lived fifteen miles away.

When we got home we would have some treats and then off to bed. Now at home the tree still wasn't up and decorated. Mom would stay up half the night and decorate it, so, Santa brought us a tree. I still think about how tired she must have been and we didn't get the fun of decorating.  Oh well..........

Christmas Day in the morning we found the toys Santa brought but then chores had to be done. Chores done, house straightened up, Christmas dinner started with turkey in the oven, it was now time to open wrapped presents. A little time to enjoy all that excitment but then it was time to shift into high gear and get dinner on the table with all the goodies that smelled so delicious.  And no sooner had we eaten well, when it was once again time to go do chores. But the delightful surprises, the yummy food, the special treats of nuts, home made candy, tangerines, apples and maybe even ice cream still lingered all around us as we said goodnight. 

## 

Writing Group        12/3/10

Christmas at Dog Pound, by Lois Myhr

Do the memories I have of Christmas between the ages of five thru ten all belong to one Christmas? I doubt it, but I have only a few separate memories that all could have happened the same year.

What a winter wonderland. Often powdery white snow would gently fall covering everything. The yard, the fields, the buildings, the trees, the machinery sitting outside and even the very tops of fence posts would have a dollop of snow. It was so light and fluffy that even a small breeze would blow it off. And the temperatures were cold. I can only remember seeing a small bit of black dirt close to the house one year. All other years everything was covered with dazzling, sparkling white snow.

But it was the Christmas season and there was much to do. Our school always put on a Christmas concert, as it was called, with plays, recitations, skits and songs. As I recall, we had no class work, only practice for the concert for two or three weeks beforehand. The concert was held in the hall in Dog Pound, which was about two miles from the school and for the last three days we met at the hall to practice. It was all such fun.

I remember we had a play which included American Indians and I was one of the Indians (even with my red hair). We made costumes out of sandy colored gunny sacks. The top was fringed, then sparkling beads, sequins and various decorations were also added. I think much of the sewing was done at school. I, however, had a serious case of impetigo on my knee so that I was kept home from school. Finally, the teacher asked if I could come for practice. I remember we had to kneel at some point but the bandage was so thick on my knee I could hardly bend it. I did survive and the show went on.

When we went to the hall for practice we took our lunch and were there all day just like a regular school day. Finally, the nite of the big concert. Families came from far and wide. The roads were snow covered and there were no snowplows so most of the folks came  in horse-drawn sleighs. In winter farmers would replace the wheels on their wagons  with runners. We would then put benches or stools in the wagon to sit on, cover up with horse-hide blankets and off we would go. The horses would simply be tied up and left outside for the evening.

The air was crisp and cold. If it was a clear night with a full moon we could see a million stars twinkling in the sky. Sometimes the aurora borealis or northern lights would also dance in the sky for us. Because it was so cold, the snow would crunch and squeak as we moved over it. That was fun.

The kerosene lamps were lit. The tree was beautifully decorated. The hall was filled with all the families. It was show time for the children of Dog Pound School from first thru ninth grade. We remembered our lines, but if not, our teacher was in the background to prompt us. I wonder how in tune the songs were really sung, but sung they were. And the anticipation only grew as we waited for Santa Claus to arrive.

Finally, the familiar HO HO HO Merrrrry Christmas. I believe each student received some kind of gift and then a bag of goodies was given to every child there. This was a special treat. There would be an apple, an orange, and a variety of candy and nuts. A special treat because we seldom had any of these goodies except at Christmas time. Still excited though tired, we wished our friends Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year and turned the horses toward home. We would not see our friends again until school started in the New Year.

There weren't many churches close by. The Lutheran Church that we attended was some fifteen miles away so I do not remember going to church at Christmas as long as we lived at Dog Pound. We also didn't have any relatives close by so our celebration was with just our family, Mom, Dad, Iva, Lloyd, my younger sister, Shirley and I. I knew nothing different, but the anticipation was still there.

All the excitement but I did have a problem. The words “He knows if you've been bad or good” in the song “Santa Clause is Coming to Town” frightened me. I was so afraid Santa would look in the window and see that I wasn't being good enough. We had no blinds on the windows so I constantly watched for those eyes to be peering in, watching me. All I ever did see was the dark night looking in at me but it had quite a profound effect on me. Partly because we were in the ministry but perhaps more because of my childhood remembrance, Santa never came to our house when my children were small.  

Christmas eve we would go to bed as usual. When we woke up in the morning, there was a decorated tree with a present or two for each of us from Santa all around it. One year I got a lovely new doll. I was pleased, but I really liked the bright shiny red wagon better. I remember sitting in the wagon holding my new doll so had the best of both. I'm not sure whether the wagon was meant for all of us or specifically for my brother but I claimed it as much as I could.

It was probably another year that I got a small sized china tea set which even included knives and forks. That was a special present. What I learned the hard way was that the knives and forks were not meant for digging nuts out of their shells. I broke several pieces that way. I still have that tea set, broken pieces and all.

I know we had turkey and all the trimmings, but I especially remember the treat of having apples, oranges and nuts, which, as I said earlier, we only had at Christmas time.

Once or perhaps twice during the Christmas season we would have a special lighting of the candles on the tree. Not having electricity, real wax candles about four inches in length were put in special candle holders and very carefully placed on the tree. They had to be very straight up and down and not close to another branch. Then we all sat on chairs around the tree while Mom very carefully lit all the candles. We sat in awe, watching the flames dance. What a spectacular, reverent sight that lasted only a few minutes. To soon the candles were getting short and had to be blown out. What a fire hazard but beautiful sight while it lasted. I think we also sang a couple songs like Silent Night. It was a very special event.

I also remember that one year Iva, Shirley and I all had knit dresses. A skirt and top. Iva's was a red skirt with a red and white top. Shirley had the same in blue and white and mine was brown and yellow. Someone did a lot of knitting. I think Mom had someone knit them for us.

Otherwise life went on as usual. Chores had to be done morning and night. Animals fed, cows milked, eggs gathered, wood and coal brought in to keep the fires in the kitchen stove and heater going. Work was never done, but as a child it was all very special.      

Dear Lois’ family and friends,

I am in AZ for a couple of months and unfortunately must miss Lois’ memorial.  My condolences to all.

I remember first meeting Lois at our Sarpy County writers group.  I walked in knowing some group members, but not all, including Lois.  There she sat a stately woman, dressed smartly, with her red hair topping off her singular look.  She seemed self-assured and a bit intimidating.  We began reading our stories to one another and, when it was her turn, she whipped out her Kleenexes.  It seemed she was sensitive, often emotional about her stories.  So I learned she wasn’t quite as formidable as I first suspected.

Throughout our time together, I learned much about farm life in Canada.  She wrote with great detail, allowing me to see her home place and enjoy her early experiences. 

I also learned about her allegiance to alternative medicine, although I didn’t always share her enthusiasm.  But she always allowed me my own point of view.  I appreciated her feedback on my stories.

I’ll miss Lois when our group meets.  I imagine we’ll frequently recall her importance to us and remember with fondness all she contributed.

May good memories of Lois bring peace and acceptance.  Thinking of all of you.

Joan Givens 

Memory of Lois Myhr

By: Rose Gleisberg

            I’m fairly new to the writing group, so I’ve only known Lois for a few years, but what a pleasant person she’s been!  Something that struck me was her deep emotion – through her often heart-felt tears, as well as her writing.  It’s not too often that I come across  someone who is inspired to write their memoirs, and actually followed through.   Lois did, and she shared her life story with our writing group.  I’m so pleased that she did, as it helped me to get to know her a little more and develop a deeper appreciation for her.  Her story was interesting not only because she shared her experiences of growing up in a foreign land, but also because she familiarized us with machinery her family used while growing up on a farm, such as a hammer mill.  I could sense the sincerity in her voice that showed me just how much she enjoyed her youth and how proud she was to share it with us.  What a precious legacy to leave her family and friends! 

.           I think my favorite memory of Lois will be: the time I brought in a finger-food to our monthly writing meeting.  In my haste, I set it on a cheap silver platter.  I told her that she’d better appreciate my cheap snack on a cheap platter because this had been in my family for many generations.  Saying this with a serious face, I don’t think she realized at first that I was joking.  When she discovered my smile and realized the platter had no value, we chuckled and seemed to form a connection.  Our shared chuckle must have made some impression on Lois because she asked me where it was the following month.  Her question was good for another chuckle. 

My Dear Friend

By

Madaline Williams

I remember when Lois walked into the small dining room of the Arboretum and joined the group of ladies in Carrie Feingold’s “Leaving a Legacy” writing class.  She was there for the same reason as the rest of us—we felt we had a story that needed telling.

We soon got used to the fact that Lois’s tears would flow as she shared her stories with us.  I sat at the opposite end of the table back then so I wasn’t the friend-in-charge-of-Kleenix as I was later on.

In the legacy class we wrote about our life experiences following specific questions or prompts. By piecing our short stories together both Lois and I realized that there was something different about us than the rest of the group. We were survivors with very different life stories but a bond was formed.

After our writing class some of the members and our teacher, Carrie, would re-locate to the nearest Panera’s.  Frequently Lois would join us. The size of the group always varied and one Wednesday evening it turned out to be just Lois and me.

Lois, being a talker but also a good listener, was never at a loss for words!

As we got better acquainted we discovered that since she had moved to the Millard area our lives almost crossed so many times but none had lead to our meeting. So that evening we talked and we laughed and we talked and laughed some more.  Four hours later when the sun was setting and the customers were clearing out we knew it was time to stop.  This was just the beginning of our 3 to 4 hour meals.

When Carrie no longer taught the writing class both Lois and I suffered withdrawal symptoms.  We still needed to write and we didn’t want to give up our friendship with Carrie so when Jay retired from teaching Carrie asked him if he was interested in joining with us to form a writing group. Soon our group grew and our stories were shared.

Lois would visit the Omaha Chapter of American Pen Women as a guest of a mutual friend, Bernice and later as my guest. Wherever Lois went she gathered friends. Even attending a meeting became an adventure for us. Once the group met at the Unicorn Hotel in the Glenwood hills of Glenwood, IA.  You’ve never heard of the Unicorn Hotel, have you?  Well neither had we.  Lois and I were delayed and were too late to meet the group of ladies who were meeting in the parking lot of Ameristar so they could go as a caravan to this elusive hotel.  We decided to head to on—how hard could it possibly be to find this place?  First we went to Glenwood and asked at the local discount store—no one there knew anything about it.  Finally a customer spoke up telling us he knew it was just off the highway that drove through the hills just north of where we were.  We had noticed that road as we passed it by.  So with a good deal of optimism we headed back. This was on a beautiful, sunny day in October and the gold, red and brown of the trees on the hillside were breath-takingly beautiful.  We drove the length of the road looking on both the hillside and the flat side but no sign of a hotel.   At the end of the road was a farm so Lois drove up and I got out of the car to ask the farmer for directions. What I didn’t realize was that every farm seemed to have at least one dog. Fortunately this one was friendly but he didn’t jump all over me. The farmer looked at us as though we were crazy.  He’d lived here x number of years and had never heard of such a place. This began the hunt for the unicorn!

We’d drive up in the hills where we’d spot a farm house, I’d get out to ask, greeting the friendly dogs, stepping around the numerous cats, or chickens avoiding the roosters. Once we found the Glenwood Florist perched on top of one of the hills. It was quite a large shop with a number of greenhouses where they grew their own flowers and, of course, the family dog.  This one was a big floppy St. Bernard who seemed to adore us. The florist had heard of the hotel!  She looked up the web page but no telephone number listed. So on we went feeling a bit more hopeful. Our last stop was at a beautiful newly built Victorian house set at just the right angle to have a beautiful view of the hills. The wrap-around porch had 5 wooden rockers—very tempting to sit and enjoy them. This time it was the farm wife who answered my knock.  She and the children were making Halloween costumes for a party that evening. And guess what! She had not only heard of the Unicorn but had actually been there recently for a wine-tasting party.  She checked her computer for the invitation and gave us the one thing that we needed to know—the fire number.

With the number in hand, we headed down the road. The hotel was on the flat side of the road so we turned into the drive that appeared to just go on and on.  Well-hidden from the road, at last we reached the hotel, which was built to look like a Scottish Castle. We arrived just in time for the business meeting.  The owner brought us the delicious lunch and we ate through the meeting and joined the others on a tour of the place.  It was very small but very smartly decorated.  This was mostly used by businessmen wanting to get away for a weekend and not be disturbed by others.  As we drove back to the road we realized that we had had so much more fun than any one else that day!

Lois, I’ll never forget you!

My Tribute to Lois Myhr

By Jay Worden

         It’s so easy to lose track of time; especially as we all get older, but I believe that we are starting our 8th year for our writing group that Lois loved so much. Even though Lois didn’t know how much time she had left, she insisted at our meeting at the end of November, that we sign up for another year at the library.  It will never be the same without Lois after all these years and we will all miss her very much.  It all began when Carrie Feingold taught a memoir writing class and Lois and Madaline Williams decided to take the class.  Carrie and I had taught English together at Bellevue West High School and both shared a love of literature and creative writing.   We decided to create a new writing group of our own and Carrie thought that Lois and Madaline would be interested in joining us.  So we all started meeting the last Friday of every month at the Sump Memorial Library in Papillion and the rest is history.  During the last few years, Carol Wessling, Joan Givens and Rose Gleisberg became part of our writing family. Over time, as we became more comfortable with each other, the easier it was for all of us to be more open and honest in our personal writings.  Although our original purpose in getting together was simply to encourage and help each other write, it didn’t take long for all of us to become close friends rather than just fellow writers.  Carrie, Madaline and Lois often went to dinner after our meetings on those Fridays and I cherish the memories I have of joining them occasionally as well. 

        Writers not only write what they know, but often writing actually becomes therapeutic.  I think this was definitely true for Lois.  She was particularly interested in writing memoirs of her life that she wanted to eventually put together and leave behind for her children.  In sharing our writings over the years, we have all laughed and cried together many times, but I can’t think of any time that Lois read her writing to us that Madaline or someone else in the group at some point didn’t dig through their purse for some extra Kleenex for Lois to wipe her tears with.  Lois never needed eye drops for her chronic dry eye problem while she shared her stories with us.  The tears came easily and often.  (During my last visit with her a few weeks back, she told me in private that she really thought that those powerful eye drops were what eventually triggered her cancer.)  Ironically, in looking back I realize that none of us ever asked Lois why she cried whenever she wrote about her life.  Not all of her stories were that sad but for some reason those memories always brought tears to our softhearted Lois and we empathized without asking too many questions.  Most of her stories dealt with growing up on the family farm outside Leader and her pride and love for her native Canada was always very apparent but even more so during the winter Olympics of 2010 that were held in Vancouver.  I don’t think she missed watching any event and she shared several writings about those Olympics with us.  She loved the Internet and being able to look up any kind of information that she might decide would be interesting to know about.   She loved  learning new things and hearing about and seeing photos of places she knew she would never see or visit. 

        We enjoyed all of her writings that she shared with us and even though we know she was not finished with her memoirs or even living, she is leaving behind a lot of family history for her children and granddaughter, Emma.  The world is a totally different place than the one Lois experienced in her youth.  By reading what she left behind, there is no doubt that you will learn some things that you may have never known about your mother and more importantly I hope you will cherish the written gift that she has left behind.   She was so proud of all of you and loved you all so very much.  It is also apparent through the loving care that you gave her during these last months of her life, that you all loved and cherished your mother as well.  She truly was a great lady!  You all have my deepest sympathy.  We will miss her.

      As I have said before, we are all sad that the final chapter of your mother’s life has been written.  And even though she is no longer physically with us, none of us who knew her and loved her will ever forget her.  I’m glad I had the chance to tell her that in person.  All we have to do, is close our eyes, think of Lois, and all the wonderful memories we have of her and her life come flooding back to us and we know she will always be a part of us.   She is alive within our minds and I find comfort in thinking that Lois is now in a better place, at peace and no longer in pain. It’s a warm sunny summer day with a beautiful blue sky dotted with fluffy white clouds and she is riding through her pine scented mountains along a gently flowing mountain stream on her favorite childhood horse, Skimmer, while the cool mountain breeze blows her red locks off the shoulder of her favorite purple blouse. 

God Speed Lois!!

Jay Worden

Mom/Lois 

She was a woman of words, each carefully selected
Every syllable weighed and thoughtfully tested
Like a chef choosing spices for a signature recipe
Blending phrases together in appetizing harmony.

Words were essential for they conveyed her stories
They painted the picture of remembered glories
Letters filling the canvas of a well-worn journal
Detailing thoughts and ideas down to the kernel. 

She cherished her role as mother of five
Sold encyclopedias to help their tiny home thrive
Later she tried her hand as a financial planner
Winning the trust of many with her gentle manner.

But being a parent was only one of her layers
Recounting her league of women baseball players
Her pitch launched a ball like a blast from a rocket
Threatening to pull the catcher's arm right from the socket. 

She worked on a farm and rode horses bareback
Hiked through Germany with a weighty backpack
In Edmonton she was queen of the Ice Carnival
Crowning her hair that was blazing red to the follicle.

She was slow to decision but knew what she wanted
Would chat with anyone without being prompted
She loved music and dancing and the Olympic games
Enjoyed watching hockey, namely the Calgary Flames.

Moving from Elbow Lake she became a Minnesota transplant
A home in Omaha would eventually supplant
More than half a century was lived in the States, she'll submit
But a citizen she wasn't, just not ready to commit.  

At the end she was true to her stubborn nature
Making everyone wait, including her Creator
But her legacy will live in the stories she told
Her love, laughter and friendship forever extolled.

My co-worker passed along this poem.  I have been thinking about her a lot.  We do feel cheated as we all thought mom would live into her 90s given how healthy she was, however to lose your mother when you are in your twenties would be unbearable.  I feel lucky to have had the time that I had. M.E.

Hi Mary Ellen,

 You have been in my thoughts and prayers all week. I was so sorry to hear about your mom. It was a blessing for both of you to be together, and I hope you are finding comfort in your memories along with family and friends. When my mom passed away, someone shared this beautiful poem with me. It was difficult to read, but it gave me hope that the grief would subside and become easier to endure. I hope it provides you with a little peace. 

Bridget 

When Great Trees Fall
Maya Angelou

When great trees fall,
rocks on distant hills shudder,
lions hunker down
in tall grasses,
and even elephants
lumber after safety.

When great trees fall
in forests,
small things recoil into silence,
their senses
eroded beyond fear.

When great souls die,
the air around us becomes
light, rare, sterile.
We breathe, briefly.
Our eyes, briefly,
see with
a hurtful clarity.
Our memory, suddenly sharpened,
examines,
gnaws on kind words
unsaid,
promised walks
never taken.

Great souls die and
our reality, bound to
them, takes leave of us.
Our souls,
dependent upon their
nurture,
now shrink, wizened.
Our minds, formed
and informed by their
radiance,
fall away.
We are not so much maddened
as reduced to the unutterable ignorance
of dark, cold
caves.

And when great souls die,
after a period peace blooms,
slowly and always
irregularly.  Spaces fill
with a kind of
soothing electric vibration.
Our senses, restored, never
to be the same, whisper to us.
They existed.  They existed.
We can be.  Be and be
better.  For they existed.
 

Mom was a red head.  Growing up, there was no escaping it.  She got teased and was banned from wearing certain colors, like pink.  

Not surprisingly, being a redhead became that - being it.  

She loved being a red head. She thought her blood was thinner than the rest of us and she thought she felt pain more easily because of it.

She starting wearing pink, but ended up prefering purple.  

She always loved meeting other red heads, especially kids.  

She dyed her hair red.  Yes, my mom was one of those moms who dyes their hair red when they are 82 years old!

I didn't realize how vain she was until she ended up in the hospital last summer. Her next hair appt was about two weeks after she ended up in the hospital.  Medical staff would come in and comment on how good she looked (compared to what they were expecting).  She would say, when my hair looks like this??

And she really wanted another appointment.  Since last June, she kept talking about getting in to see Edward so she could get her hair done again.  As she told everyone, "I'm going down a red head."
 

To the Family of Lois - her wonderful children & her many friends.

Lois was my last sibling and has been my best friend. I will miss her more than I can imagine yet. We have not been able to have the usual conversations we usually had as easily since her diagnosis.

We often phoned each other and most of the time talked at least one hour and often up to two hours - often remeniscing about our life as children since she was writing her history. It was wonderful - me forgetting incidents and then me remembering incidents she didn't remember. It was so much fun.

We often had different memories because Lois liked to work outside doing chores on the farm and helping our Dad while I preferred working in the house helping our Mother. There were 4 of us children so there was always a lot going on and now I am alone.

We also discussed our present lives - giving encouragement to one another - all the more why I miss her

I am sorry I was unable to be there for you due to my own health concerns but mythoughts and prayers were always there with you. I am so proud how you siblings all looked after your Mother so well - relieving her of much worry and making her life as comfortable as possible.

I leave you with these thoughts:

From Psalm116:15

Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of His Saints.
Peace, Peace Wonderful Peace
Coming down from the Father above.
Sweep over Her spirit forever, we pray,
In fathomless billows of Love.

From your Aunt Iva