All the King's Horses: Part II

December 2013

Good lighting can make old girls look good. Rosy up the cheeks with a little pink blush and stroke on a little blue eyeshadow. Add a little mellow mood lighting, and the wrinkles almost fade away. But in the harshness of full light, the blemishes are there in full view. Yes, an old barn definitely looks its age then. (What did you think I was talking about?)

April 2015

After a  2015 windstorm, the front of the barn was bowing deeper than a curtsying dancer. We knew its days were numbered. Then, in August, the cupola and hay loft simply gave way to gravity. There was no dramatic crash. Or, if there was, we didn't hear it. One moment it was there - shaky, of course - but still standing. And then it wasn't.

Randy started renting the barn and corrals before we were married, probably 36 years ago by now. In its day, it was a grand old barn with lots of different stalls and compartments. James and Katherine Johnson used it as they raised Hereford cattle and pigs at the place they called home for decades.

And, even though it was past its prime, the old barn had sheltered mamas and babies during snowstorms  and cold weather for years.

Last winter, we built a new calving shed. We could see how this story would ultimately end.

Last year, our ladies-in-waiting heifers and newborn babies were housed in the new accommodations rather than in the old barn that had been a resting place for animals for so many years.

This fall, Randy contacted a local company to dig a couple of trenches to bury the barn and the old granary.

They arrived last week to begin the process, using a bulldozer to dig a trench north of the granary and another east of the barn. 

It took less than a day for the backhoe to knock the granary down.

As we were leaving to go to Kinley's Christmas program, all that remained of the granary was the cement from the foundation. Randy is having them haul the concrete to use as erosion control on a duck pond dam.

This ended up being our last glimpse of the barn. By the time we got back, the lot was cleared. 

The barn now looks like a giant game of pick up sticks. It's kind of hard to believe it's reduced to this pile. On a calm day, we'll burn the wood, and the remnants will be covered up with the dirt.

I'm having a hard time getting perspective in the corral without the old barn to mark my location.

This week, Randy began marking the lot and ordered the new fencing we'll use to load out cows and calves.

I walked out in our yard on a frosty morning one day this week and pointed my camera to the east. The barn no longer provides a silhouette for a new day.

And so life goes.

A Night on the Red Carpet

There won't be any Academy Awards.
The Tony selection committee won't be calling anytime soon.
Likewise, the Emmys will ignore the enthusiastic talent represented on the red carpet.

 

As we left the concert venue, Jill asked, "So ... was it worth 6 hours of driving?"

 The answer is an emphatic, "Yes!"


Kinley's Christmas program from Kim Fritzemeier on Vimeo.

 Who wouldn't drive that far for a rousing performance of "Little Snowflake?"

The concert event was Kinley's preschool Christmas program. She had quite the entourage. Besides Randy and me, her Iowa grandparents also made a similar 3-hour-one-way trip to the concert. Mommy, Daddy and Brooke also had prime seats in the front row.

I must admit I felt a little guilty that we didn't make the same drive for Brooke's program two days earlier. However, Jill gave it a 50-50 chance that 2-year-old Brooke would actually stay on the stage. When Jill shared her percentage guess, Brooke's teachers said she was being overly optimistic. Brooke ended up sitting on a teacher's lap and she didn't sing a word.

Well, she didn't sing during the concert. She did sing every single word to "Jingle Bells" on the way home, Jill reports. But she was absolutely thrilled to wear her pretty new dress.

She was happy to put it on again for some family photos after Kinley's program. 

I'm sure you've heard of those acting studios which want their actors to embody trees or flowers, right? Our 4-year-old actor wanted a "cheetah" photo after we were done with the boring family shots. Maybe I really will be attending an awards ceremony on a red carpet some day. She's already working on her "method acting."

A Day Which Will Live In Infamy

Photo by Brent Fritzemeier

December 7, 1941:  It was a typical Sunday. Early church bells had just begun to ring. Some servicemen were still sleeping. Others were on their way to breakfast.

But the ordinary turned to extraordinary in just moments. On that Sunday morning, the first two waves of aircraft - about 180 planes - roared off the decks of Japanese carriers north of Oahu at 7:49 AM.

Photo from Yahoo images

At 7:55, the quiet morning at Pearl Harbor was ripped apart when the first Japanese bombs dropped. Some Japanese aircraft swooped down on the harbor and Battleship Row. Others headed for nearby airfields, where American planes were lined up, wing-tip to wing-tip. Within minutes, the aircraft were reduced to useless heaps of torn and melting metal and the harbor was choked by black smoke and fire as mighty ships slipped toward the ocean floor.

Photo from Yahoo images

A few minutes into the attack, a message was sent to the U.S. capitol: Air raid, Pearl Harbor - This is no drill! Pearl Harbor was pounded with bombs, torpedoes and bullets from 7:55 until 9:45 AM. As the Japanese planes roared away, they left 2,403 American officers and fighting men dead and another 1,178 wounded. Civilians were also caught in the crossfire of the surprise attack.

Photo from Yahoo images

For most Kansans, it was just another typical Sunday. Many had gone to church and were relaxing with their families and friends after a big Sunday dinner on this day of rest. Many had been listening to the Sunday afternoon broadcast of the New York Philharmonic Orchestra when the first newsflash interrupted the programming.

From Yahoo images

President Franklin D. Roosevelt had hoped to keep America out of World War II. All that changed on December 7, 1941.

Yahoo images

Today marks the 75th anniversary of the attacks on Pearl Harbor. In 2008, I interviewed about 20 servicemen and women who had served our country during World War II. The hours of interviews eventually led to a story that took up 24 pages - all single-spaced in a Word document - so I can't reproduce it here. The story was broken into a series of articles for the Wesley Towers Tapestry newsletter. All of those I interviewed were residents of the Hutchinson retirement facility. Many of them have since passed away. None of them were at Pearl Harbor, but several of them joined the service in response to the attack.

The interviews were some of the most moving stories I'd ever heard. They talked humbly and quietly about their service at Guadalcanal, the Island of Tarawa, the Aleutian Islands, Italy, at the Battle of the Bulge, the Battle of Leyte Gulf, the Battle of Okinawa and on ships in the Pacific. Two of the men actually saw the flag raised on Iwo Jima. Some served on bases on the homefront. One woman shared her experiences as the wife of a Prisoner of War. One woman served in the U.S. Cadet Nurse Corps, and another was a special services librarian. Those men and women who shared their stories represented all branches of the armed forces.

The commitment to serving the U.S. in this way has not waned for some. In recent years, Stafford has had several young men and women willing to serve our country. These were the kids I watched on the football field. I served some of them cupcakes at classroom Valentine's parties. They, too, grew up doing ordinary, everyday things in a small town in South Central Kansas. Yet today, they are doing extraordinary things to serve our country. It is their efforts - and the sacrifices made by their families left at home - who help us to continue as the land of the free.

Photo by Brent Fritzemeier,
the Washington Monument from the World War II Memorial

Our little community is no different than others across the nation. Throughout U.S. history there has been an image of the farm boy putting down a hunting rifle to join the military. It was not until the turn of the 21st century that the data was available to document what many suspected – that rural America supplies more than its fair share of military recruits (Wessels Living History Farm - Nebraska).

 On this 75th anniversary of "a day which will live in infamy," let us never forget. It's more than a page from a history book.

... Long may our land be bright
With freedom's holy light;
Protect us by Thy might,
Great God, our King.

Yahoo images

Last Sunday, CBS Sunday morning featured several stories related to Pearl Harbor. Click on this link for one of them.

Lessons from a Christmas Tree

I saw this cute graphic on my friend, Linda's, Facebook page. I think those are all good things to remember during this busy holiday season. But I've learned some additional lessons from my Christmas tree this year, too.

In the olden days, we'd chop down a tree from a St. John tree farm. I loved the whole process.

Christmas 1990

We'd wander the trails at the tree farm and do a Goldilocks search for one that was "just right."

The smell of pine would permeate the crisp, winter day.

Christmas 1995

The tree farm folks would shake and wrap the tree while we went inside the store to drink hot spiced cider and crack open a few peanuts. Putting up the tree in the living room was the prelude to Christmas and all its sights and smells.

Christmas 1990

OK, so maybe I'm waxing nostalgic and forgetting the pine sap, the prickly needles all over the carpet and the spilled water. Just this morning on the news, I heard that live trees can bring an infestation of aphids into the house. We had enough aphids in our milo fields, thank you very much! And maybe I've forgotten squeezing two kids into the center seat belt of the pickup for our 25-mile excursion to the Christmas tree farm.

By the time the kids got into high school, I was the only one who still cherished the tradition. So, now we have a pre-lit tree. Let me clarify. It's supposed to be pre-lit. But this year, only about a third of the lights came on when we plugged it in.

"Ho, ho, ho! Merry Christmas!" was not Randy's first thought. Some traditions never change. These days his only job is to help schlep the plastic tubs of decorations up from downstairs and get the tree set up. This year, he had to add lighting back into his holiday schedule. He added two more strings to the tree and we called it good.

I think some additional lights flickered out after we did the light positioning - or so it appears when I examine the photos I took.  They seem congregated around the middle, kind of like Santa's jolly belly.

It was not the only light fatality. The evergreen swag I use over the grandfather clock also didn't light. Another extra strand of lights fixed that problem.

I can't even find my miniature Christmas tree. Did it quit working last year and I tossed it? Did I think I'd remember to replace it before this holiday season? Well, if that's what I thought, I clearly was mistaken.

I think I need to actually read one of the books that I use to decorate my mantle, "Why Christmas Trees Aren't Perfect." It was given to the kids by our minister and dear friend, Cheryl, long ago.

No Christmas trees aren't perfect. Neither are Christmas decorations (unless they are on those fancy schmantzy HGTV shows).

But you know what? The Savior of the world was cradled in a smelly manger. So if my Christmas tree lights aren't placed with algebraic precision, I think it's going to be OK.

As I pull the ornaments from the boxes, it's a trip down memory lane. The elf my Grandma Leonard made when I was a little girl lost its hanger long ago, so I nestle it in the tree branches.

One of my newer ornaments was made by our former pastor Amy, who used stain glass to resemble the ceiling panels at our church.

My favorites are the photo ornaments which capture moments in time.

Other decorations remind me of my crafty mother-in-law. Marie added to our Santa collection year after year.
But Marie didn't ignore the true message of Christmas with her creations either. I have her quilted nativity scene on the piano.

How can we, in the midst of our culture's conspicuous consumption and demand for perfection, turn our focus on the Child who was born into poverty as a sign of hope and salvation for a broken world? While it may seem the world demands perfection, the Gospel message demands nothing from us. Rather, God invites us to gather around the manger just as we are: unfinished lists, burnt pies and all. No matter our imperfections, great or small, God invites us to peek into the manger and gaze at the real Christmas message: That Christ came for us all to be a beacon of hope for the hopeless and to bring peace.

Rev. Amy Slater, 

Stafford UMC newsletter, Christmas 2012

 So, yes, I am still learning from my less-than-perfect Christmas tree this year.

Living Life: To Click or Not to Click?

Brooke, 2, & Kinley, 4 (almost 5!)

The only photo I took on Thanksgiving Day was of Brent's first-ever smoked turkey. And I took it with my cell phone, so it wasn't all that great. Let me clarify: The photo wasn't great. It was the best turkey we've ever had, but I still didn't get my good camera out of the case.

Instead of clicking the camera shutter, I read a dozen library books - literally - to two little girls. I read some of them two or three times. (Who knew Bill Peet's Encore for Eleanor would be such a hit? I read every word for Kinley.  Brooke and I developed our own shortened version, which she then "read" the same way every time.)

I helped Kinley figure out how to make paper crowns out of coloring book pages. (You have to improvise at Uncle Brent's. We were lucky he had tape.)

Instead of searching for bargains on Black Friday in Topeka, I read some more. We also colored with sparkle glue that mommies like to leave in the craft box but Grandmas are willing to make a mess with. I also played with dollies and helped a girl become a princess.

I may have sworn off heels, but I can help a girl who thinks they are a necessity when wearing a fancy purple princess dress.

As it turns out, princesses are also interested in photography.

 

Even though Brooke kept pushing the button trying to connect the camera to wi-fi, she managed to take more shots than I did on Friday. (Don't tell her that I deleted the majority of them.)

I took some photos of Kinley and Brooke on the porch of their house before we went off on our big adventure - seeing "Finding Dory" at the discount movie theater.

Brooke only lasted half-way through before we sent out an SOS to Mommy to come and pick her up. As she told Jill, "It was dark in there." It was good while the popcorn lasted.

I didn't swear off the camera all together. I took a few photos at the K-State game. We don't often get the flags on our end of the football field, but I was ready this week to line up the flags with the K-State image in reverse on the football field.

I recorded the celebration after Bill Snyder's 200th win, and my favorite photo was this one that showed two of the quarterbacks at the end of the line as the team worked its way around the stadium, greeting fans.

But I only took 35 photos the whole weekend. It's not unusual for me to take twice that number (or more) on a family-filled weekend.

I saw a cartoon in which one character complained to the other, "I hate how people take pictures instead of just enjoying the view. Documenting your life distracts you from living it." (I'm not going to show the actual cartoon because there is some unnecessary bad language.)

The other character says, "Trying to take a picture makes me pay more attention to it. Some of my best adventures are built around trying to photograph something."

I have a little bit of both those people in me. Sometimes, it's more important to read those books or make a mess with glitter glue.

And sometimes it's important to capture a moment - whether it's sisters hugging on the front porch or a beautiful start to a new day. 

I think there's room for both. Who says I can't have a split personality?