In honor of our mom

This Friday - May 7th - would have been my mom's 86th birthday. She died in June 2006 at the age of 82. The following year, her five children combined their talents through e-mail on a poem to remember her by. The poem was then published in our hometown newspaper, the Roundup Record-Tribune. Here's the poem -- we each wrote a few lines about things we remembered. My brother Randy finished the poem and I think he did a remarkable job.

Tribute to a loving mother, Evelyn Van Dyke

Every corner of my house holds memories

of the kind and caring woman my mother was to me.

My shelves are lined with porcelain figures

and ageless pictures of family.

A cross dangling gently from a window

 reminds me of her spiritual life.

In the yard, a meadowlark sings of springtime

 and we stroll together in my mind.

 I remember her kitchen with meat and potato dinners

and pies baked while we awaited friends and family.

Her smile welcomed all,

and everyone had a place and a plate to join in.

The secrets she knew, she shared with no one.

But good news of her extended family was conversation for many.

The sparkle in her eyes and the smile on her face were natural and genuine.

The world  might be hard but mom some how knew how to soften the landings.

She was rich in things that mattered – love, caring, sharing and feelings.

She could cry, or be stoic and she was often proud,

but never boastful of those she loved and held most dear.

 Although she bore the affects of diabetes and heart problems,

 she complained little,

  never let on that she had pain.

 Mom once said she felt like she was still 16;

 she never gave into feeling old --

Always ready for a drive and a game of cards.

“I thought of you again today, and asked God to say hello.

I know how happy you are when we call home.

I just like to stay in touch, may the Lord let you know

And I’m sure that He does, we love you very much”.

-- Your Children

An Easter Story

Crash, tumble, tumble, tumble, thud, moan…I didn’t actually hear the car wreck or see the driver thrown from the SUV…but I did hear my phone ring. It was 2 a.m. on April 5th 2009, and an emergency room nurse from Glendive was calling to tell us that our 17-year-old niece Janelle had fallen asleep on her way home and was found unconscious beside the highway on a frozen stretch of prairie by a couple of truck drivers. Janelle had called her parents at midnight and said she was driving home. When an hour passed and she hadn’t made it to the ranch, her dad went out in search of her. About 15 miles from home, he came upon the accident scene. The truck drivers had covered her with blankets and had called for an ambulance. She was alive…but just barely. In Glendive, the doctors and nurses determined that her injuries, including numerous broken bones, were beyond their level of care. As luck would have it, there was already a plane flying to Glendive from Bismarck. It was originally called for another person injured in a car wreck that same night. However, the family gave up that plane to Janelle as their loved one had been declared brain dead.

So after our phone call, began one of the longest nights of our lives. We didn’t know how soon the plane would be landing in Glendive and taking off with Janelle, so we decided to get up and go to the hospital in Bismarck and wait. And we waited. At about 7 a.m., an ambulance pulled into the hospital’s garage bay and I could see a team of medical professionals run out to take the gurney holding Janelle into the emergency room. Janelle’s mom, Amy, greeted us shortly in the waiting room. Her eyes were red and swollen from the tears she had already cried.

About an hour later, we were called into a small room and briefed by a doctor who told us the extent of her injuries: broken arms, broken legs, broken pelvis and the concussion to her brain. The outlook was pretty bleak.

We kept vigil at the hospital. Later that day, Janelle was moved to ICU. We waited and waited. Periodically, we got further briefings as the results of additional tests were released. Janelle’s dad had gone back to the ranch and loaded up his vehicle with suitcases full of clothes, not knowing how long his daughter would be in the hospital. His cows were calving but his neighbors would take over. Eventually, there would be planting, but his neighbors helped him with that as well. He arrived in Bismarck later in the morning. When he saw me, he came and threw his big arms around me and squeezed me. He finally could show some emotion and he cried. Trying to comfort him, I told him, “Don’t worry…everything would be all right.”

As soon as I said it, I regretted it. How did I know? I’m not a doctor. And the doctors I saw weren’t very optimistic. Later that afternoon, I got into ICU to see Janelle. She was swollen…to the point where it looked like her skin might pop. She was hooked onto several machines that were doing everything for her – breathing, feeding, you name it. She even had a tube connected to the top of her head. The doctors had removed a part of her scalp and her skull because they thought her brain would swell and they wanted to relieve the pressure. My beautiful niece – my god child – lie there motionless with her eyes closed. I had seen people motionless before. They were dead.

A week later was Easter…everyday or every evening for a week we had gone to the hospital. So for Easter, we all agreed to bring some food to the waiting room so we could share a meal together as we continued our vigil. Shortly before noon, the doctors called Janelle’s parents into a small room and gave them horrifying news. If she hadn’t started getting better by then, chances were slim to none that she would recover. With that added grief, we said our prayers and ate dinner…in silence.

Days turned into weeks and the news kept getting grimmer. She had opened her eyes, which we thought was a good sign, until we heard: “The lights are on, but nobody is home.” When a month had nearly passed, she was moved from the hospital in Bismarck to a swing unit in Mandan. More bad news. The doctors said she was just taking up a bed in Bismarck.

And then something happened…about five weeks after her accident. Her brother who was attending college in Montana came to Mandan one weekend and was taunting her, as brothers tend to do to their sisters. The people in the room were shocked when Janelle raised her middle finger as if giving her brother the bird. It might be the first and only time in our lives that we were happy to see such a thing.

Slowly at first, but with every passing day she began to wake up. She had to learn to walk again, to talk again, to use the bathroom again. Then she was moved back to the Bismarck hospital for more intensive therapies as the beginning of her senior year was fast approaching.

She started classes last fall in Glendive taking not only new classes, but also finishing the ones she hadn’t completed her junior year. She still suffered from some short-term memory loss, but doctors at the University of Minnesota told her parents that her memory would recover…just give it some time. And in the mean time, she would have to rely on notes.

Next month she will graduate and next fall she will start college. She’s come a long way in a year. This past weekend, about 30 of us gathered, at her home on the ranch between Glendive and Circle for Easter. It was largely the same 30 who had spent last Easter in the hospital.

This Easter I went up to her dad and threw my arms around him. We didn’t have to say anything. We both had the same thoughts. What a relief to be celebrating Easter on the Scheitlin Ranch.

But I had another nagging thought. Some people have a hard time celebrating Easter or believing the Easter story of how Jesus rose from the grave. But somehow seeing the miracle of Janelle LaRae Scheitlin first hand has strengthened my faith. I can tell you that her doctors didn’t think she was going to make it. The emergency room and acute care doctors are more shocked to see her alive and graduating from high school as an honor roll student than any of us.

Walking and sitting outside

Sunday, March 21, was memorable for several reasons. Among them were: Belinda and I took our first walk outside since last Fall. We're at an age where slipping on ice isn't an option so we wait until the ice has melted before we begin our walks.

Second, Grandpa and I sat outside and watched the cars and the trains. We didn't stay too long, but at least we were outside for a while.

While sitting outside, I made some observations. We have a new neighbor that we haven't met. That's because of the winter hibernation that we do in North Dakota. Hopefully, now that it warms up and we see people working in their yard, I will venture across the street and introduce myself.

Also, the snow pack has taken it's toll on the lawn. The grass is mashed down. Completely laying over on its side. I wonder if it will perk it's head up or will we need to rake to make the lawn look healthy again.

I also noticed the ducks and the geese flying north. The ducks are quiet. The geese are honking as they follow the river.

Lastly, I noticed a majestic pair of evergreens in a neighbors yard. I remember staring at the trees back in 2001 when I didn't have a job. I would be waiting at home for the phone to ring, and I would stare out the picture window at the big, majestic evergreens. They are beautiful trees, but when the leaves pop out on the other trees, the two evergreens simply fade into the background. But before the leaves bud, the evergreens are "king of the castle."

I don't know how much room the trees take up in the neighbor's yard, but it looks like a considerable amount...judging from my vantage point. Yet, I'm thankful for the homeowner who has never cut them down because they truly are beautiful....especially when they have a coating of snow on them.

But I didn't say that because I've seen enough snow for a long while. The snow that still lingers is like the last leaf on a tree in the fall. It knows it's days are numbered.

What happened to February

Generally, I try to write at least one post on my blog a month. But February was obviously an exception. In looking back, I can sum up February in one word, "WINTER."

I swear winter in North Dakota gets worse every year. I remember it was that way in the mid-1990s also. One time I said, "One more winter like that and I'm leaving." The next several winters were actually pretty nice and I got lulled into staying. Now I'm thinking I'm too old to leave. Also, for the next two years, I need to not only keep a job but keep a job that pays pretty well so that Scott can finish college debt free. So, while I'm not saying I'll be moving any where soon, it would be nice to go back to those milder winters.

Last winter we got our Christmas decorations down in late February. This year, some of them are buried under the snow and we haven't even tried to remove the Christmas lights along the fence because we would be standing in three-foot drifts of snow. As it turns out, I'm the kind of people I used to make fun of. If we don't have a spring thaw, I may just leave the Christmas stuff up all year.

If next fall, Belinda wants to put up the inflatable snowman with the sign that says "Let it Snow", I may go outside and personally vandalize it. I've had enough.

Another sign of winter is the disappearance of your neighbors. I know they are still alive because I see vapor coming from their chimneys, but I don't see the neighbors. They are not out grilling or weeding the garden. We might as well be bears who hibernate through the winter.

This morning, the roads and highways were a sheet of ice because it rained in the middle of the night or early this morning and it froze. Tomorrow, we're expecting more snow. The weather forecasters say they don't really have a clue how much snow we can expect because storms this time of year are hard to predict.

Well, speaking for my snowblower, I hope if we do get snow, it's the light and fluffy stuff. I have had March snows that are so heavy that the snowblower is useless. Then you have two choices -- either wait for the snow to melt (my favorite) or shovel the driveway by hand (my wife's favorite).

So March has come in like a lamb. Very little wind, lots of fog and absolutely no spring thaw. While I know that it appears there is no end to this winter in sight, the sun is starting to crawl up from the horizon where it slept all winter and one of these days it will be warm enough to melt the snow and ice. And then we get our one month of spring before it turns unbearably hot for three months before our one month of fall. Then it's WINTER again.

If this blog were a book of the Bible, it would definitely be Lamentations. Nuff said.

A rookie's attempt at "Meals on Wheels"

You haven't lived until you have slipped and slid up and down 20 steps to deliver food to the elderly...part of the "Meals on Wheels" program. You should have seen my jaw drop when I found out I hadn't brought enough food the first time so I would have to navigate up and down the icy steps another time.

A friend of ours had surgery this week and he asked for some help. For the past dozen years, he and his wife have represented our church in delivering meals on wheels to a dozen or so elderly in Mandan.

He told us that it would take about 45 minutes. Pick up the food at the Golden Age Club at 11 a.m. and deliver it to the addresses. No problem right? Wrong.

First of all, the food wasn't ready when we first arrived. So we had to come back 20 minutes later. Then we received two larges Thermos containers. In one of them appeared to be sack lunches. I didn't look in the other. Big mistake.

So, like hound dogs looking for a bone, my wife Belinda and I set off in our car to find the first address...in a part of town we've never been. Having located it, I brought out a sack lunch and handed it to a young lady...maybe a caretaker I thought, at the address. Then I was back in the car looking for the second house a half dozen blocks away. The same scenario played out only this time an old, stooped man was waiting and looking out the door for my arrival.

"Wow, I'm getting the hang of this," I thought.

The third house was behind the abandoned Jr. High building...on the side of a steep hill. There were two sets of steps with a landing in between. It didn't take me long to figure out why the steps weren't cleaned off. The people getting these meals are often home-bound. But the steps were covered with rutted ice and very treacherous. With sack in hand, I held on to the rail and made it up the steps to the house. Inside was an elderly, frail man sitting in a chair with the TV turned up full blast. He had just hung up his phone as I entered the house.

"That was a gal calling for you," he said. "You need to bring us a hot meal along with the cold sandwich...and you need to go back to the other two houses and give them their hot meal as well."

What? I didn't hear anything about two meals...but after sliding down his stairs and checking the other Thermos, I saw that he was correct. There were as many hot meals as there were sacks. So back up the steps I went. I apologized for my error. He mumbled something, and I went back down the steps, this time holding on to the rail with both hands.

I broke the news to my wife that I had blundered and that we would need to re-track. No problem. This time we had an easier time finding the homes that we searched for the first time. To add a little suspense to the goings on, my cellphone rang so my wife got to take the hot dishes to the surprised recipients and express our apologies with her warm, sincere smile. I'm not all that good at that.

Then it was off to a pair of houses where it said the recipients were diabetic. Now, if you know anything about diabetics, they like to eat on time. And if they're blood sugar falls, they can get a little snippy. Well, that must have been what happened. Belinda took one set of meals (hot and cold) and I took the other. I was greeted at the door by a daughter who told me her mom was not so happy with the service this day because we were late and she was hungry.

By this time, I had finished polishing up my apology. So out it came...with some added flourishes. And I was off.

The next house was interesting because I had to go to the door in the alley. Inside the house was a woman who was obviously deaf because she didn't hear my knock, she didn't hear me enter nor did she hear me holler at her. When she turned around, there I was. "Surprise."

Anyway, it was all I could do not to laugh because she walked over to me with the same tiny footsteps that I had see Tim Conway take on so many episodes of the Carol Burnett show. I should've known they were based on real life, but until today, I hadn't not figured that out.

The next two recipients were at the Lewis & Clark Hotel in downtown Mandan. Once upon a time, the hotel was probably pretty classy as it's located across Main Street from the former Northern Pacific Railroad Depot. However, that day of classiness has long passed. I've been in the hotel before and it smells to high heaven.

Not wanting to get sick, I asked Belinda if she would deliver the last two meals. She agreed. So I stayed in the car with Grandpa and answered another cellphone call. After a while Belinda returned. We were done.

I asked her if the place still smelled. She assured me that it did. I told her I thought it smelled like an old sweaty gym sock. She said it smelled like years of stale cigarette smoke. We agreed that it smelled bad.

As we were driving back to the Golden Age Center to return the containers, Belinda said, "Well, that wasn't so bad." That caught me off guard.

But then I thought, "I'm sure if we do it again, it will be a lot better."

But if I learned anything from it, perhaps, it was this: "Grandpa really leads the life of Riley because he lives with us. His meals are always hot and he isn't wondering if some rookie 50-year-old will be delivering his meal 15 minutes late or giving him only a cold sack lunch when there is a hot meal that's been bought and paid for."

By the way, the hot meal looked exactly like a TV dinner.

Communication miracles

When I was a little boy, we had a party line telephone that we shared with one of our neighbors. My Grandma Van Dyke, who lived on the edge of town, had a party line phone she shared with what seemed to be hundreds of neighbors. If all her neighbors decided to rubberneck on the conversation, she would have to tell them to get off or the call would get so weak that you couldn't hear her speak.

Obviously, we've come a long way in 50 years. Now most people I know carry a phone on their hip and they aren't sharing the signal with even one other person. Cell phone conversations can be so crisp that you think the person you're talking to is in the next room and not three or four states away.

Mostly, that's because today's telephone signals are digital rather than analog. Do you remember when we had dial phones? The dial would send an analog signal to a central exchange and connect you to the right party. You could actually hear the click, click, click of the equipment moving in the telephone exchange office. Now we hear a beep, beep or perhaps nothing at all.

But that's just one of the marvels of modern communication. This holiday season, I enjoyed meeting Derek's girlfriend's family -- who live in Brazil -- through the little camera on her computer and the little camera on our computer.

The cost of the call? Well, really there wasn't a cost, at least not anything additional from the monthly Internet fee we already pay. And yet we could talk to them and look at them.

Again, I remember Dick Tracy from the Sunday comics when I was young. He had a watch where he could talk and look at someone at the same time. Man, I thought that was pure science fiction...never gonna happen. And yet, it has. Maybe we aren't using a watch, but can it be very far off if we can do it on our computers and computers can be wireless?

I'm also enjoying the heck out of Facebook. It used to be that a family had to have a reunion somewhere and it involved a lot of people driving many miles if they wanted to visit with each other. Now, through Facebook, I'm in regular contact with a lot of my family -- cousins, second cousins, children of cousins, etc. -- simply by logging on to my trusty Facebook account.

Since I'm a communicator by trade, there's no real shortage of things for me to comment on -- Grandpa, my family, politics, religion, visitors, current events, you name it. If asked my opinion, I'm NOT smart enough to be tactful and keep it to myself. So I'm sure my extended family has figured out that I'm liberal Democrat who can't wait to have the government spend everyone else's money. My motto is: "the only fair tax is the one that I don't have to pay." So if the party in power sticks it to the rich or to the bankers, I know that it won't effect me one iota -- because I don't shop at stores that are owned by rich people, buy energy from utilities owned by rich people or have a bank account that could possibly have increased fees to pay for increased taxes. In a sentence, I'm gullible enough to believe that what politicans tell me is good for me, really is good for me. They are much smarter with my money than I am.

See, there I go again, espousing my opinions. So here's to digital communciations. Don't you feel like you've just been lectured again by grumpy Uncle Steve, but it's clearer now because of modern technology.

Following in the steps of typewriters and carbon paper...

Over my Christmas vacation, I read a story about the things that are on their way to extinction. No this has nothing to do with climate change and the polar bears, black-footed ferrets or whooping cranes...this extinction is caused by the advances made in technology.

A couple things on the list seemed a little hard to believe. I suppose that's because I'm 50 and I've grown up with them, but young people don't seem to be as enamored by them as were their parents.

The first is the land-line telephone. The writer of the article believes that land-line telephones will be extinct in 10 years.

Now I remember turning 20, graduating from college and landing my first job as a reporter. Along with my first job, came my first apartment and my first phone. At that time, the phone company was a monopoly (Gasp!) and so my new phone was from the Bell telephone company. I rented my phone from them because they didn't sell them in discount stores. That was part of the monopoly deal. However, I couldn't wait to have my own phone because it meant that I would get my name printed in the telephone directory. That was a sign of adulthood...in fact, it was one of the last signs of being an adult since the drinking, voting and every other thing in the world occurred when you were 18 in those days.

Now young people don't seem to want to have their name in the phone book, so they opt for the cell phone. Even some old people don't seem to care because they have given up their land-line phones too.

However, I have adopted the "over my cold body" defense. First, if I don't have my name and number in the telephone book, I won't be bothered by survey companies and telemarketers...and you know how much I like to be called by these two bastions of society. (Actually, the word bastion was originally going to be another another word that sounds like bastion and starts with the same four letters, but I digress).

Now besides land-line telephones, the second thing on the list toward extinction is face-to-face conversation. The author of the article believes that texting (on cell phones) will replace simple, every day conversation.

Now I'm sure that what he writes he believes, because I have seen young people sitting around in the same room texting to each other rather than just talking. But seeing it doesn't make it right.

This past week, I was visited by numerous nieces and nephews along with my in-laws and my brother. You could see that the older people (including myself) enjoyed the friendly banter while the young people looked down at their crotches and continued to text each other.

My brother and I don't know how to text and I don't think we're going to learn. I'm pretty sure the same goes for my dad and my in-laws. So if face-to-face conversations end by the end of the decade, it's not going to be a very fun place for the chatterers among us.

My second grade teacher, Mrs. Cebull, identified me early on as a chatterbox. And let it be known that she was right. I'm the one who will start a conversation in a crowded elevator with a perfect stranger.

But I will not text.

So in the coming years, I will keep my eyes and ears open for land-line telephones and face-to-face conversations to see if they will disappear into history the way carbon paper and typewriters have. Carbon paper has been replaced by copiers and typewriters by personal computers, such as the one I'm typing on today. Here's to a new year and a new decade, but let me keep my phone and my mouth.