Memories

 We all have issues in our lives that cause us to change course from time to time.  Mine is arthritis.  Occasionally it rears its ugly head and makes physical work difficult at best.  So, until this particular flare-up goes away, I am spending time doing things that require very little movement.

That doesn't mean that I am abandoning preparing.  It just means my grocery order this week includes items that don't need to be canned or dehydrated.  Paper towels, toilet paper, cleaning products as well as some canned goods will be delivered on Thursday.

And because I never have been able to just sit and stare into space, I am using this time to work on the never-ending project of organizing my family tree.  Even though my family doesn't share my enthusiasm for splashing about in our gene pool, I find it fascinating.  Especially when I discover the rogues and outlaws.  :)

And since all of my aunts and uncles and grandparents on both sides of my family have passed on to their reward, my kids and grands do not know what kind of people they were.  So, while sorting out ancestors, when I remember something about an aunt or uncle or grandparent, I write it down.  

My Uncle Kenneth is a prime example.  A veteran of the Second World War, he was the one out of a family of nine children to remain on the family farm in northern Minnesota, to keep the farm going and to take care of his elderly widowed mother until her death in 1955.

As a young child, Uncle Kenneth scared me.  He was always dressed in rough clothes suitable for the barn or for the fields.  Add to that his normal weeks growth of beard and his ever-present slouch hat.

Turns out, Uncle Kenneth was one of the kindest men I have ever known.

My best memory is of winter on that small farm.  There were 4 or 5 cows to milk, morning and evening.  In the evening, Uncle Kenneth would walk from the house to the barn, holding a lantern in one hand and guiding me along by holding my hand with the other.  I can still see in my mind's eye, the lantern light sparkling on the snow.

Uncle Kenneth knew I loved animals and there were cats in the barn.  They would line up while he often would squirt a stream of milk at them that they handily, each one in turn, would catch in open mouths.  And, with a twinkle in his eye, he sent one of the kittens home with me, much to the chagrin of my mother, who wasn't fond of animals in the house.

I think I might give most anything for just one more walk to the barn with my Uncle Kenneth.

Don't let the memories fade.  Our loved ones may no longer be on this earth, but they remain alive in our memories and in our hearts.