Queued up is a visit to my mom in Saint Cloud. Thoughts are to begin planning to move her to the Twin Cities. But for now, it is an hour and a half drive.
The toast, yesterday, given by Dorothea, was to survival. Given the general Hansmeyer family history, it was apt for any of them. But we'd just been having a discussion that delved into some of the more personal specifics, which is probably what prompted toast. Maybe the toast was an attempt to change the subject. But there also was at the table the adopted, now single mother, who'd spent a good share of her life in group homes; two Vietnam vets, one of whom had been in the squadron portrayed in the movie "Platoon"; and just in general, we've all overcome some pretty horrendous stuff. And here we are.
A couple of Bernice stories come to mind that I feel I can share. Bernice's troubles, her mental illnes, no secret there.
The first story is about the effort to plant trees on the farm. The second story is about an empty bottle of homemade rhubarb wine, graveside.
"Whatever else, she wasn't dumb," commented one of the brother-in-laws. To which was added the story of how, several years ago, the idea was to contract with one of the paper mills. They'd come in and plant fast-growing popular trees, and then, some years later, harvest them for pulp. For whatever reason, Bernice didn't like this idea. Apparently, she very uncharacteristically worked the phones, calling the mill, the land broker, whomever, telling them how she thought that was a bad idea. The deal never went through.
January, 2008, -20 degress, graveside, at the burial service for Bernice. One of the sisters had a bottle of homemade rhubarb wine, significant of something, and was filling up and passing around little plastic cups of it. We toasted, we were ready to all bolt for our cars. What I didn't know was want happened to the empty bottle. Someone turned to the funeral director as everyone left. What to do with the empty bottle? The funeral director took it, opened the lid of the casket, set the bottle inside, closed the casket. Quite appropriate.
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David
www.schons.net
