Category Archives: Stories

2025, Family, History, home, Stories

Mom

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Today’s post comes to us from Ben.

When my parents moved out of their house in town and into a senior living place, I wrote this short story. Several years later I found it again, shared it with the family, and one of my sisters commented that I could write another piece and update the situation. Which I did, and filed away.   When mom died last week I updated that story.

So here are some stories about my mom.

FEBRUARY 2007

Mom and Dad have finally moved. They decide to move even though the house hadn’t sold yet (maybe due to the cold and snow? Mom says she’s just tired of cleaning the house…) and low and behold the house sold anyway.

So we all met at the house one Saturday a couple weeks ago; 0 degree’s outside… Oldest sister Ellen is here [from Pennsylvania]. Ernie and Joanne decided to rent a moving van, Bob parked his pickup at the back door and started loading stuff from the basement; I loaded my truck after his and Ernie is asking what we rented the big truck for? But then we filled the big truck, and the two pickups and there’s STILL stuff left in the house…geez; where did all this stuff come from?? Didn’t think there was that much stuff?!? They cleaned all summer, threw stuff, and still….

And now the apartment is filled with boxes of … stuff. The pickups fit into the underground parking garage, but not the moving van of course. So Bob and I take turns shuttling our pickups back and forth from the elevator to the moving van to load stuff and drive back to the elevator. And from there it’s one flat cart and two shopping carts to get everything upstairs. And the place is filling up and they don’t have the dining room table or sewing table in the apartment yet. Judy [my aunt] makes lunch for us since she’s in the building too.  Eventually they rent a storage closet in the basement and the next Saturday Joanne, Arlen, Kelly and I haul some more stuff from the basement and the deck furniture and shelving and pack the storage closet.

The next week, since it’s Presidents Day and no school [Son] and [daughter] and I meet Dad at the old house and clean out his shop; Steve is taking the table saw; Matt’s getting some odds and ends, and we load my pick up with saws and ….stuff. Dad’s wood jointer / planer and …stuff… and haul it out to the farm. I put the band saw in the garage so Dad can use that; some of the ….junk…down in the old shed, other stuff in the new shed. Then back for one more trip to pick up the real junk, vacuum the shop (with his little dinky shopvac with the 1” hose and no attachments… it was kinda funny / pathetic!)  Finally, the only thing left is Mom’s sewing table and the shopvac.

April 2025

Mom’s Moves

Mom has died. 

Mom spent her first 22 years living in her parents’ home, and her first move was as a new bride into Dad’s farm house. Or rather, her in-law’s house, Carl and Helen.  Anna Conway, her Mother-in-laws mother, was also living there. Bedridden and cared for by Helen, Mom learned how to care for her. Mom said it’s where she learned not to be afraid of death. Anna lived for a few more months and mom’s compassion, home nursing care skills, and possibly entire attitude about life, came from that situation. Her Mother-in-law, Helen, had 5 sons and was pretty excited to have a “daughter” in the house and they got along well.


Eventually the in-laws moved out and mom could make it her home.  Mom and Dad lived the next 20 years in that old farmhouse which was made up of bits and pieces from the previous 100 years. Mom could have done without the snakes that came out to sun on the stone foundation or the honeybees that moved into one wall, ate through the plaster, and got inside the room late one night.


When Mom was 42 years old, the time came to build a new farm house. She moved the family into the machine shed for a few months in mid-summer. Which became fall.

And then winter. And then she moved the family out of the machine shed and into the new house.  And she made that a home for 21 years until they moved into town when the next generation took over the farm. Mom was 64.

They found an empty lot in town and started building a house and they were determined NOT to still be living on the farm when the next newlyweds moved in. She had done that and wasn’t doing it to the next couple. Their next-door neighbors in town were going to be gone for the summer, and offered that mom and dad move into their house while the new house was being finished. They didn’t have to move quite so much stuff at first, and when the new city house was done, they simply moved next door, to their new home in town.  And they lived there for 17 years until they decided it was time to move to Senior Housing. Mom was 81. It’s surprising how much stuff one can accumulate so quickly, and they spent the summer having garage sales and giving stuff away. Mom was determined to move and she worked hard to convince Dad this would be OK. He really wasn’t so sure, and he was grumpy about it all summer. And one can’t really blame him; moving from the country into town was bad enough, but now, moving from their house into an “apartment”…well, that was quite an adjustment so his anxiety was understandable.


That move took a while to sort out as many things went to temporary storage, and more stuff was given away, and it took a while to figure out what they needed in the apartment. And Dad discovered it was OK not having to worry about snow or grass. And he was able to create another workshop.  They made a nice home there for the next 8 years until Dad’s passing. Mom was 88.  And mom moved into another apartment, got rid of more stuff, and she made that her home for another 7 years.

And then she moved once more. Her last move. Into a single room with a shared bathroom.   And the kids packed up her stuff again. Mom was 95 and slowing down.

It felt different that time. She didn’t need much, nor did she have room for much. And there was a lot she wouldn’t need again. The move was her idea so that helped. Ever practical, she knew she needed more assistance. She knew it wouldn’t be perfect. “I’ll need to have a lot of patience.” she said. With her usual resilience and attitude, she made the best of it. Most of the time. Through new staff, through covid, and paper plates, physical therapy, new friends, visits from old friends, she was able to enjoy it.

She was often awake at night “thinking” about things.  She’s had a lot of thoughts over the years.

She never thought she would be blind. That’s been the hardest thing. That’s what’s gave her the most trouble of everything. As much as she would say “Oh well, God will take care of it.” she sure had a hard time rationalizing God taking care of that one. She was so close to 99, just a few weeks short. Not that that was ever a goal, no one ever heard her have a goal that was age related. Her latest goals were more of being able to walk again, or seeing. And when you think of the things she did, and saw, you would understand that.

So, finally, the best move of all: rejoining her beloved husband, and her brothers and sisters, and her mom and dad, and all her cousins and nieces and nephews. She’ll be asking everyone ‘What do ya know??’


She loved getting together with family or friends.  She always wanted to make sure everybody had a chair. She wanted to make sure everyone had something to eat.


And now she has a chair.  And she has ice cream.  And She’s really home. Again.

WHAT ARE YOU SERVING WHEN GATHERING WITH FRIENDS?

2024, Family, Stories, Uncategorized

Surprise

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I received news from Ancestry this week that I am sure has made my father and his father turn in their graves. Ancestry did an updated genetic analysis using new data techniques. Despite that fact that my last name is Dutch (Boomgaarden), and that the family immigrated from Ostfriesland, just across the River Ems from Holland, there has been a long standing legend in the family that the Boomgaarden’s are really French, and are the descendants of Huguenots who fled to Ostfriesland in the 16th century due to religious persecution. They could sometimes begrudgingly admit that they were probably a little German, but certainly not Dutch. They had a lot of animosity for the Dutch Reformed Church and the way they were treated by the Dutch authorities when they lived in Ostfriesland because they were Anabaptists and followers of Menno Simons. That animosity continued even when they settled in Northwest Iowa in the 1800’s and lived amongst hordes of Dutch immigrants.

The old analysis suggested that the family was mainly German with some Swedish and Norwegian thrown in. Those Vikings got around, you know, and invaded northern Germany and the Netherlands. The new analysis indicates that my father’s genetic make up is 68% Dutch, 7% Danish, 1% Baltic (Estonian, Lithuanian, Latvian), 1% Central and Eastern Europe, with the rest German. Not one bit of French ancestry to be found! It makes the most sense of any of the previous analyses.

I don’t know the science behind these Ancestry analyses, but I can hardly wait for the science to become more and more precise. Perhaps it will eventually turnup some French DNA, but I am not going to hold my breath.

Ever had a DNA analysis? Any unsupported legends in your family? Was there ethnic animosity where you grew up?

2024, Mysteries, Nature, Stories, Travel, Uncategorized

April 30, 2024: Overboard! 

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Today’s post comes to us from Krista.

I wrote about our ride on the Doolin Ferry, about how wet it was. It was windy and cold too. The sea wasn’t too rough, but once in awhile a wave would hit the side of the ferry and it was easy to lose your balance.  

Anyway, when I came in from the lower front deck, I had noticed the door that opened onto the sea and was held shut by a simple sliding latch. I passed it by, noting it to another woman who was there. I found a seat inside and sat down. A pregnant young woman sat down beside me. She looked at me and indicated her backpack. I understood that she wanted me to watch it, so I promised I would. I stayed right there until she returned for it, then I went to find my friends. They had found a table near a window, so I joined them. It was really hard to take photos. The windows were all bleary with moisture and my hands were damp and almost frozen. Clouds of mist hung over the Cliffs of Moher, obscuring the best sites. Almost everyone was looking toward the side of the ferry that was moving along the base of the Cliffs.  

Suddenly everyone heard a loud banging which didn’t sound right at all. There were several loud bangs in a row that sounded like something smashing into the boat. There were quite a few people standing up in the central aisle. I noticed the look on their faces – they looked horrified. Suddenly someone started yelling, “OVERBOARD! OVERBOARD!” Some people started screaming, “Oh NO! She fell overboard! She’s in the sea!” Colleen and I looked out our window and there was the pregnant young woman whose backpack I had watched. There she was in the water, holding her backpack and a shoe above her head! The ferry backed up a little and someone threw her a life ring. She must have been shocked and cold, but she was able to slip the life ring over her head. She must have triggered it to release an orange dye. They began to pull her toward the boat. A rescue boat came quickly to assist. I think the woman was in the water for about 5 minutes. It seemed like more, but it probably wasn’t. She really kept her head together. I can’t imagine how cold she must have been. The water there is around 50 degrees Fahrenheit. They pulled her in and got her into the captain’s cabin. 

I don’t know what happened after that. They brought us back to the harbor immediately, and for us the event was over. We went into Doolin and did a little shopping. We talked to others who had been on the ferry, and they said she was seven and a half months pregnant. Everyone was really disturbed by the incident. Someone said she had been on the upper deck and a wave had hit the boat from the side. She lost her balance and fell, sliding, and hit a door similar to what I had seen on the lower deck. The door just popped open and she fell out into the sea! Someone else said that there was a woman who had once worked on a similar ferry who grabbed the life ring and threw it out to the girl. A man said he watched her slip and fall and caught her phone as she went. Everyone was worried about her.  

The roads are really difficult out there. It’s actually a fairly remote area of Ireland. When we came out of the stores about an hour later, we saw the ambulance finally coming from Galway. I hope they were able to help that young woman. 

We never saw a news report about it or heard anything more about it. I wish her the best.  

When have you been deeply concerned about a total stranger? Any cold water experiences to share?  

2024, animals, Nature, Stories, Travel, Uncategorized

April 30, 2024: Inis Orr

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Today’s post comes to us from our Krista!

We decided to take the Doolin Ferry to Inis Oirr (Inisheer). We were all pretty excited about this trip. It was a cold, windy, damp day on the western shore of Ireland, near the Cliffs of Moher. We boarded the ferry in Doolin, a place that I will always remember fondly.  

We had paid for a round-trip excursion to Inis Oirr (Gaelic) or Inisheer (English). The ferry took us straight to Inisheer. On the way back, we would be treated to a longer ride along the base of the Cliffs of Moher.  

When we arrived at Inisheer, we were greeted by carriage drivers who were determined to get us to accept a ride in their carriage. Martin greeted us. Martin was an old, tough-looking seaman. He spoke both Gaelic and English and was cheerful about explaining things as well as he could in English. His horse’s name was Jack. Martin was liberal with the crop, and Jack seemed to be used to it and it didn’t seem to have much of an effect on him. He plodded along like he had done this at least twice daily for years. Martin and Jack took us to the edge of the island, where there was a shipwreck. I think we were supposed to be impressed with this. It just looked like an old, rusted wreck, with no interpretation to explain what had happened or how old it was. The ancient stone walls were far more interesting to all of us.  

Martin seemed to want to get as many of these trips as he could. He returned us to the village at the harbor. It was raining and I was really soaked already. My rainwear just didn’t cut it. We asked Martin about the stone walls or fences. He said they repair them as needed, but they really didn’t need much repair. I think those walls are extremely old, perhaps more than 1500 years old. Some may be from the Stone Age. They were everywhere.  

We went into the Ostan Inis Oirr (Hotel Inisheer) for a hot drink. I talked to a man who worked on the ferry. I asked him about the Gaelic language. He said a lot of Gaelic actually comes from the French, which does make sense. He said many of the names for vegetables are actually French. It was an interesting conversation.  

We went shopping for more gifts. I really only wanted to be warm and dry. I was drenched and cold. I bought a sweatshirt from the Hotel Inisheer and put it on. I looked for a raincoat, but I didn’t find anything. There were more Aran sweaters here, of course, but I didn’t need one. 

It was raining steadily, so we went back to the ferry. The next leg of our journey would include include a trip past the base of the Cliffs of Moher. It was stunning but hard to see due to fog, mist, and rain. There were puffins floating around in the sea and flying around past the boat.  

Martin and Jack 

Puffins (blurry photo) 

Seastack (very blurry photo)

It was a cold, wet ride. It was interesting but our views weren’t great and we were wet and cold. I tried to go out on the lower front deck to take some photos but it was very hard to stand up and keep my balance.  

I noticed a door that went directly out to the sea as I was out on the deck. It was closed with a simple sliding latch. I was surprised when I looked at it. I stayed toward the wall of the ferry as I went back inside. I said to another woman, “I hope that latch holds!”  

Describe your experiences with someone who spoke a different language from yours. How did you communicate with them?  

2024, books, Kids, Media, Stories, Technology

Letters

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The rabbit hole that is the internet never ceases to amaze me.  A few days ago I stumbled across a YouTube video called LettersLive.  It was Oliva Colman reading a 17th century letter from a wife to her husband.  It was hysterical.  Since then I’ve found several other clips of letters ready by other celebrities.  I adore letters – some of my favorite books are epistolary (Guernsey Potato Peel Pie Society, Daddy Long Legs, Cold Comfort Farm and Julie Schumacher’s Payne University series).  Turns out that LettersLive is actually a series of live events that began back in 2019.  I’ve found four of them so far. There are usually 20 or so letters read during the evening, many of them funny, many of them insightful, some of them incredibly touching and almost all thought-provoking.

Letter-writing is certainly one of our lost arts.  I remember Steve writing to his friend every week until his friend passed away; it was an amazing feat.  When YA was young, I used to send a letter to Nonny and JB every week – mostly just bullet points of the week along with a page of photos.  I send a lot of cards these days, but don’t consider them letter-writing.   Watching the LettersLive has made me think maybe I should start up the Nonny habit again.

LettersLive is sponsored by Montblanc, which seems perfect but funny.  Celebrating letters is “write” up their alley but what they are sponsoring are live performances and a technology-fueled YouTube site.  I can’t think of anybody better!

The only problem with LettersLive is that there aren’t endless quantities; they are not putting up new YouTubes every week.  Once I’ve listened to all the letters read at the four events, I’ll have to wait until the next one which is in Berlin sometime later this year.  I’ll have to dole them out to myself carefully!

Do you remember the last hand-written letter you received?  Or wrote?

2023, Media, News, Stories, Uncategorized

A Slight Miscalculation

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North Dakotans were rather shocked in September to hear on the news that a woman in Minot had been arrested for murdering her boyfriend with antifreeze in order to get money he was inheriting. It even made the New York Times. If you click on the headline, you can read the whole article.

What isn’t in the article is that after her arrest, it was discovered that the man was being scammed, and that the inheritance was fictitious. There never was any money. She sort of miscalculated. Oops! I hate it when that happens!

What have been some of your bigger miscalculations?

Baboon Achievers, Media, Music, Stories

The Sound of Our Lives – Steve Grooms

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It’s been two years since we lost Steve.  Below is one of his most iconic posts (in my view).

I’m passionate about music and life, so it is not surprising that the two often meld for me. Certain moments become inextricably associated with the music I was listening to at that time. The most familiar example of this is how couples can have a song or performance that becomes “our” song. But that sort of things happens over and over for people like me. We end up associating music with certain times places we have known. I keep hearing the phrase: “the soundtrack for my life.” And that, for many people, colors how they think of moments from their past.

The worst place I ever lived was a shabby little house on the West Bank near Seven Corners, but that place is also associated with the moment I discovered the music of Leo Kottke at the nearby Scholar Coffeehouse. As awful as that house was, Leo’s music was one of the happiest discoveries of my life. Some of the associations we make are complicated.

Sometimes the soundtrack we can’t help associating with something is wildly inappropriate to anyone else. I discovered the Lord of the Rings trilogy early in grad school. At the same time, I was listening to a lot of Ravi Shankar sitar music. Clearly, the epic trilogy is as thoroughly European and Nordic as Shankar’s music is Indian, but when I read Tolkien I keep hearing sitar music. It is, after all, exotic, and I found the novels exotic.

I think of these matters a lot now because I keep encountering two types of music that are linked in my mind to the pandemic. I discovered the music of the traditional jazz band Tuba Skinny just as the virus reached the US and changed our lives. When I listen to YouTube videos of the band, as I do for maybe an hour each day, I keep reading comments from others who say they could not bear the pandemic without the uplift of Tuba Skinny music.

Similarly, early in the virus shutdown period, Mary Chapin Carpenter began recording Songs from Home. She films herself with her animals (White Kitty and Angus, the golden retriever) at her farm home in Virginia. She delivers her performances (filmed on her phone, I think) with a breathy intimacy that is incredibly calming. Unless you somehow hate her music, I urge you to sample some Songs From Home to read the comments of all the people who say their sole salvation in this difficult time is the music she makes for them.

What about you? What music do you associate with particular moments from your past? Do you have “our song” with anyone?

2023, books, Gatherings, Media, Mysteries, Stories

Six Degrees of Separation

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Today’s post comes to us from Cynthia!

“Six Degrees of Separation” is the idea that all people are six or fewer social connections away from each other. As a result, a chain of “friend of a friend” statements can be made to connect any two people in a maximum of six steps.

 I recently listened to Garrison Keiller’s “Writer’s Almanac” after many years of just reading at the printed version.  Maybe I haven’t listened since it went off the air. While listening I remember 1975 when I first discovered and loved Garrison’s radio show. We went to several of his live versions before and after it went national. But before it went national, I was visiting with a school friend and our English teacher in Cloquet. In the middle of the conversation my friend mentioned Garrison. She knew him! She had been the editor of the University of Minnesota’s monthly literary magazine, Ivory Tower in 1963 and 1964, and Garrison was her assistant editor. I was so happily astounded that I knew someone who knew him…Six Degrees of Separation!  When I finally met Garrison while working at MPR in Duluth, I asked him if he remembered her. Of course, he did. They reconnected again not too long ago. And she and I are still close friends.

 Another “Six Degree” tale to tell:

One of my favorite MPR classical music hosts was Australian Stephanie Wendt. I met her in person when she was the host of an event in Duluth and I was her “assistant.” She is also a classical pianist. She married a choral director and they moved to Sweden. We were Facebook friends and then I joined her blog where she posted beautiful photographs of where she lives. I recently asked a friend, Gunilla, who lives on the farm in Mahtowa she inherited from her uncle. She also lives and is a pastor in Sweden: “Is the town where my online friend, Stephanie, lives close to where you live?” Gunilla said, “Yes! I know Stephanie! She and her husband were just at and often are at my church!”

Do you have any “Six Degree of Separation” tales to tell?

2023, Family, History, Stories, Uncategorized

Storytelling

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This blog over the past week has given me an opportunity to talk a bit about my family. Barbara in Rivertown commented that I had rather colorful relatives. Well, I think that we all have colorful relatives. I am just blessed to come from a family that likes to gossip and tell stories about themselves.

This was particularly true of my father’s family. My paternal grandfather had 12 siblings, all of them restless, energetic, and endowed with a wonderful sense of irony. They loved to talk and tell stories about each other.

I think it takes a lot of thought and humor to be a good storyteller. You need the right voice and the sense of what is important to communicate. You also need to have a grasp of the ridiculous.

Who are your more colorful relatives? Who are your favorite storytellers? What do you think makes a good storyteller? What were your favorite stories as a child?

2023, books, Fantasy, Mysteries, Stories

Over and Over Again

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As you all know, I listen to books on CD in the car (and occasionally I drag them into the house as well), audiobooks on my laptop and old-fashioned regular books!   I “curate” my library account so that I don’t have too many things from the library at once and am always happy to find a book that comes in multiple formats.  The format I am still unwilling to embrace is kindle.

A couple of weeks ago the book She Who Became the Sun sparked my interest, so I looked it up and it came in audiobook format.  Since I was getting close to done with my current audiobook and only had one other “up to bat”, I asked for it.  Loaded it and then yesterday morning, hit “Play”. 

I knew in the first minute that I had read this book before.  I was sure of it.  The title resonated but I had assumed it was because She Who Became the Sun is exactly the kind of title that intrigues me.  I looked it up on my spreadsheet and I did indeed read it in 2017!  I can tell you only the vaguest of plot outlines now that I realize I’ve read it, but it’s VERY vague.  I thought about reading it again but decided if I can hardly remember that I’ve read it, much less remember the plot, I’ll move on.  Not quite as bad as having started Devil in the White City THREE times but at least in that scenario I never read the whole book (I always bale when the maggot scene happens in the first chapter). 

Do you ever go to the fridge repeatedly, hoping to find something new there?