A mystery novelist typing away,
She works through the night
She works day by day
Plots so twisty,
Characters so strange
To make the mystery look
Little stories about people I know and places I go
29 Apr 2013 3 Comments
A mystery novelist typing away,
She works through the night
She works day by day
Plots so twisty,
Characters so strange
To make the mystery look
25 Apr 2013 11 Comments
[a poem for my dear Mark...]
A sweet greeting card complete with a squirrel
Makes me feel like I might be a really loved girl
Then I walk through the door after work to find
He’s busy cooking dinner for the kids, so kind!
Though it rains cats and dogs, his work is not done
No, in fact, he’s really just begun
To replace the broken side mirror of my car.
I’ll travel with him forever, no matter how far.
12 Apr 2013 13 Comments
for fifty years I was your daughter
Before you remembered me.
I adored you from my first moment
Pictures of me gazing into your hazelnut eyes,
My baby blues crinkled all smiles
when you walked into the room
You needed your newspaper, I needed my daddy.
Did you really have to toss me out of your easy chair?
You taught me to ride my first bike.
You took off just one of the training wheels.
I crashed into the rose bush.
Remember when we went to the Father/Daughter Dance?
The year was 1967
I was a ten-year old in a lime green mini dress.
We didn’t dance but we were together.
That was really nice.
The most handsome daddy in the world.
Remember when we went to buy my first car?
1971 Ford Maverick three on the tree.
I had never driven a manual transmission before.
You pointed the car up the hill, such a challenge
Trying to time it all perfectly to impress you with my driving skills.
It worked so much better when we turned the car around.
I wanted to follow in your successful footsteps
If I was a state forester like you, we’d have so much to talk about
“That’s a poor career choice for women” was your reply.
Remember when I tried to be a model in the big city?
I sent you a glossy black and white photo of ME
Eight and a half by eleven, all framed up
The glass was shattered in transit from Chicago to northern Minnesota
My life and my heart broken in pieces 1984
I think you got to see what I looked like anyway.
You walked me down the aisle and gave me away two times
The third time you couldn’t make it to the wedding
And that’s OK.
Thirty years since I left home
You never called me
You quickly passed the phone to Mom when I called
Now you call me every week
Why did it take Mom’s passing for you to remember me?
07 Mar 2013 6 Comments
The young and beautiful sister of Mother Goose is celebrating a birthday today! My oh my gooseness how the time flies…
Though it was 1964, it seems like yesterday that Dad drove my brother and me to the parking lot of the hospital in Bemidji, Minnesota, pointed up at a window on the fourth floor and said, “That’s where your mother and your new baby sister are. They’ll be home in a few days.” Dana and I looked at that window and then at each other in wonder — as in “I wonder how THAT happened?”
And in fact, it was just yesterday that our dear sister was back in the hospital though not being born this time. She arrived at the Bigfork Valley Hospital bright and early to participate in her very own Radiofrequency Neurotomy procedure.
Bunn has been waiting and preparing for this procedure for months. For many years, she has suffered acute and chronic back pain as a result of a crazy life and arthritis. She had tried many of the traditional conservative treatments options to no avail. Physical therapists, chiropractors, and various medical practitioners had all done what they could to help her pain, but the arthritis grew worse and the pain became excruciating. No amount of physical therapy or anti-inflammatory medications could ease her suffering. Would she need back surgery? Was that the only option left to my sister?
Thankfully, the answer was no.
She became acquainted with the very promising work Dr. Paul Olson at Bigfork Valley. She has been diligently working with a biofeedback technician named Marlene who has helped her with relaxation methods and introduced her to the wonders of Alpha-Stim, a very interesting therapy for depression, anxiety, chronic pain and PTSD. Bunn has also benefited from self-hypnosis and finding her “happy place”.
Mother Goose would like to ask her all of her faithful readers, “Where is YOUR happy place? Where do you go in your mind when you need to relax and delve into the peaceful places of your heart?”
Anyway, back to my long and winding story…
So, Bunn was not nervous at all as she walked through the friendly doors of the medical facility yesterday. She was well-informed about the procedure and confident in the good doctor’s skills. She was well-medicated, and easily persuaded of the compassion of the nurses. She was covered in prayer and psychologically armed with this important conviction:
“The needles will slide into your skin as easily as butter.”
Mother Goose is not entirely knowledgeable or educated about the basic procedure of rhizotomy, which uses radio signals to cauterize the nerves bundled around the arthritic joints in the spine. I have only been told several times that the doctor would insert several large needles into her back bone area where the pain from years of trouble have taken their toll on her joints.
By noon, she was released from the hospital and happily reunited with her dear husband, Allen and special pup, Dusty.
She is miraculously pain-free!
And today, we celebrate her birth and the first forty-nine years of her life!
Mother Goose is convinced that this special sister will thoroughly enjoy her next fifty years and beyond now that the pain in her back is gone. She can actually stand up, walk, sit, lie down, cook and LIVE without that chronic and acute pain.
I hope that if you know somebody who suffers from serious back pain (or other types of pain!), you’ll remember this story from Mother Goose and share the good news that there is always hope, always a healthy solution — there can be real healing!
We say “Thank you Jesus” and “Thank You Dr. Olson” for giving Bunn back her life.
18 Feb 2013 4 Comments
“You don’t love someone for their looks, or their clothes, or for their fancy car, but because they sing a song only you can hear.” ― Oscar Wilde
Mother Goose is amused at the relationship between men and their cars. In the past six weeks, three different men who are dearly loved by Mother Goose have traded in their old rides for newer and better wheels. Mother Goose smiles…
The first sailor son comes home for his thirty-day leave from the U.S. Navy. Within three days of his homecoming he visits the local Carmax dealer and trades in his Mazda Protege for a beautifully bright white and shiny Toyota Camry.
Two weeks later, the next sailor son returns home for leave. He’s just experienced a harrowing trip through the snow belt of New York, Ohio and Indiana. After a good night’s rest, he jumps back into the Subaru Impreza for the last time, trading it in for a very stylish Honda Civic.
Another two weeks passes quietly. And then up rises Husband Goose, and he flies away to Peru, Illinois to trade in his clunky old Chevy Camaro for a lovely luxury ride — a Cadillac Eldorado.
Mother Goose is waiting excitedly for the next two weeks to pass, for surely I am next in line for a new car! I cannot help but wonder what it might be? How could I possibly upgrade from my very practical Goose Mobile?
Men and their cars…
Let it be known here and now: Mother Goose does not love her men for their rugged good looks or their fancy clothes or their fast and shiny cars. Mother Goose loves each of them for their unique and heartfelt songs.
And I’m the only one who can hear them singing…
14 Feb 2013 11 Comments
In days gone by, Mother Goose was known as quite a swinger.
(For my younger readers, a swinger is defined as a person who actively seeks excitement and moves with the latest trends or one who is being modern and lively.)
Modern. Lively. Trendy. Excitement. These are all buzzwords and keywords, perhaps even synonyms for Mother Goose.
Perhaps you would only consider me an old floozy now, but in my youth I was a pretty happenin’ gal.
Can we altogether say “Woot woot”?
Let me just tell you a short story — a Valentine’s Day story from the early 80′s. The 1980′s.
Once upon a time, Mother Goose worked at a marketing agency in the great city of Chicago. She had recently moved to the Windy City of Big Shoulders from northern Minnesota with her college diploma rolled up and tucked under her arm. She was a very proud young goose to have landed such a promising position in a growing business — I mean seriously! Talk about Mary Tyler Moore dancing in downtown Minneapolis — Mother Goose had found a nesting zone right at the corner of Michigan Avenue and Wacker Drive with an office overlooking the Chicago River and a receptionist with big 80′s hair. Mother Goose flew regularly to NYC, NY and LA, CA to visit her clients.
What an exciting life for a country girl!
Many of the young men in the office admired Mother Goose from afar — some of them even admired her right up close in her face, maybe just a little too up close in her face. Perhaps they had never seen a goose of her stature in the mad advertising world. Perhaps they wanted to look into her sky blue Land-of-1,000-Lakes eyes. Maybe she just smelled really good and they wanted to get a good sniff.
Whatever the reason or the season, Mother Goose was quite popular and never lacked for dates or dinners. So many suitors, so little time…
One day as she strolled briskly along the Avenue, she heard a voice calling out her name.
“Miss Goose! Miss Goose! Wait just a minute for me to catch up with you!”
Mother Goose turned around to see a young man with a bushy mustache running up behind her. She recognized him as one of the most handsome young art directors from the agency. She thought for a moment to remember his name…
“Mark? You are Mark, right? How nice to see you today! Isn’t it a lovely day? Are you on your lunch break?”
Out of good-natured Minnesota habit, Mother Goose smiled at him and noticed he was carrying a red rose. “How unusual,” she mused to herself. “Here we are out walking on our lunch hours, and this fine young man is carrying a lovely rose in his hand. I wonder who the lucky lady might be…”
Shy young Mark looked down at the sidewalk and said, “Miss Goose, I wonder if you’d like to join me for a lunch today. I’m heading over to Su Casa for some authentic Mexican cuisine, perhaps a small margarita. Will you come along? Please, Miss Goose?”
How could she resist his boyish charm? But still she wondered about the rose in his hand. Perhaps someone had given it to him? Maybe he had just found it on the street and didn’t want to see it run over by a speeding car. Surely it was for his mother…
And then the mustachioed Mark dropped down on one knee right there on the boulevard and handed the beautiful red rose to Mother Goose and said with much passion and emotion, “Miss Goose, may I just say that I have admired you from afar. But starting today, I would like to call you my very own goose. I shall be your gander, and we shall travel to all four corners of the world together. Please take this rose as a sign of my undying affection for you. And I shall remain forever yours. And by the way, Happy Valentine’s Day to you, Miss Goose.”
Well, what could I say? Of course, I said “yes” to lunch. And I said “yes” to many of his other questions and invitations after that one.
Some of the details of this story have been modified due to the notoriously bad memory of the goose…
07 Feb 2013 1 Comment
Many of my most faithful readers have asked, “Where are you, Mother Goose? We miss your daily stories about people you know and places you go.”
And I do apologize for my seemingly absent stories, but I must tell you about the most exciting experience I’ve had in a long time! I met yesterday with a young man AND an older gentleman. Now before you get your undies in a bunch, please hear me out…
This was an interview I was conducting of a young U.S. Marine veteran who is now an accomplished and exhibited artist in the Chicagoland area. I am currently telling his story for all to hear over at that other Mother Goose blog, Mother Goose Salutes.
Of course, I am not one who likes to toot her own horn, per se. Or honk her own praises…
But this is such a great story about such an amazing man that I just have to invite you over there to read it. Here’s just a snippet from the story:
“I’m actually thankful for getting blown up in Iraq four times. I’m actually happier now being an artist rather than getting the business management degree I always thought I’d get.”
(Maybe you need to stop and read that quote again…)
Please consider this an open invitation to follow The Ballad of Richard Casper, a real life American hero with a vision to help other disabled veterans — perhaps to even save the lives of some of our returning troops who suffer from Traumatic Brain Injuries and Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.
Love, Mother Goose
05 Feb 2013 4 Comments
Once upon a time, a sweet baby girl was born. She arrived on a cold cold day in 1935 in central Minnesota to the great joy of her parents. Her mother being a literary type named her Ferne, and she grew into her name and the literary prophecy.
Happy birthday to my dear Auntie Ferne.
Ferne is my mother’s big sister. My mother could remember every single event and incident of their childhood…Auntie Ferne has little memory of her childhood because like Mother Goose she kept her nose in her books. When Mom would begin a story of growing up in a railroad town during World War II, Auntie would get a puzzled look on her face. “That really happened?” she would ask.
My mother got so tired of hearing of Ferne’s exquisite behavior, her excellent grades in school and her humble charm. She decided at an early age that she would do everything the opposite of her sister. Like a fish swimming victoriously upstream, Mom achieved her goals and stood out in school as class clown — voted by her graduating class as “Most Likely To Have a Fun Time”.
Because she’s so smart, Auntie graduated early from high school and was immediately drafted into the Minnesota educational system as a full-time teacher. She served for years and years, finally retiring with honors and medals of valor.
Auntie never gets angry or upset. When my mother raged at a personal affront, the whole world heard and cowered. When my auntie is frustrated with a situation, she is likely to fiercely press her thumb down hard on the tabletop. Mom would pound the table with a clenched fist or punish the table with a loud open-palmed slap. Auntie is reserved, quiet and gentle — Mom was always loud and exuberant with the great wide-reaching emotions of her life.
Ferne married at a very young age — a handsome and tall man named Charlie. They moved to Virginia where he served his country as a peace-time soldier and then back to Minneapolis where they raised their family. When his company closed their doors in Minneapolis, the family said “goodbye” to Minnesota and left for the great plains of Oklahoma.
When she retired from teaching, Auntie stayed busy with sewing and quilting projects. Mother Goose is not at all certain why they decided to open a funnel cake business when Uncle Charlie retired. Suddenly Ferne could be found every weekend at the local carnivals and fairs.
When that mysterious phase of their lives ended, they both got their real estate licenses.
From the perspective of Mother Goose, Auntie Ferne has always been the picture of a serving and loving wife and mother. But according to my mother, Ferne never fully bloomed because she’s been forever in her husband’s shadow, just a little too submissive to his career whims and whirls.
Mom always wished her sister would show some backbone, not be such a wilting violet, grab life with a little more gusto and talk back to Uncle Charlie once in awhile.
After their own mother and brother passed away within a week of each other eighteen years ago, Ferne came back to northern Minnesota to stay with Mom for awhile. She stayed and stayed. Mom wanted her to stay forever and never go back to Oklahoma and Charlie and the boring real estate business.
Mom saw a beautiful spark of independence in her sister for the first time and knew that if she returned to her old life, the flame would slowly fade to embers and then go out. Uncle Charlie begged Ferne to come home. He sent her gifts of expensive jewelry and promises. He vowed to never bully her again.
She flew home…
My mom loved her sister more than words can say, and missed her dearly. They talked on the phone several times a week for years and years, but I’m not sure they ever saw each other more than twice after that.
When Mom turned seventy, the Lord called her home, and everybody commented how appropriate that she was wearing the beautifully quilted vest that her sister, my Auntie Ferne, had made for her.
Ferne is a great grandmother several times over now. She’s still selling real estate at the age of 78. She sews lovely baptism banners for the babies in her church and prays for all of us.
She laughed this morning when Mother Goose called her up on the phone and sang “Happy Birthday” to her. She told me lots of stories of her recent adventures, including a Thanksgiving trip where Uncle Charlie had fallen asleep behind the wheel of their car in the mountains of Arkansas. They were traveling to visit their daughter in Atlanta, and they crashed into the back of a semi-trailer truck somewhere in Arkansas.
She’s thankful that they didn’t drive off the mountain road and into eternity…
Here’s what Mother Goose thinks:
It has taken a whole lot of gumption and courage and faith and love for Auntie Ferne to stay with Uncle Charlie all of these years. Marriage is a difficult pathway for some of us, and I do truly admire her commitment and resolve. I consider her one of my lifelong heroes and mentors.
Happy Birthday, Auntie Ferne! I love you, and I wish you many, many more years of good health and great love.