Friday Tidings

Mr. Clinton, was the friendly, greasy hands, jack-of-all trades, bike mechanic, who ran our local sporting equipment store. My parents bought a tricycle from him for my birthday. This wasn’t just a little trike—it was a super large one. Taking it out on the street in front of our home brought hoots of laughter from the neighborhood kids—who’d never seen a trike that big. Humiliated, I quickly escaped back into the garage. I made excuses about why I didn’t want to go riding. When my father finally got the story out of me, and the intense shame I felt, the trike was loaded up in the car. He and I went to see Mr. Clinton. I stood by solemnly as Mr. Clinton helped my dad unload the trike. He wasn’t even mad like I expected. He patted my head. “Take Two,” Mr. Clinton said to my father. “Let’s try again.” He showed us a selection of smaller bicycles. I chose a blue one and Mr. Clinton attached training wheels. Then, kneeling down to my level, Mr. Clinton smiled and told me, “L...

Sometimes people are in our life just for a season, but they can leave their love with us in unforgettable ways. Three people did this for me during the month of January 1983. Snow had fallen at least a half-foot deep, and the neighborhood of beautiful older homes had narrow walkways that been shoveled up to their front doors. In the middle of the block was the home we were visiting. We’d just driven 100 miles from our farm.   My husband parked the car along the curb, grabbed our suitcase, and I let him go up the steps first—I was nervous meeting this couple for the first time—and spending the weekend.  The door opened after a single knock and a friendly woman answered and ushered us in. “Oh, Tom, it’s so good to see you after all this time! And this must be Karen.” Her smile was as authentic as her genuine welcome. Virginia, and her husband, Bill sat across from us in their living room that looked out along the tree-lined street in Spokane. The chitchat pleasan...

I started a huge project a couple months ago—sorting through fifteen file boxes full of old personal letters dating back to the late 1970’s.   I spread the piles by years all across the floor. As I put them into binders,  I relived my past.  In Mom’s cabin loft, I found all the letters I’d written to her. I was amused by how optimistic I was even in the midst of going broke in my early twenties. As I reached 2010, one thing was glaringly obvious—letter writing had become more rare.  But if you get any personal letters—I promise, they are worth saving. They are worth writing too. As we begin a new year, may you look forward to what’s ahead, but also have time to review how far you’ve come.  We’re on a journey, and it’s one that I’m thankful to share with you.  As I close Friday Tidings for the year, I’ll leave you with a prayer I wrote on New Years Eve 1978: Dear Lord,  I sure needed your help this year. I’ll need it again next year. Than...

Mom loved clothes shopping, and she had an incredible wardrobe—sensible business suits, that she mixed and matched to make a variety of ensembles, sturdy outdoor clothes for hiking, some nice dresses, and a few cocktail dresses for fancier occasions.   Back when I was a farmer’s wife, my denim overalls were my daily outfit. I still had lots of my high school clothes, so I felt I had enough.   Then once while Mom was visiting me, she explained I needed one nice dress that would work for special occasions—and she took me to the mall to find it.   She scrutinized the racks looking for a “timeless” dress. I had the feeling we’d be shopping for a while.    But then she held up a lavender dress and gave it to me to try on.   She said that this dress would ride the fashion waves—in her words, it was timeless.   She declared, “This dress is appropriate for dinner parties, weddings, memorials, and with a jacket, would work for a business meeting.” ...

My evening walk to the bus takes me past homes and townhouses that once bore the campaign signs of autumn.  During October, I observed opposing signs placed right on the property line of two homes—almost like a signage debate. But alas, the signs are now long gone, replaced by sparkling holiday lights. Through the front windows I see decorated trees. A “Let it Snow” sign has replaced the campaign slogans. These neighbors voted differently, but now the beauty of their displays looks inviting for a season that offers peace. While I don’t know how they really feel about one another, being a neighbor still invites an opportunity to be friends. I’ll always remember the plates of decorated Christmas cookies my mom would carry to our neighbors. Maybe it was just kindness, but knowing my mom’s strong willed voting record, I think it was probably a delicious peace offering. They were always warmly received, and I was thankful to have next door neighbor friends. Perhaps the acts ...

A s a teen, I expected things to go my way. Why not? I thought if you tried hard enough everything works.   A part-time job would soon give me a new perspective. Miller’s Department Store offered a wide variety of housewares, clothing, shoes, and toys. I routinely cleaned up the changing rooms, and folded piles of pants, shirts, and sweaters.  I tidied up the racks of clothes and made sure customers didn’t wait at the cash register. Living in a small mill town brought its share of economic ups and downs—depending on the price of lumber.  For some, this was a down time. In October, an older woman brought a pile of clothes and toys to the checkout counter.  “I need to put these on layaway, please.”  She seemed weary. I looked at the pile and inwardly sighed.  My manager helped me since this was my first layaway. Every item was rung up and charged, but she only had to make her first payment.  I saw her pull out the single bill in her wallet—$5.00...