Those prairie skies just seem to go on and on and on.......forever....with the odd bale of hay for good measure (and to lessen the monotony).
On our way to Saskatoon this morning we had to stop for construction and I rolled down the windows to capture the essence of what "prairie in the fall" looks like. The colors are muted now. The deep greens have disappeared and the varying shades of brown have taken their place. Even the sky has taken on a different hue.
My thoughts were of Aunt Connie as we drove. Actually I'll post these thoughts of her which I spoke at the funeral yesterday. Here they are:
"I would like to offer a few personal remembrances of my dear Aunt….
I remember being a shy little city girl and being welcomed to spend a “Weekend on the Farm” where Auntie Connie would take me for a walk to the chicken coop and “suggest” I push the chickens over so she could get at the eggs…I finally found out where eggs came from!
I remember visiting the farm with my two brothers Garry and Dale along with my parents on a Sunday afternoon, where Aunt Connie would be stationed like a general on the battlefield of kitchen duty, preparing food for not only the five of us, but anyone else who would just drop in. Sandwiches would be piled high on lovely plates and battlefield coffee was served and consumed for all the Norwegians and a spot of tea for all the English blokes…..all in fine China cups. Supper followed shortly afterwards.
I remember Aunt Connie lovingly caring for her mother, my Grandma Benson, who stayed with Connie and Chris on the farm until Grandma’s death.
I remember how she loved and cared for her husband Chris, who was wheelchair bound with Multiple Sclerosis, by herself, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week for twenty-seven years…..and never complained.
I remember her telling the story of her waking up one night in their home on 6th Street, and finding a thief in their bedroom. I don’t think the thief even looked back!!!!!
I remember after Chris’s passing, how Connie and I and Georgette Lougheed, my little French neighbor lady, would meet together at a restaurant for morning coffee and chat with great enthusiasm and gusto about sex, politics and religion…in that order.
I remember how she and I would laugh hysterically, with tears rolling down our cheeks and my dear husband sitting by and saying that he didn’t find that particular comment even funny. We shared that dry “English” sense of humor, she and I.
I remember last fall, on a warm inviting Sunday afternoon, Ken and I taking her for a ride in the country out by Birch Hills, getting out of the car, walking down the dirt road arm in arm and listening to the peace and stillness that only the country can offer, listening to the ducks and enjoying the swaths of harvest, the browns and greens of the bulrushes and smelling the heaviness of fall.
I remember her call to come to her house and help her. She sounded distressed. She had had a stroke and the days, weeks and months that ensued found her hospitalized…..and not liking it.
I remember the last time we spoke just last Friday. She said she had a dream that she had died, but was quick to say that it wasn’t a fearful thing…we shared a knowing glance as to what was soon to follow.
I will remember Aunt Connie with love and fondness. I will remember her sense of generosity, of self-sacrifice, of care….and through tears….I will remember her laughter, that part of her that is a part of me."
I remember being a shy little city girl and being welcomed to spend a “Weekend on the Farm” where Auntie Connie would take me for a walk to the chicken coop and “suggest” I push the chickens over so she could get at the eggs…I finally found out where eggs came from!
I remember visiting the farm with my two brothers Garry and Dale along with my parents on a Sunday afternoon, where Aunt Connie would be stationed like a general on the battlefield of kitchen duty, preparing food for not only the five of us, but anyone else who would just drop in. Sandwiches would be piled high on lovely plates and battlefield coffee was served and consumed for all the Norwegians and a spot of tea for all the English blokes…..all in fine China cups. Supper followed shortly afterwards.
I remember Aunt Connie lovingly caring for her mother, my Grandma Benson, who stayed with Connie and Chris on the farm until Grandma’s death.
I remember how she loved and cared for her husband Chris, who was wheelchair bound with Multiple Sclerosis, by herself, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week for twenty-seven years…..and never complained.
I remember her telling the story of her waking up one night in their home on 6th Street, and finding a thief in their bedroom. I don’t think the thief even looked back!!!!!
I remember after Chris’s passing, how Connie and I and Georgette Lougheed, my little French neighbor lady, would meet together at a restaurant for morning coffee and chat with great enthusiasm and gusto about sex, politics and religion…in that order.
I remember how she and I would laugh hysterically, with tears rolling down our cheeks and my dear husband sitting by and saying that he didn’t find that particular comment even funny. We shared that dry “English” sense of humor, she and I.
I remember last fall, on a warm inviting Sunday afternoon, Ken and I taking her for a ride in the country out by Birch Hills, getting out of the car, walking down the dirt road arm in arm and listening to the peace and stillness that only the country can offer, listening to the ducks and enjoying the swaths of harvest, the browns and greens of the bulrushes and smelling the heaviness of fall.
I remember her call to come to her house and help her. She sounded distressed. She had had a stroke and the days, weeks and months that ensued found her hospitalized…..and not liking it.
I remember the last time we spoke just last Friday. She said she had a dream that she had died, but was quick to say that it wasn’t a fearful thing…we shared a knowing glance as to what was soon to follow.
I will remember Aunt Connie with love and fondness. I will remember her sense of generosity, of self-sacrifice, of care….and through tears….I will remember her laughter, that part of her that is a part of me."
Yes, she was quite a lady........
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