Today's the day! You can click on http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00BT4P0SI and download a FREE copy of This Path We Share: Reflecting on 60 Years of Marriage for your KindleGary Hall formatted it beautifully for eBook. (Find Gary at http://www.greystrokecreative.com.) I am pleased that This Path has seventeen five-star reviews so far and has won three awards.

I worked for a long time on this book. Years longer than I worked on the other two. Perhaps I was afraid that if I finished the book, the story would end. Finally I realized that if I did not complete it before either Les or I took seriously ill or died, I never would. I finished the book. Unfortunately all stories do end. 

I worked especially hard on the last chapter. I wanted it to be just right. And I toiled intently on the last three words. For days, actually. (Of course I won't tell you what they are right now. Gentle smile).

And as it turns out, they were easier said than done.

I hope you find encouragement, entertainment, and, maybe, even a little inspiration.

And Happy Valentine's Day!

(If you don't have a Kindle, you can download one for your PC.)

Dear ones -

Yesterday was emotionally taxing, as well as physically draining. Not totally surprising.

Les and I got up at 4:15 a.m. (four hours earlier than usual, I’m embarrassed to say, but we are old) and readied ourselves for the trip to the hospital.

The registration and prep time seemed very much like same old, same old of prior excursions.

The surgical waiting room seemed same old, same old, too. I worked a Jumble, a Sudoku, and five crossword puzzles. Almost two and a half hours passed.

Suddenly the puzzles could no longer distract me. When the familiar fear that perhaps Les would not come out of this surgery jammed itself back into my consciousness, I grew faint and almost threw up. The physical reaction was as unexpected as it was powerful. I began pacing the floor.

Several minutes later, the doctor came out and gave us good news – although it was more difficult than he might have expected, the procedure had gone well.

I exhaled.

I spent the night on a hard chair by Les' bedside overnight and listened to the music of his breath. This afternoon we came home – he with a sore chest and I with a very relieved, but bruised heart.

Only time will tell if this newly-minted biventricular pacemaker disrupts his heart failure sufficiently for him to have a decent quality of life. We are cautiously optimistic.

But I grow ever more aware of mortality – especially his. 

Thank you for your prayers, cards, good thoughts, hugs, and other support. 

Much love, Lois

 

 

 

 

 

 

I sit in my office this afternoon, working on the promotion for my FREE eBook of This Path We Share: Reflecting on 60 Years of Marriage. There is lots to do – find places to post, make a list of tweets to tweet, write copy.

But I'm distracted. Les is having his third heart procedure tomorrow morning. We have to leave home at 5:30 (we who seldom get up before 8:00). Earlier this afternoon I made copies of his current medications, Living Will, and Power of Attorney. I reduced them in size by 50% so that they fit in our wallets. I washed up some clothes for him to wear to the hospital. I packed my overnight bag.

Les has steadily become more ill since his last surgery on November 4. We are hoping this one helps him breathe better and lessens the swelling in his feet and ankles and increases his energy. But we are only cautiously optimistic.

You can pray for us or send good thoughts.

And on February 14 or 15, you can download a FREE ebook of our marriage, even if you don't need or want to read it, in honor of my beloved Valentine. (You can also download a Kindle PC for your computer if you don't have a Kindle yet.)

Thanks for everything. Love, Lois

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00BT4P0SI

 

Halloween.

One of my least favorite holidays – pulling together costumes for years on end, kids wild from too much sugar, answering the doorbell to who knows what.

Ugh and boo.

And then there was the year Les and I brought our premature daughter home from the hospital on Halloween, in a blizzard….  

But at least it's the last day of October, the month when so many businesses use our breast cancer to promote their profits. Yvonne Watterson's post explains that much better than I can. And if fears of recurrence spook you, there is good information if you follow the link "may recur at any time" in her post.

[It's also the end of a tough month, health wise, for my dear husband, Les.  We're hoping for better things as the holidays approach - those holidays I do love, Thanksgiving and Christmas.]

But after all the pink, pink, pink, I offer something real to you – real feelings, real disfigurement, real fear, real validation of your many emotions – the eBook version of my award-winning breast cancer book, Fine Black Lines: Reflections on Facing Cancer, Fear and Loneliness. (Read more about the book here Fine Black Lines.

I'm especially happy that my many breast cancer friends around the world will now have access to this inexpensive version, if they are interested. And if you do read it, please let me know what you think and if there are any mistakes.  

Happy November!
 

 

Today it is 65 years since Les and I married. Our church magazine had asked me to write the story of our lives and I'm sharing that with you today. It's longer than I like my blogs to be, but, hey, it's our anniversary! And it is 65 years.  

It was one of those weird butterfly effects. What if Les’ grandparents had not migrated from Norway? What if his oldest brother, Magnar, had not left North Dakota, run out of money in Colorado, met and married a nice Mennonite girl? What if his next brother, Harold, had not visited Magnar, met yet another nice Mennonite girl and married her? And what if Les had not visited Harold and Doris??

Lester Sigvald Hjelmstad came into the world on a farm near Ryder, North Dakota, some ninety-one years ago, the seventh of eleven living children born to John and Mary. The Lutheran Church baptized him when he was six weeks old. He attended a country school across the road from the Hjelmstad homestead until he was fourteen. At Ryder High School he became BMOC (Big Man on Campus), lettered in four years of football, and captained the team. He also lettered in basketball three years and went out for track. He presided over his senior class. After high school, he worked in the Civilian Conservation Corps for eighteen months and then helped his father and neighbors with farm work until he went into the U.S. Navy whereupon—as he always told his children—he single-handedly won WWII.

Meanwhile, when Les was eight years old, Lois Luene Tschetter was born in Webster, South Dakota, the first child of Paul G. Tschetter and Bertha Nikkel Tschetter, both of Mennonite heritage.

Lois lived in Webster, attending the Methodist Church, until she was twelve when she moved with her family to the Black Hills of South Dakota.

In 1944 the family moved to Denver and joined First Mennonite Church in 1945. Lois attended South High School, where she was IGOCWOAT (Invisible-Girl-on-Campus, Wallflower of All Time). She graduated valedictorian of her class of 721, but no one noticed.

Les and Lois met at FMC in November 1946. Six months later Les took her home after a social gathering. And that was that.

They became engaged in four months and married eleven months afterward. Lois was still seventeen. Les joined FMC on February 1, 1948. 

At first Les and Lois lived and worked for $150 a month on a chicken ranch in Lakewood,Colorado. They were offered that ranch for $13,000, but there was no way to come up with the $1300 down payment. Now several businesses and a famous restaurant grace those thirteen acres. Oh, well…

After two years of watching the dang chickens smother themselves just as they were ready to market, Les went to work at Gates Rubber Company in Denver, first as a tire builder and then as a supervisor. He ended up working there for thirty-seven years, twenty-six of those on graveyard shift. Meanwhile, Lois worked at National Hartford Insurance Company for three years until Karen was born.

Bob, Keith, and Russ followed. When the kids were seven, five, three, and one, Les and Lois moved into their current home in Englewood, where they have lived more than fifty-four years. They are not ones to make quick changes.

Their lives have been centered in church, where Les was an elder and served on Council for fourteen years. One summer he took his only two-week vacation and taught Vacation Bible School. Lois taught VBS and was Sunday School superintendent. She also served as church organist for seventeen years. For at least thirty-nine years they attended every service, until they realized the walls wouldn’t crumble if they weren’t there.

Les and Lois credit their faith for cementing their shared values: intending to follow the teachings of Jesus in service and daily life, living simply in a harried world, supporting issues of peace and justice, and giving at least ten percent of their gross income to causes beyond themselves.

 In 1961 Lois began teaching piano to Bob because she and Karen were already taking lessons and the family couldn’t afford to pay for his. Soon neighborhood kids joined in. As her music studio built to sixty plus students a week, Lois participated in a number of college pedagogy courses. This accidental career hummed along, in one fashion or another, for forty years.

The real children grew up and established careers and families. The piano kids kept coming; Lois planned to teach until she was ninety-six. Les retired at sixty-five, returned to college, and studied his main interest – history, especially Civil War history. He earned a degree, shaved his mustache, and got a job. No, wait….

In 1990, a year after being diagnosed with chronic fatigue syndrome, Lois' breast cancer diagnosis jolted her into writing. She and Les formed an independent publishing company and Fine Black Lines: Reflections on Facing Cancer, Fear and Loneliness was first published in 1993.

A niece invited her to speak at Good Samaritan Hospital in Phoenix and that launched another accidental career. Lois has spoken more than 600 times in all fifty United States, England, and Canada. Les has driven 400,000 miles in the process. Lois still gives talks locally.

In 2002, Lois finished The Last Violet: Mourning My Mother, Moving Beyond Regret. A tenth anniversary edition of Fine Black Lines came out in 2003.

For their 50th wedding anniversary, Les gave Lois two diamond anniversary bands. She gave him thirty-six poems and promised to write a book for him. Fair exchange?! It took twelve years, but in 2010, This Path We Share: Reflections on 60 Years of Marriage was released. All three books will soon be eBooks.

Lots of serendipity, lots of butterfly effect, lots of luck.

On September 12, 2013, Les and Lois celebrated their 65th anniversary. And how does one remain married for sixty-five years? Simple: fall head over heels, live long, and stay crazy-in-love.

*****

We are exceedingly thankful for our longevity, these many years together, our beloved children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, extended families, friends, and church family. You have supported us during these years in one way or another and become a strand in the fabric of our lives. We have been undeservedly fortunate beyond our wildest hopes and we take this occasion to give thanks for our multitude of blessings—and for each of you.

 As for the future? We continue our walk toward the Light.  With love, Les and Lois

 

Hi – I've been gone from my blog ever since I posted for Mother's Day. There have been lots of reasons – loads of company, illness, lack of inspiration – all the usual excuses. And I wish I could promise I'll do better, but I'm not sure about that. We can only hope.

My last post was about my mother's death in 1995 on Mother's Day. On August 1, 1998, three years later, my father died, exactly three weeks after Les and I celebrated our fiftieth wedding anniversary with Dad right there with all of us and exactly one week after I had major abdominal surgery. I wrote about his sudden death previously. 

Eight weeks later I was on a book tour in Oregon and on the morning of my sixty-eighth birthday, I walked along the beach, cried, hurried back to the hotel. and wrote:

A Birthday Mourning

A birthday morning—

an ocean shore, far from home
whitecaps blend into the mist above
driftwood lies gray upon the sand
relics of places distant, days of yore

A birthday morning—

my first as an orphan
the woman who bore me
gone three years and more
the man who sired me, ashes encrypted

A birthday mourning—

for the two who gave me life
and where am I
under this threatening sky?

Who am I
and when
shall I die?

(Excerpted from The Last Violet, copyright 2002 Lois Tschetter Hjelmstad)

Are you an adult orphan?

When did your second parent die?