I’m getting ready to go to Lisbon regarding auction sale business for the last time; however, I’ll probably be there until Sunday this time and will be very glad when it is over. The next trips out there will be to just relax and visit with the folks. Going through their possessions gives one a handle on the passage of time. For instance, Ma’s wedding dress from 68 years ago was dredged up from the bottom of her beloved cedar chest and the shirt Dad wore at the time revealed itself, too. Pictures are especially interesting: who is this, when would that have been, where was this one taken, etc. The bedroom set they were given as a wedding present will have to be sold. No one has room for it. The “Box” built by Grandpa Sandvig in the 1920’s has to go. No one has room for it. The ornate china closet with side board has to go. No one has room for it.
The written word might be the best way to preserve things, anyway. I will have lots of stories to relay through my blog regarding my parents, but in the interest of time today (remember, I’m heading to Lisbon shortly) I’m going to bring out a story my father-in-law told from his past that was transcribed by my wife Mary. It recalls the time when Adam and his brother went out one morning to milk the cows and do other chores. Quite a little time passed and “still their younger sisters and father hadn’t come out of the two story farmhouse to get the milking started. ‘Na, wo siens ah?’ In German he says, ‘the cows stand here leaking milk; they have already let down their milk. Finish up here, Lazarus, I guess I’ll have to go wake them up-- they must have overslept. I could smell smoke before I even got close to the house.
Putrid smelling smoke from a collapsed chimney enveloped me when I opened the door. ‘Good God in Heaven! Mutta! Mutta!’ Mother was the first one I saw but I couldn’t pick her up off the bedroom floor; she was just too heavy for this 15 year old boy. Getting a grip under her arms I pulled her out of the house, left her on the front stoop and ran back into the house. I returned to find Dad still conscious enough to be able to walk. I grabbed him, blankets and all, and he walked out of the house with my help. ‘Go upstairs and get the girls,’ he whispered hoarsely. The smoke was so thick and noxious I thought I’d collapse, too. I grabbed a diaper and held it over my nose and mouth as I sprinted up the 16 foot staircase of our tall, two story farmhouse. ‘Helen, Katy, Clara, wake up! Wake up!’ They couldn’t be roused and one by one I pulled, tugged, dragged them down the steep, narrow staircase outdoors to safety. ‘Come on, Helen, we’ve got to get out of here!’ I had to pull them down backwards and once I almost fell. Klunk, klunk, klunk, their feet hit every step. [Several sentences here are omitted] Once Felix was outside the house he plopped down beside his family as they lay helpless and disoriented for a time, coughing like crazy until they came to and started throwing up. They were all terribly sick and Mother had a terrible headache that didn’t go away for a long time. I wanted them to go to the doctor but no they said, ‘we’ll be all right now.’”
