My Family Historian Wife

 THIS LADY !!! Over two years of slogging through and collecting and organizing bits and pieces of family history has resulted in this 470 page book honoring the memories of the Anderson and Vangsness families, ancestors on my side of the family. It’s a beautiful book listing family trees, photographs, and narratives where interested people can find a wealth of details about those who have passed before. AND she’s already making tentative plans for her next project.

Janet

 Janet Lewis

Janet Lewis, 80, of Sheldon, ND passed away December 18, 2022 at Maryhill, Enderlin, ND.

Janet Diane, an only child, lived her entire life in Sheldon, ND. She was a lifetime member of the United Methodist Church in Sheldon until it closed.

She married Ken Lewis July 8, 1960, in Sheldon. They had three children.

Growing up, Janet worked at her family’s feed store, Newton’s in Sheldon. Later she ran a daycare from her home for many years. She then worked as a custodian at the Sheldon School until retiring in 2003.

Janet had a unique sense of humor and loved to talk and tell stories but was also a good listener. She loved reading, doing puzzles and was great at trivia.

Ken and Janet enjoyed taking their family to Fish Lake in Minnesota for many summers; stopping only after Ken’s health failed.

Janet is survived by her daughter Terry Hartl, Lisbon, ND; son K.C. (Kathy) Lewis, Sheldon, ND; five grandchildren Bran- don Hartl, Dillon Hartl, Sara (Eric) Vangsness, Lori (Ryan) Huber and Carmen Bartholomay; and six great-grandchildren.

Janet was preceded in death by her husband Ken and daugh- ter, Laurie Lewis.

Burial and Celebration of Life will be held in the spring. Memories may be shared and viewed on the Dahlstrom Funeral Home Website www.dahlstromfuneralhome.com.

Truman in The Fifties

   In David Halberstam’s THE FIFTIES he writes of how Harry Truman came to the presidency unprepared in foreign affairs. For some reason FDR never bothered to give him orientation regarding the world situation, especially regarding Stalin and his actions. A well read and alert Truman saw parallels to Hitler ten years earlier. He wrote in a letter to his daughter, “We are faced with exactly the same situation with which Britain and France were faced in 1938-39 with Hitler. Things look black. A decision will have to be made. I am going to make it.”

     This was from Truman who famously kept the small plaque on his desk proclaiming, “The Buck Stops Here.” The way he assumed his responsibilities as president always fascinate me.

A String of Limericks

 

The darn snow keeps falling down

Mounds of it piled all over town

It’s only December

But we’ll remember

At the least we didn’t drown.

…   …   …

For sure the grass has stopped growing

Some snowbirds have ways of knowing

They should get out of here

When the coast is still clear

To head south where the whiskey’s flowing.

…   …   …

Most of us remain behind

And find something to distract our mind

We’ll just find a warm coat

Or fondle buttons on our remote

And admire those snowbanks so streamlined.

Gail Evans

 Saturday, December 17, was a cold, blustery day. We attended the funeral of a Sheldon "girl" who I went to school with, she being one grade behind. RIP. Gail.

A Man Had to Make HIs Choice

 - A Man Had to Make His Choice -

By Lynn Bueling

A man had to make his choice:

roll your own or tailor-made.

There was certain craftsmanship

in a man’s ability

to take a Zig-Zag paper,

furrow it just right, shake flakes

of Bull Durham from the bag

(which featured the well-known tag

that fluttered from a pocket)

curl one edge of the paper

under and roll the other

over; then with a quick lick

seal that tube for good measure.

To take the craft another

step, he’d reach into his pants

to extract a kitchen match,

and with a flint-thick thumb nail

scratch it to a plume of fire.

Then with double-cupped hands

he’d ignite his creation

— even in mean gusts of wind —

for a few puffs of pleasure.

Of course it wasn’t always men. One lady character I’ve found who went by the name Mustache Maude displayed her Bull Durham tag from her shirt pocket. She’s a strong character, and I plan to do more writing about her.

Sometimes too Much

 “Kicked Out of the Bar” By Lynn Bueling

I’m not one of the Greensboro Four

who sat at the Woolworth lunch counter

and caused the big civil rights ruckus.

I was just a five-year old kid who

sat on a high stool beside his dad

while he ordered a beer and Harry

Salzwedel said Arnold, he can’t be

in here anymore. I suppose Chet

Noice, the sheriff, warned him the state passed

a law saying minors can’t enter bars

where booze is sold and he full well meant

to enforce it. This happened a good

long while ago, and there I was, kicked

out of a bar. It was the first time,

the only time, if memory serves

me right. I couldn’t see over the top

of that bar anyway, but those years

after the war that place teemed with life;

veterans who hadn’t lost theirs came here.

Fly strips hung from the ceiling, fans turned

slowly, pool balls rolled and clicked, and church

keys opened the large doors to liquid

sanctuaries of hallelujah

or quiet cloisters of dark solitude.

On Saturday summer nights we played

on the street outside that bar and heard

the din coming through its open door.

A magnet, it tugged hard at my core

and I spent a youth’s lifetime yearning

to come of age so I could enter

and share the wonders in that sanctum.