The basic necessities of Christmas - Nativity, Tree, Music, Lights. For me, lights, since my childhood, ignited a sense of trust and security. From falling asleep under their gleam shining through my window, to the years they seemed like an oar somehow righting the ship in uncertainty. But it is the memory of how they became a beacon of hope that makes me continue to light the night. 

“Do you know where the color of the trees come from?”

I laughed as I rolled my eyes, assuming he just asked me a question from my third-grade science class. “Well yea, chlorophyll.”

He replied, “No, I’m talking about what causes the really great colors. It’s stress. Their beauty comes from their fight for survival. The first few years they were trying to establish roots while also competing for nutrients and stretching underground to connect with a tree’s natural water source. But now they get too much of everything. What we do to keep our lawns green and the gardens flowering are making the trees suffer from over abundance.”

Three this week. Two the week before. Friends who have lost their companions. Somehow, we are linked together as a private society of current and former pet owners. It is evidenced by the outpouring of love with relatable compassion, as Facebook friends almost seem to mourn in unison. Yet, words cannot adequately describe this unique type of grief.

One year, Frank and I happened to be solo for Easter Sunday mass. Even though we arrived early enough for seating in the main church, Frank nudged me, guiding his arm the direction of the stairwell to Parish Hall, where planned overage seating was located. I, in turn, pointed to the main church and said, “But Frank, the choir is singing up here. There is still room for us.”

“Janie, we have company today and we always give up our seats for company. We enjoy the choir every Sunday, but many don’t. Let them have their moment. Maybe they’ll come back.” Wow! With one line, Frank changed the way I saw our purpose.

When formal goodbyes and happy retirement posts hit Facebook upon Elizabeth King’s departure this month, I noticed only one that gave a proper description to what this means. “End of an era.” For us, it is. For Elizabeth, it’s merely a continuation of her lifelong commitment of making a difference.

There are dreamers and there are dream makers. Without a doubt, Elizabeth King is one of the makers. Her inborn ability to turn ideas into something tangible served more than just Wichita State University. To me, she will always be a Wichita legend.

The question seemed so strange to be posted from such a devout woman as Alexis Walkenstien at the end of December. “What has God done for you in 2023?” Initially, I thought she was looking to highlight the ‘big wins’ on her feed. Tweaked a bit, I clicked the comment button. I typed in ‘just enough’ then deleted it, for fear of sounding sarcastic. I turned to my computer and started to write.

In 2023, God gave me just enough…

Dates to remember are so important. My husband, Frank, was meticulous with recording them. Our first meeting, our first date, our first kiss. Then there are the dates you never want to happen, yet they become a part of your life. As I watched the calendar grow closer, this year was dreaded more than ever. Time keeps moving, though it feels like a very important part of me ended on December 2, 2020 – the day Frank died.

Often, people ask, “What was the most difficult part of your journey through Alzheimer’s with your husband?” For me, my reply comes easily. “My name.” Puzzled looks usually accompany the answer.

Then I realized, all the unnerving stuff I worry about, has nothing to do with what God called me to do. This is not and never has been about me. God planted the ‘yes’ in my heart. He has made the ‘why’ abundantly clear. In spite of all my fears, it is about just one. If one person is made stronger, if one person is inspired, if one person finds peace and a way forward, this is all worth it.

The buzz begins. The Wichita Open is here. For the first time, players will be competing for a purse of over one million dollars. Volunteers and staff have been working for weeks to insure, once again, those who come to compete or enjoy, experience the reputation of earned admiration as one of the best Korn Ferry Tour tournaments in the country.

It was an era. A time of honor, respect and chivalry. We long for the return of members of the Greatest Generation to help us straighten up the mess we are in. We look for things that will return us to ideals and principles. Family. And fortify Judeo-Christian values. We desire activity that will bring the goodness of others into our lives. Luckily, the generation I speak of also gave us the game of golf.

Wyatt never perceived Frank as the man most of us did. He couldn’t comprehend the legacy of Pizza Hut. Frank was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s the month of Wyatt’s birth. But by the time Frank was in skilled care, Wyatt frequently asked to go with me to the nursing home. They would sit, Frank in his wheelchair and Wyatt in a chair pulled close, holding hands while Wyatt watched TV. The sight always mesmerized me. This was life.

Wyatt only knew him as Papa. The funny man that touched his heart so deeply it will never be forgotten. What had slipped my mind was how we individually deal with grief in our own way.

No is a power word. While ‘yes’ feels good, no is the single source of my best education in life. We learn a lot more from our failures than we do from our successes. No can mean several things – this is not the right path, you must make a change or you haven’t made your point. No is very often - protection. The acceptance of rejection by a ‘no’ is a learned response. It doesn’t come naturally. That is exactly what makes us a higher form of living beings. Animals function only on the ‘instinct of take’ pertaining to what they want and not the discipline of choice.

We call it a masterpiece when a lion’s share of critics ascertain credence in a finished product. Last September, as I wandered through the opening night of Autumn and Art, a lingering crowd surrounded Ernest Vincent Wood’s latest delivery. Finally getting a peek, I too was awestruck, but not surprised his latest piece claimed ‘best of show.’

In the state of Kansas, the wellspring of values are up for a test. No, we didn’t have trigger laws put in place, though we do have an amendment on the ballot during our state primaries next week. Unlike other states, it does not outlaw abortion. It is designed to fortify some of the safeguards and limitations previously put in place such as, parental notification for minors, enforcement of safety practices and clinic requirements, and a ban on late term abortion which were declared as unlawful regulations by our state supreme court in 2019.

Perching in the company of each individual she talked to, she slowly wove her way through the crowd like a dragonfly with an extra set of angels wings. Every conversation seemed to be as important as the other. I know the value she places on each of her multitude of friendships. She’s my daughter.

In the fall of 2014, my aunt asked me if I wanted to see the Nicholas Cage version of the flick, “Left Behind.” Glaring at her I answered with an unequivocal “No, not a good idea.” The last thing in the world I wanted to see was loved ones taken in mass by death and disappearance when I was trying to remain tied to those I love. The world as I knew it, was unraveling at the seams with my mother recently placed on hospice and my husband in the fight for his life with Alzheimer’s.

In my husband Frank’s last hours, instead of telling him to go toward the light, I whispered one last request. “You’ve shown me that heaven isn’t that far away. Will you please give me a sign that you are close to me, too?” Since his death, I’ve walked the yard, stared from the window and sat on the deck…waiting. Just please give me something that tells me it’s Frank.

It all started with the gravy. Nearly forty years ago, I called my Aunt Bev to learn how to make her giblet gravy by way of a phone call. My late mom, although she was a good cook, preferred décor and table settings to kitchen duty. Gradually, the main courses of Thanksgiving became my labor of love. I cannot even tell you how long I have been preparing the same Chardonnay turkey, or the cherry sausage stuffing! No – there is no way I can wrap my head around letting go of these evolved traditions, even if it is for just one year.

I laughed until I almost cried. And then I shared it! Another one of Don Hall’s Facebook posts, titled ‘Nailed It!’, so accurately epitomized the moment most of us were experiencing. He had spent the weekend with his wife Linda attempting what the plausible majority of all America was trying to do – be entertained in lockdown while aiming to ‘flatten the curve’ of Coronavirus. Though the cycle of life was in suspension, in his typical fashion, Don turned our frustration into laughter.