Loss
Sometimes, when I look at the younger versions of my parents’ pictures, I find that I can see the promise of the future in their eyes. Their young faces reflect the plans they have in mind for where they are going, and how their lives will play out. Some of those plans will come to fruition, and others will not…or maybe those that didn’t, were later deemed not important. Plans and dreams change as time goes on. I suppose that no one really knows how they want every part of their life to go, but as a young married couple, most people have definite ideas of what direction they expect their lives to go.
I wish I had thought to ask my parents about the plans and dreams that were dropped from sight, if they had any regrets, and if they feel like their life is better or worse due to the changed plans and dreams. I don’t really think my parents would have felt that their lives were worse for not having fulfilled some of the dreams they had as young people, but it’s hard to say for sure. I know that there are some times that I look back on a few things I had planned, and wonder if I would have been happier if I had done those things. Of course, after that moment, I look at the life I have and I think, “No, I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Even the sad things, are the way they should be.
Young couples tend to have lofty goals and big dreams, and then life gets in the way. There isn’t always time to do some of the things you thought you would. I suppose that is often because the dreams of your children come first, and you always think that you will do those other things later on…when the kids are grown up. Of course, then the grandchildren come on the scene. Before you know it, the plans and dreams you had are so far from your mind that you barely think about them anymore. I suppose you could think of them with regret then, but I don’t think most of us do, because there is always the promise of the future. As long as we are alive, we have the option to dream new dreams, or fulfill the old ones. Life is filled with possibilities, even if some of them seem to be out of reach for now. With the promise of the future comes the reality that the possibilities are endless, if we don’t give up, or change our minds.
Over the years, man has tried many ways to harness water. Water is a necessity to life, and without it, all things would die off. Some projects worked out better than others, and some simply needed to be replaced sooner than they were in order to prevent disaster. A good example of that is the earthen dam. An earthen dam is a dam that is built out of rocks and dirt, instead of steel and concrete. Of course, when dams were first built, earthen dams were the only way to go, but after so many failed, a new type of dam had to be designed, in order to save lives. One such failure was the earthen dam built in 1840 on the Little Conemaugh River, fourteen miles upstream from Johnstown, Pennsylvania. Johnstown is sixty miles east of Pittsburgh, in a valley near the Allegheny, Little Conemaugh, and Stony Creek Rivers. The area lies in a floodplain that has had frequent disasters. This time would prove to be one of them. At nine hundred by seventy two feet, this dam was the largest earthen dam in the United States, creating the largest man-made lake at that time…Lake Conemaugh. At a time when here were no railroads in the area for transporting goods, the dam and its extensive canal system was the only way to transport goods to the people, but it became obsolete as the railroads replaced the canal as a means of transporting goods. The canal system was left to become a victim of the elements, and with its neglect, also came the neglect of the dam. In reality, people just didn’t really think anything would happen, and they most likely looked at the dam as just a part of the landscape.
By 1889, Johnstown had grown to a population of 30,000 people, many of whom worked in the steel industry…ironically. On May 30, 1889, it began to rain, and continued steadily all day. No one really gave any thought the potential harm so much rain could bring to the nearly sixty year old earthen dam. The dam had a spillway, and so everything seemed safe, but the spillway became clogged with debris, that could not be dislodged. On May 31, 1889, an engineer at the dam saw the warning signs, but the only way to notify anyone was to ride his horse into the village of South Fork to warn the people…a ride that took an eternity in the face of the impending disaster. Nevertheless, it should have been enough time, but the telegraph lines were down, and no warning ever reached Johnstown. At 3:10pm, the dam collapsed with a roar that could be heard for miles. The water, moving at 40 miles per hour barreled down on the towns in it’s path, wiping out everything that got in its way. At Johnstown, 2,200 people lost their lives that day, including one Thomas Knox and his wife. Thomas, like a large number of the flood victims was never found. While I’m not sure that Thomas Knox is related to my husband, Bob Schulenberg’s family, it is quite likely that he is, as there are a number of Thomas Knox’s in the family…though none that I have found so far that died in the Johnstown Flood.
The people in the path of the raging flood waters, were tossed around, along with all that debris, including thirty three train engines that were pulled into the flood waters. I’m sure that for many, death did not come 
from drowning, but rather from blunt force trauma. Nevertheless, some people did manage to climb atop the debris, only to be burned alive when much of the debris caught fire, when it was caught in a bridge downstreem and burst into flames. There was a report of a baby that survived on the floor of a house that floated 75 miles downstream, but that was something that was not confirmed. It was during the Johnstown flood, that the American Red Cross handled its first major relief effort. Clara Barton arrived five days after the flood to lead the relief. In the end, it took five years to rebuild Johnstown, which went through disastrous floods in 1936 and 1977. I have to wonder if they should just move the town, but with no major floods since 1977, it’s hard to say.
For those who have lost a veteran, in war or in peace, every day is a day to remember them. We loved them and now they are gone. We will forever miss them. Brave soldiers all, went out to right a wrong…to make the sacrifice necessary to make our nation free, and to fight oppression in our world. Some came home after serving their country and somehow managing to stay alive…against all odds, but some did not, and instead paid the ultimate price…their lives. All were brave soldiers, who knew what was being asked of them, knew the possibilities, and yet they went anyway, knowing that when they left home to serve, they might not be returning. They felt a calling to serve, and they bravely answered the call. Without the brave soldiers who have answered that call over 
the years, evil would have completely overtaken our world. There is still much evil out there, but it is our prayers and our soldiers that help to keep it at bay.
I am one of the fortunate ones. My dad and other loved ones came home from their wars. I have never felt the sting of losing a soldier in battle, but I have known those who have, and it breaks my heart for them. Each of them bravely moves forward with their lives, carrying with them the memories of their loved one, lost in battle. Little routines like jewelry with their loved one’s name on it, a decal on their car, or a flag in their yard, remind them of their loved one…somehow keeping them close, even though they are gone. They visit the grave, some to talk to their loved one, others to simply sit and reminisce about the past, but all do the things they do for the same reason…to remember their brave soldier, so tragically lost to the ravages of war.
Whether we have lost someone in battle, or our soldier died after leading a long life, each day that is set aside to remember their service is a special day to us. 
It doesn’t mean that we don’t enjoy the day off or have a barbeque…it just means that we really think about the reasons that we are free to do these things. My own dad loved barbeques, drives to the lake or the mountains, and camping on the long weekends, so why would we not do those things now that he is living in Heaven. Nevertheless, we also take flowers, spinners, wind chimes, and of course, a flag to place on my parents grave, as well as the graves of all our other loved ones. It is a tradition that keeps them in our remembrance, and after all, the most important part of Memorial Day is to remember those we have lost, especially our brave soldiers. So today, we salute all of our soldiers, living and dead. We thank you for your brave service. We will never forget. Happy Memorial Day to all.
This morning, at my office, my granddaughter, Shai Royce was telling our co-worker, Carrie Beauchamp and me about a friend of hers who made her dinner last night, and just how good it was. They had baked chicken, and apparently it was amazing. Then, she said that the same friend was going to make her homemade Macaroni and Cheese. Well, that got the conversation on food going. I mentioned just how good, homemade Macaroni and Cheese was because it used real cheese, and not the powder or fake cheese. From there, it was a free for all. We talked about our favorite foods….like Lobster Mac and Cheese from Outback Steakhouse or Kentucky Fried Chicken, but for me, none could compare to my Mom’s cooking.
My very favorite food was my mom’s fried chicken. Oh my gosh…Mom made the best fried chicken on this planet. It was so good, that you couldn’t help but overeat. I 
suppose that in the arena of dieting that is the reality for most of us these days, this wasn’t such a great subject to get on, but it sure brought back the memories of meals at home, when I was a kid…filled with energy, and no need to watch what I ate. I remember so many of the meals at home. Tuna Casserole, made as only my mom could, was always a big hit. I could eat the whole pan of it, if my sisters hadn’t felt the need to eat too. Of course, Mom’s fried chicken could not be topped…not even by Colonel Sanders at KFC, and I do like KFC. Holiday dinners were so good, and we ate so much that all we could do afterward was to lay on the couch to let it settle. Sunday breakfasts were always a special treat. The whole house smelled of bacon and eggs, and our stomachs growled waiting for that moment when we could all 
sit down to eat. I miss those times. Those were the days when all was well with our world, and we, as kids, still innocently thought it always would be.
Those were the true days of Comfort Food. Days when we could eat anything we wanted, and Mom’s cooking was by far the best. In fact, nobody else’s cooking could compare. Whenever we hear of the word, Comfort Food these days, we immediately think of some frozen dinner that is being advertised, but real Comfort Food…well, that came from our mothers’ kitchens, because there is more to Comfort Food than just the food. There is great comfort in knowing that our parents love us and want to provide for us in the best possible way. The meals they provide are their way of showing just how big their love for us is. Without the love that our mothers, or anyone else who loved us that much, put into each and every meal, there would be no comfort to it. It would just be food.
As I was watching “Everybody Loves Raymond” on television the other day, Marie, Ray’s mom planted a kiss on each of her sons’ foreheads…in bright red lipstick. That took me back to the many times my sisters and I got a kiss from our mom in bright red lipstick, and walked away trying to get the lipstick off of our face. We would immediately go to one of our family members and ask if we had removed all the lipstick. Of course, Mom, who always knew that we would have her lipstick on our face, simply grinned about it, as we tried to wipe away the cherry red lipstick. Still, how could you really get angry at her for it. It was a show of her love for us.
Mom always did wear cherry red lipstick, even when the style was light pinks, and of course, her girls wouldn’t be caught dead in that color…even if it was in style. Nevertheless, the color did suit 
Mom’s face and her coloring, so I suppose for her it was the right color. We did try several times to talk her into a lighter color, but even if we gave it to her, she went back to her signature cherry red before very long. I don’t think it was because she wanted to kiss it onto our cheeks, but rather that Dad liked that color, or maybe she just thought Dad liked it. They did come from a different era than we did, and I happen to know that my husband would rather I didn’t wear any lipstick at all. He’s not real fond of Chapstick either. I guess women wear lipstick for their own feeling toward their looks…as with any makeup really. Still, I can’t speak for Dad. Maybe he did like it.
As I looked at the bright red lipstick mark on both Raymond and Robert’s faces, I just had to laugh, because I could must see all the little boys in our family making faces and wiping of the offending lipstick, before anyone could see it, and since many of her kisses to then were planted in church or at some family gathering, the chance of anyone seeing such a humiliating kiss on the 
cheek, were very high. Most boys go through those stages anyway, where a kiss from their mom, aunt, or grandma is just a horrifying experience, so to have it happen in front of people…oh my gosh…it’s just horrible!!! Still, even my husband and brothers-in-law, were not immune…Mom was an equal opportunity kisser. Looking back on those events now that Mom is in Heaven, however…well, it has a tendency to make me just miss her all that much more. What I wouldn’t give for just one more kiss from my mom, and I know that everyone in my family feels exactly the same way. I have to think that I would leave that cherry red lipstick right there on my cheek…or at the very least, take a picture of it, so I could look back on it once in a while, and remember what a loving mom I was blessed with.
I went to a funeral a couple of days ago, and as I took my seat, a woman behind me tapped me on the shoulder and asked me, “Are you Collene?” I was taken totally by surprise…for two reasons really. The first was that if this woman knew my mom, Collene Byer Spencer, wouldn’t she know that I was not old enough to be her, and secondly, I was surprised because I have never thought that I looked like my mom, but rather my dad, or more exactly, my dad’s sister, Ruth Spencer Wolfe. My first reaction was to get clarification. I turned to her in surprise and said, “Excuse me?” Again, she asked me if I was Collene. I said, “No, I am her daughter.” I was still trying to clarify, and so I asked if she meant Collene Spencer. She said yes, that was indeed who she meant. It was one of those “ton of bricks” moments, and I certainly felt like I had been hit with each brick in that ton. I did not recognize the woman, and since Mom has been in Heaven for over a year now, I knew that this woman couldn’t have seen Mom in a very long time either…and yet Mom was not forgotten.
We spoke for a few minutes, during which time she told me that she was Joyce Heid, the daughter of a long 
time friend of the family. We talked about our parents…all of them in Heaven now. She knew that my dad had passed away, but not about my mom’s passing, which she was surprised to hear about. We talked about how the families were doing, and about the closeness of our parents, and then the funeral was about to start so we couldn’t visit any longer. My mind kept drifting back to our conversation, and wondering what she saw in my face that reminded her of my mom. It isn’t the first time that someone has connected me to my family due to the strong family resemblance, but apparently it is something that I will never get used to. It’s just so strange to me, because what they see in me is not something I can see. I have been told that I look like my aunt, my dad, my daughter, my granddaughter, my sister, just recently another sister…and now, my mom. Looking like my daughter, Amy Royce and my granddaughter, Shai Royce weren’t as surprising as some of the others, but I think my mom was the most surprising. I simply don’t see it.
The incident has been on my mind since it first happened…as has my mom. I keep looking back in my memory 
files to pull up pictures and moments in life when I might have looked my mom, but try as I might, I just don’t see it. Life takes many twists and turns, and yet somehow it seems that it always tends to come back to where it began. Our parents may be in Heaven now, but their echo still remains in the hearts of their loved ones, in pictures, in their house, in moments and holidays, and even in the memories of their friends. While every “ton of bricks” moment is hard at the time, it leaves behind a sweet memory of the loved one that our hears miss so much. Mom, whether I look like you are not, and I must in some way, it was such a sweet moment to have someone from your past keeping you in their memory files too. You are always remembered. I love you and miss you more than words can ever say.
It is so hard for me to believe that as of today, it has been three years since Walter Schulenberg, my father-in-law, left us to go to Heaven. For 38 years he had been such an integral part of my life. From the first time I met him, he made me feel welcome. It was as if I had been a part of this family all my life. My father-in-law had such a gentle, kind way about him. I really don’t think that there was a single person that ever considered him anything but a friend. He just wasn’t the kind of man to create enemies…just more and more friends. His laugh alone was a friend making machine.
My father-in-law worked assorted jobs over the years, but his last job before retiring 
was with Casper College, where he was officially in maintanence, but in reality he was a jack of all trades. I have to think that one of the jobs he did at the College, if you could call it a job, was to drive the bus for the T-Birds. He went on a number of trips with them, and saw some great places. He got to see the ocean again. It was not the first time by any means, but he did love the ocean, and really enjoyed walking in the sand with his bare feet, something you seldom saw anywhere else. He almost always had shoes on.
He was the kind of man who would go out of his way to help others, and did his best not to ask for anythng in 
return. Nevertheless, in his last few years, he and my mother-in-law, Joann Schulenberg needed help. He had Emphesyma and she had Alzheimer’s disease. The family stepped in to help, and I had the ability to be the main caregiver. I say ability, but in reality, it was a blessing to me. We became so close over those last years, and it is a time that, even though it was the ending days of his life, I still cherish. I wish those hadn’t been the last years of his life, but I am thankful for the close relationship my being over at their house so much created. He said I was a blessing to him, but I think it was the other way around. Dad, I can’t believe you have been gone for three years already. We love and miss you very much.
As a young man of just under 20 years, my dad made his first trip overseas. It was the height of World War II, and Dad was the Top Turret Gunner and Flight Engineer on a B-17G Bomber in the 8th Air Force 385th Bomber Group. His bomber group had flown to Great Ashfield, Suffolk, England early that April. While they were at war, and that was a scary thing for any sane person, there was also a part on my almost 20 year old future dad that felt a bit of excitement. He was in a new country…an old country by the world’s standards, with things and places we just didn’t have in the relatively young United States. There were castles and old churches to see. In the United State, we had churches built of logs and wood, and modest homes often built the same way, but in England, there were buildings that had an artistic side to them. There were so many sights that he would not be able to see at home, and might never see again. No wonder her was excited.
Dad knew of the dangers he and his fellow crewmen were facing in England and over Europe, but the excitement of being in a completely different country, so far away from home was something that was hard not to like. He found the people interesting, the structures elegant and beautiful, and the climate different from what he was used to. Of course, he missed his family, and wanted to make sure his mother didn’t worry too much, so that might have also been the reason that he always tried keep his letters light. For me, having the advantage of knowing that he made it through the war and came home safely, it is easy to look beyond my dad’s careful words, to the excitement that lies behind them. Dad always loved to travel, and while this was clearly different, it was still travel, and by airplane, no less. What young man of 19 years wouldn’t be excited about all the new things he was able to do and see.
My dad has been in Heaven for almost ten years now, and I miss him terribly. His kindhearted ways endeared him to everyone from family to friends. Dad was always the thoughtful one…always a gentle man…and a gentleman. He wasn’t harsh, and he was always a gentleman when it came to treating women in the way they should be treated. Dad was quite possibly the last of the Southern Gentlemen…even if he wasn’t from the South. Looking back now on the ten years that he has been gone, I know that I miss him just as much today, as the day he left us…and I always will. Happy birthday in Heaven Dad. I know you and Mom are having a fine time. Just know that you are always in our thoughts. We love and miss you so much.
As I walked in to my bedroom today, my gaze landed on a bottle of perfume that sits on a shelf there. The bottle then took me back to my childhood years, because it always reminds me of the loving things my dad did for my mom. Evening In Paris Perfume by Bourjois, was a beautiful floral fragrance created by Ernest Beaux in 1928. It was reformulated by perfumers Jaques Polge and Francois Demachier, nearly fifty years later. The top notes are bergamot, apricot and peach, green notes and violet. The floral heart is composed of rose damascena, jasmine, heliotrope, ylang-ylang, lily of the valley, and orris. The base includes amber, musk, sandalwood, and vanilla. I have no idea how they managed to put all those ingredients together to come up with such a beautiful perfume, but they did. My mother, Collene Byer Spencer loved it, and my dad, Allen Spencer loved how it smelled on her. Dad would buy Evening in Paris for her on occasions like birthday, Christmas, and anniversaries. It was considered one of the most precious gifts he could give her.
After Mom’s passing on February 22, 2015, as my sisters and I were going through her things, we came across several bottles of the perfume, some were empty, others has a little bit in them, but we each were able to have one of those bottles. It didn’t matter if we wore that perfume or not, we knew that just having the bottle would remind us of our parents, and of the deep love they had for each other. That perfume had such sentimental value, and in fact, I don’t believe that any of us ever took any without permission. Some things are too precious to touch, and even kids understand that. They create a respect of their own, and are given a place of honor in the home and in your heart. That was the case with Evening in Paris perfume. Little girls love to get into their mother’s makeup and perfume, but I really think we understood that Evening in Paris was off limits…and not because we were afraid of the trouble we would get in. It’s like you are in awe of it or something.
To this day, seeing that bottle of precious Evening in Paris perfume, makes me smile, because of the way my parents looked at each other when the package was opened. Mom always looked at Dad, just a little teary eyed, but with a great big smile on her face, and Dad looked like a little boy who had just brought his girlfriend her first rose. There was such a sense of pride that she loved the gift. He just felt good about it. He knew it was a special thing for her, and he hoped it was a surprise. She always acted like it was, whether she suspected it was coming or not. That was just their way. Theirs was a love without end, and they loved blessing each other with the best things they could give them, with the leader always being their love.
These days, most tsunami waves come with prior warning…at least since the 1946 wave that hit Alaska and Hawaii. Nevertheless, there are disastrous waves that are largely unpredictable, and those can be as deadly as the ones that the Pacific Tsunami Warning System warns people about. One in particular I had never heard of, until my sister Cheryl Masterson heard about it and mentioned it a few days ago. It happened in Boston, Massachusetts on January 15, 1919, and while it was of a very different variety than most tsunamis, it was deadly nevertheless. This tsunami was so strange, in fact, that most people wouldn’t even believe that this is a true story, but it did happen.
Around 12:40pm on January 15, 1919, a storage tank holding 2.3 million gallons of molasses exploded at the Purity Distilling Co. in the North End of Boston, sending waves of molasses rushing through the streets at almost 35 miles per hour. I’m sure that many people wouldn’t even think of this event as being at all dangerous, I mean after all, it’s just molasses. Nevertheless, a 25 foot high wave of molasses coming at you going 35 miles per hour is as deadly as being hit be a car. There was no warning, and in reality, there couldn’t 
be. The molasses was being stored in the tank awaiting transfer to another plant and, due to its quickly rising temperature, it set off a tragic and previously unheard of chain of events. According to witnesses, the ground shook as if a tornado or freight train were coming down the street.
According to The Boston Globe, citizens “were picked up by a rush of air and hurled many feet.” A truck itself was picked up by the gushing wave and thrown into Boston Harbor. The force of the wave was so destructive, it almost tipped a railroad car off of Boston’s elevated railway tracks.” And The Boston Post described the gruesome scene, “Molasses, waist deep, covered the street and swirled and bubbled about the wreckage. Here and there struggled a form — whether it was animal or human being was impossible to tell. Horses died like so many flies on sticky fly-paper. The more they struggled, the deeper in the mess they were ensnared. Human beings — men and women — suffered likewise.”
The final death toll was set at 21, while 150 people were injured. The dead were either crushed by debris filled molasses, or drowned by the molasses itself. People and animals were seen struggling, some for which nothing could be done. The clean up was massive. Fire trucks were brought in to hose down the streets, and welders to 
cut the tank up. The harbor was brown until summer. The molasses seeped into every crack, and it is said that on hot summer days, you could smell it for decades. I’m not sure how that could be, but maybe their minds played tricks in them too. In the end, the public outcry made a lawsuit necessary. The townspeople brought a class-action suit against the United States Industrial Alcohol Company, which had recently bought the Purity Distilling Company. Three years of hearings later, the USIAC was found guilty and forced to pay $600,000, which would equate to almost $10 million today, in settlements for negligence. The wave was as deadly as any tsunami could have been, but in reality, no warning could have prevented this tragedy.
