As usual, I was sitting at my computer, working on my next book. Floey walked over to me, sat down right beside me, and looked up. She waited for me to finish the sentence I was typing. “What’s up, Floey?” I asked.
“I’m worried, Mom.”
“Are you worried about the Corona Virus, Floey? I don’t think dogs can get it, and Mim and I are being really careful to stay away from people so we don’t get it.”
“No. That’s not it, Mom. Well, maybe I’m a little worried about that. But so many good things are happening because of the virus. Mim’s cooking almost non-stop in the kitchen. We had a chicken dinner. Then she cooked up chicken soup from the carcass. We had a roast beef dinner, and then pulled beef sandwiches. A pork roast dinner, followed by pulled pork sandwiches. Chili. Barbecue. I can hardly keep up with doing the pre-wash of all the pots and pans she’s using! And then we go for long walks every day, all three of us together. I couldn’t be happier, except I’m worried about something else.” A tear rolled out of her eye.
I wiped the tear from her cheek and put my hand under her chin. “What’s worrying you, Floey?”
“Remember, a few weeks ago you were doing your annual catch up of accounting for the year to get your business files ready to take to the accountant to do your taxes?”
“Yeah. I remember. I hate that time of the year. But that’s all done now. We dropped off the files with the accountant a couple weeks ago. Why are you worried about that?”
“I overheard you say something to Mim while you were working on the accounting. I think you said, ‘I’m afraid we may have to pay taxes this year instead of getting a refund.’ And Mim said, ‘Oh, no! I hate paying taxes to the government! I really disapprove of how they are spending the money! I don’t want to pay for wars I don’t agree with! Maybe we just shouldn’t pay the taxes!’ And then you said something about going to jail. Is Mim gonna go to jail??? That’s what I’m worried about!” Another tear fell from her eye.
“Oh, Floey.” I got up from my desk chair and sat on the floor beside her. I gave her a big hug. “No, Floey. Mim is not going to jail. We’ll pay our taxes whether we agree with how the government spends the money, or not. Mim was just frustrated. Did you overhear the rest of that conversation between Mim and me, Floey?”
“No, Mom. I was so scared when I heard the word JAIL that I went into the closet to hide.”
“Well, let me tell you the story I told Mim. Do you remember a couple years ago I used to go to the Dane County Jail a couple times a month to play the piano for the women’s worship service?”
“Yeah. I remember. You used to tell us about the conversations that happened at each service. I remember you said that God was always there. Right?”
“Yeah. I did say that. On average, we had about ten women in each service. For security reasons, the jail limited the number of women who could be in the chapel at once, because no guards were present inside the chapel. The guards escorted the inmates from their cells to the chapel, and then they locked the chapel door and left us all together inside.
“Before the women arrived, Chaplain Julia and I arranged the chairs into a circle. The inmates, the chaplain, and I all sat together in the circle (except for when I left the circle to go to the piano). The chaplain started the service by introducing the theme for that particular service, and then we sang a hymn. Much to my surprise, the women always sang enthusiastically. Then we usually went around the circle, each person reading a verse or two of the selected scripture. After the reading, we went around the circle a second time, each person saying what that scripture meant to them, or whatever else was on their minds, such as an upcoming court appearance, concern for their children, what might come next after their jail time, and so on. That time was followed by a time of silent prayer when the women could write down their specific prayer requests to give to the chaplain. During this time I played soft background music on the piano, whatever hymns came to mind, based on the conversations we’d just had. Then we went around the circle again, each of us praying specifically for the person who was sitting on our right. The service ended with us singing another hymn, and a final blessing.”
Floey smiled at me. I still had my arm around her as we sat together on the floor. “Those were good times of sharing, weren’t they, Mom.”
“Yes, they were. I played for the women’s worship service for about five years. During that time I got to know some of the women fairly well. Although county jail is intended for short-term incarceration, less than a year (prison is for longer terms), some women stay in jail for longer than a year as their cases wind their way through the legal system. I remember one woman in particular, Gloria (not her real name). She was in jail for about a year, and then she went on to serve her sentence of several years in prison. Her crime was not paying her taxes.”
“Really, Mom? Several years in prison for not paying her taxes?”
“Yup. She was a nice, fairly quiet woman, probably in her 30s. Both she and her husband were in jail, although they couldn’t see each other. And they had a special needs child, that we often prayed for in our worship service. Gloria didn’t want her little girl to be placed in the state foster care system. She was afraid that her daughter’s special needs would not be adequately met if she was bounced from foster home to foster home throughout the duration of Gloria’s incarceration. Fortunately, a long-term friend of Gloria’s, who lived out of state, finally was approved to care for her.”
“Wow, that must have been a real relief for Gloria.” Floey was listening intently to every word I was saying.
“Yes. The fact that a friend would be taking good care of her daughter really put her mind at ease. Shortly after that happened, the time came for her to leave jail and move on to serve her time in federal prison. I remember well what she said at her last women’s worship service. She had quite a testimony.”
“What did she say, Mom?”
“She said…
I’ve changed a lot over this past year in jail with all of you. When I first came here, I thought I was better than every one of you. My “crime” wasn’t like yours. I didn’t steal anything. I didn’t hurt anybody. I didn’t do drugs. My “crime” was white collar, and it was a statement of conscience. I was simply standing up for my beliefs. I didn’t pay taxes because I didn’t think I should pay taxes to fund things I didn’t believe in, like an unwarranted war. I was a good, church-going, responsible member of my community.
But over this year, getting to know all of you, and others who are no longer in jail, I’ve learned that we’re all alike. Our specific circumstances in life may be different, but we’re all doing the best we can with what life has given us.
I’m glad for this year in jail I’ve had with all of you. Thank you for helping me learn that we’re all in this life together.
Floey put her paw on my hand. “That’s quite a testimony, Mom. I wonder how Gloria is doing in prison now. And how her daughter is doing.”
“I don’t think we’ll ever know, Floey. Obviously, I’ve lost touch with her. But she sure has given me a lot to think about. That’s why I told Mim this story a couple weeks ago when she said she didn’t want to pay taxes because she doesn’t approve of how the government is spending her tax money. Gloria felt the same way, and is spending years behind bars, isolated from her family and friends, because of acting on her beliefs.”
“Speaking of isolation, Mom, I guess we need to respect what the government is telling us to do now, even if we don’t completely agree with it.”
“I think you’re right, Floey. I’d rather spend some time alone, thinking about how I should be living my life, than going to jail to think about it there, like Gloria did.”
“You know, Mom, it’s good that God can help us gain insights wherever we are. Let’s go for a walk. I’m hearing lots of birds chirping this morning. Let’s go listen to them down by the marsh. Maybe that’s where God has something to tell us today.”
Almost every day for at least the last ten years, I’ve started my morning in the comfortable sitting area of my downstairs office. I light the seasonal arrangement of candles on the coffee table, and settle into my Lazy Boy recliner. I spend from ten minutes to an hour quietly beginning the day.
“You’re right. Mim spent the first six years of her life in the Dakotas. Her dad was a Lutheran pastor and served four small country churches on the far northwestern edge of South Dakota. On Christmas and Easter he went to all four churches to lead worship services, a circuit of over a hundred miles on dirt roads. On normal Sundays, he alternated churches, leading worship at two churches each Sunday. Mim’s family has maintained close friendships with some of these church families over the decades since they left in 1953. Several months ago Mim received an invitation to the wedding of the grandson of one of their closest friends, the Howe family. We decided to plan our first vacation “in retirement” around this wedding. The wedding venue was to be the Howe Hereford Ranch, which spans the North and South Dakota border on the western edge of the two states. We took two days to drive the 950 miles out there, and stayed at the Tip Top Motel in Hettinger, ND, the town closest to the ranch, about 30 miles away by mostly gravel roads.”
“On Saturday morning we drove from the Tip Top Motel to the ranch to be sure we remembered how to find it. We got there about 11:30 and found the ranch buzzing with activity. Dozens of family and friends were hard at work getting everything ready for the 5:00 wedding – putting centerpieces on the tables in the barn for the reception, setting planks on top of bales of hay in the closest pasture for seating a couple hundred guests for the wedding ceremony, preparing salads in the ranch house kitchen, ironing the groomsmen’s vests in the living room, etc. We found Avis, the groom’s aunt in the kitchen, and we asked her for directions to Golden Valley Church – the country church where Mim had been baptized almost 72 years ago. We had packed a picnic lunch for ourselves before we left the motel in Hettinger. Our plan was to try to find the Golden Valley Church and have a picnic there. We had most of the day for exploring, with the wedding not being until 5:00.
“Avis gave us directions and warned us to be careful. They had received a lot of rain earlier in the week. She thought we could get through, but she wasn’t sure. We drove several miles over gravel roads when we saw the little white church on top of a hill. We turned off onto the dirt road. About a mile up that road we saw some muddy ruts ahead of us, but it looked like another car had driven around the dip in the road and continued up the road. We decided to try the same thing. Bad decision! We were promptly stuck in the mud, and we couldn’t drive out. We were good and stuck!”
“She stayed behind the wheel. She was wearing sandals and was afraid she’d get stuck in the muddy ruts just outside her car door. Then Brandon got a rope and a hook from his truck and hooked the back of our car to the front of his truck. Mim put the car in reverse and Brandon pulled the Prius backwards out of the mud. When on the hard and dry dirt road, Mim stepped out of the car, and the four of us stood and talked for about 15 minutes. Then Brandon directed Mim how to turn the car around safely on the dirt road (between a corn field and a hay field), and stayed till we were headed in the right direction to get back to the ranch. Then Barb and Brandon left. They also had to get home to get ready for the wedding.”
“Yes, they were. We ended up sitting with Barb and Avis at the reception, and really enjoyed getting to know Barb better. But that’s getting ahead in the story. Mim still wanted to see Golden Valley Church, so we walked almost a mile up the hill to the church. It wasn’t locked, so we could go inside to fully explore the sanctuary, the basement kitchen, and the cemetery out back. Mim recognized several of the names on the gravestones. The church no longer has an active congregation, but the building is on the National Historic Registry. Former members of the congregation, including Avis and Barb, try to keep the building in quite good shape, and it’s still occasionally used for weddings and family gatherings.”
“Yes, we were, Floey. Mim actually drove the 55 mph speed limit on those gravel roads to the ranch – something I was sure she’d never do! It was a beautiful, warm, sunny day for the wedding. The ushers handed us each a bottle of water as they ushered us to the hay bale seating. It was a big, beautiful wedding with six bridesmaids and six groomsmen, plus a flower girl and a ring bearer. After the ceremony, we strolled leisurely back to the barn for the reception. As we talked with other guests, we quickly learned that our reputation had preceded us. We were the two women from Wisconsin who had gotten stuck in the mud up by Golden Valley Church earlier in the afternoon. What everyone was talking about was that we actually got cell service out in the fields. That was unheard of for that area. It had never occurred to us that our cell phones might not work out in the middle of nowhere. Everyone we talked with agreed that God was watching out for us. Somehow God must have kept some angels very busy boosting the signals to and from the cell towers.”
“Really? Do you believe that, Mom?” asked Floey.
Monday of this week seemed really strange. It was the first day of the next phase in our lives. The day before, Anna, our last long-term assisted living resident, moved on to her next life. She had lived with us for eight years, and had just celebrated her 98th birthday a couple weeks ago. She died peacefully last Sunday with Mim holding her hand.
We’ve been in the assisted living phase of our lives for 16 years and 5 months. During that time we’ve had a total of only 10 days without having a resident to care for in our home, and those days were all in the first few months of the business, 16 years ago. Fortunately, we have always had two or three excellent caregivers to give us a few hours off each week, and even an occasional night or two away. But even during our time away, Mim has always been on call as the nursing expert.
We had good preparation for the assisted living phase of our lives by caring for our parents. In 1987, we cared for my mom for the last six weeks of her life. She and my dad came to Chicago to live with us while we cared for her. A few years later, in 1991, Mim and I took some time off from our work in Chicago to come to Cambridge to care for my dad throughout the last couple weeks of his life. And finally, in 1993, a few month’s after we moved to Wisconsin, Mim’s mother had a stroke that left her paralyzed on her left side. We cared for her in our home for almost five years.
On February 23 we celebrated Anna’s 98th birthday. Anna has been living with us as an assisted living resident for eight years now. Some of her family members came for a little party, and everyone, especially Anna, had a really good time.
A natural storyteller, Dominic Grassi invites readers to share his warm memories of life in Chicago over the past five decades. He shows how God is reflected in the people we meet every day: a butcher, a bookstore owner, a short-order cook.