May 5th…“SHARE A HOT-ROD MEMORY OF YOUR MOTHER.”

Clarice Arlone Sletten Noorlun was our cute n quiet, conservative queen of conquest.

Our beloved matriarch covered the gamut, starting in 1938, by flying in a biplane over lush Iowa corn fields with her old boyfriend, Archie Knutson.  Yet, it was 30 years later, in 1968, that I witnessed Mom “flying” in another fashion…….behind the wheel of our powerful Dodge Coronet 500 and almost “lifting off” down a Montana highway at close to 100 miles per hour!!   Such was the wonder of our beloved mother, Clarice!!!

The year of 1967 was full of momentous change for our family.  We had sold our 120 acre farm in Minnesota and moved all the way out West to Washington State.  We settled into a town called Battle Ground in the southwest corner of that new State our family would call home.   Thanks to the sale monies, that now rested in the bank from our farm sale back home, Dad and Mom were able to pay cash for a new home on Hawthorne Street and also paid cash for a classy, brand new 1967 Dodge Coronet 500 Coupe.  We all thought our dream machine was better than any old Cadillac and loved to drive it with pride cause it rode like a dream.  I even had a High School friend tell me that our Dodge had a smoother ride than her family’s Cadillac.  That made me even more proud of our chariot on wheels.

It seemed like just a blink in time, and the summer of 1968 arrived.  One whole year had passed since we moved to Washington and our father’s new job with the local school district had given him a generous paid vacation time to enjoy as he pleased.  We decided we’d load up our “turbine bronze” colored hot-rod of  a Dodge and drive back to Minnesota to see family and friends that we had left behind the previous year.

That V8 Mopar 318 cubic inch engine purred like a kitten under the hood of our steel stallion as we happily rolled eastward down the Columbia Gorge with our sights set on dear old Minnesota and the loved ones who awaited us on our vacation “back home”.   Like the meaning of the word, coronet, our Dodge was one of the “crowns” in our parent’s lives after working so hard in farming all their years.  So, our “crown” car began this excursion and took us from our hometown in Washington and across Idaho as swift as a wish on angel’s wings.

After climbing over the Continental Divide of the Rocky Mountains and into Montana, we eventually stopped in some lower country to pull over and enjoy a family picnic.  Being  that our parents were from the “Greatest Generation”, it was common for them to bring food and drink along, rather than stop and eat at “expensive” restaurants or Drive-Inns for meals.   Dad sometimes would even take a can of corn-beef hash, rip off the paper label and then wire that can of food to the manifold of the car to heat it up for about a half hour or so of driving.   Donning thick leather gloves, he’d then pull over, pop the hood of the car and unwire the can from the engine block.  Then, continuing to use his gloves, for protection from the heat, he’d open the hot can, and presto……..a warm meal for us to enjoy!  😉

It was after one of those roadside meals that Dad decided he’d turn over the driving to Mom and take a nap in the passenger seat while she carried on the journey for a while.  Now the State of Montana, in those days, had an “open speed limit”.  As long as you kept your vehicle’s limitations in check, it was pretty much “anything goes” as far as your choice of speed.  Mom was now in control of our “bronze babe” as she pulled back onto the two lane highway and rolled down those seemingly endless straight miles of road that lengthened before us.  Being only 14 years old, at the time, and with nothing else to do in the back seat, I decided to follow Dad’s sleepy example and hunkered down in the corner of my seat for a snore of my own.

Time lapsed and, groggily, I came awake from my nap as I stretched and yawned to a fully conscious state once again.   I poked my head up over the bucket seats to see how Mom was doing at her turn with the wheel.  LOW AND BEHOLD, our super conservative mother was totally COOKIN’ down that Montana highway at over 95 miles per hour!!!

Not wanting to scare her into an accident, I whispered rather intensely, “Mom, do you know how fast you’re going?”  Now, she was surprised as well!!!  Seems those straight Montana highways and that powerful Dodge engine were components that resulted in ZOOOOOOM!!!  Mom actually took the whole incident in stride as she replied to me with an “Ohhhh welll!!”   What a cool-headed, hot-rod lady was the mother of this Norwegian Farmer’s Son!!  😉

May 4th…“DID YOU EVER TRY TO MAKE A LITTLE BOY FANTASY COME TRUE?”

POEM – “A Tiny Tike’s Treasure Trove” by N. Elliott Noorlun

At the end of the movie,

The good guys had won,

The pirates were dead,

Every son of a gun!

And as film credits rolled,

Everyone could see,

A treasure chest bursting,

That filled all with glee!

My brother had made,

Treasure chest in school shop,

Now all I needed,

Was treasure to drop,

Inside of that box,

For my boy fantasy,

But where to find jewels?,

That could come to me?

Of course!! My Mom’s,

Rhinestone jewelry would do,

I’d whine for her old ones,

So to her side I flew.

My ‘gold’ would be chocolate,

Quite easy to buy,

Pretty soon a treasure,

Would belong to this guy!

Now this little ‘pirate’,

Would have treasure to hide,

With his jewels n gold,

And fantasy in stride!!

May 3rd…“WHAT WAS A LIFE LESSON YOUR FATHER TAUGHT YOU THAT YOU WERE NOT HAPPY WITH, AT THE TIME?”

Dad kept good company in the evenings.  Authors Zane Grey and Louis L’Amour carried our father to The Wild West almost every night before bedtime either in his Living Room chair or when he was horizontal under the covers.  I found that Dad’s mood was usually pleasant when he was reading, so there was something on my mind that seemed to tell me …….“This is a good time to talk to Dad about what you want!”

Like any teenager, in the early 1970’s, I loved my music and collected my good share of  33rpm (revolutions per minute) stereo record albums.  Only problem was, my record player was ancient and with small speakers.  I had been eyeballing a handsome Sony Stereo record player turntable with impressive Sony box speakers at a music store nearby.  I wanted that sound system in the worst of ways!!  But, how to get it with a limited income was another story entirely.  I was earning a mere $1.60 an hour working at the local grocery store, and, that was only with me working part time, so it was gonna take forever, in my teenage mind, to save up the $325.00 to buy my hoped for stereo system.

A “bright” idea flashed in my head about a plan to approach Dad with what MIGHT just get me that stereo.   I would use a comparison scenario using one of my schoolmate neighbors down the street.  For the story here, I’ll call that schoolmate “John Doe”.  John was one of those lucky kids that had almost every teenage gadget known to exist.  Why?  Because his father was a very well paid professional and was also an electronics wizard.  Since John’s daddy was quite affluent in the finances department of life, John was GIVEN almost anything he asked for…….paid by daddy.    John Doe’s “sugar daddy” even built him his own stereo system with gigantic box speakers, that to me, resembled the size of Mt. Rushmore!!!   Needless to say, I’m sure I had visible, envious drool hanging from the corners of my mouth every time I went to visit John and drink in the audible power of those massive speakers as they would about blow us through the walls of his bedroom while his rock-n-roll albums would be playing.

Without a doubt, I KNEW my Dad would never agree to outright paying for the stereo and giving it to me, but I hoped that I might catch him at his mellow time of reading that evening to present him with a plausible idea.  As he was laying in his bed reading,  I gathered some courage and said, “Dad, I’ve wanted a Sony Stereo for some time now.  It costs $325.00.  Would you be willing to pay for half and then I’ll pay the other half from my grocery store job?”   The Western novel in his hands slowly settled to his chest as he adjusted his glasses while he gazed at my anticipatory face and said, “No, Son, I won’t do that and here’s why.  Even if I DID pay half of the price for that stereo, you wouldn’t appreciate it as much as you would if you had to earn those dollars and put out your own money for the entire amount of that purchase.  Save up your money and pay cash, then that way you’ll know the full cost both in your time and effort and saving for the stereo.  Having done all that, you’ll appreciate it more!!!”  With his decision made, the conversation was closed.  The Western novel came back up to and covered his face and he went on with his reading.

To be honest, at that moment, I thought Dad was being the ultimate “party pooper” and “cheapskate”.  To me, at that moment, this was a real ‘bummer’ by him not even meeting me halfway on letting me have my dream stereo record player.   But, you know, after my ‘defeat’, I began facing reality and coming to realize I DID have some money coming in from the grocery store job, so I just decided to get serious about putting dollars away in a safe place towards making my dream come true.

The day finally arrived when I had the deep pleasure of driving into Vancouver, Washington and walking into the “American Music Company” there on Main Street.  I walked right over to that musical marvel machine and was admiring it when a salesman approached.  “Thinking of buying that Sony young man?” to which I replied, “Yes sir!!!”  “How much per month can you pay?”, asked the salesman.  I replied proudly, “I’m going to pay CASH!!”   Well, the salesman’s mouth kinda dropped as he saw me pull a wad of currency from my pocket and I started counting out the sales price to him on his desk.  When the last dollar bill landed on his desk…….there was the entire $325.00 for him and a spectacular sound system for ME!!!  And, as a matter of perspective………that $325.00, in 1971, today equals $2,369.00 here in 2023.

Dad’s wisdom, that he shared to me that evening, now paid off in “spades” with the elation of my accomplishment and pride in having gone the extra mile of saving and waiting till I had all the money in hand.  Now I would be thrilled at the luxurious sound emanating from my very own superb Sony Sound System.  I enjoyed many, many years of wonderful music via that quality music making machine!!! 😉    I thank the Lord for the wise counsel of my father that was given to this Norwegian Farmer’s Son.

May 2nd…“SHARE SOME LOVING ATTRIBUTES ABOUT YOUR BIG SISTER”

Before my lungs drew their first breath of life, our sister, Rosemary Arlone Noorlun, was  already a veteran of eight wondrous years of living life on our farm there in southern Minnesota.

In 1946, when our beloved sister entered this earthly life, she was given the name of Rosemary.  Now the appellation of “Rosemary” comes from the Latin language and its meaning is “dew of the sea”.  To this little brother, Rosie truly was a refreshing “dew” that moistened our lives with her vibrancy and refreshments of joy that exuded from living out her each day from sunup to sundown.  Oh sure, Rosemary could also be a “drama queen”, from time to time; seeing that she was only human, like the rest of us.

With a smile, I witnessed this in person, as well as hearing of her various antics, over the years there on our farm.  And, like any child who needs to be disciplined from time to time, I had the hilarious pleasure one day as a corrective moment came to pass.   I saw Mom take after our teenager big Sis with a yardstick after she showed a bit of rebellion against our matriarch.  The “point” was made, by Mom, on Rosie’s teenage bottom, as that yardstick snapped in half over Rosie’s gluteus maximus while she raced up the stairs to try to get away from our mother’s wrath……..hehehehe 😉

Of course, myself not yet being in attendance of life at the time, I can only imagine the adventures our sister must have enjoyed.  I always treasured listening to the in-depth sharing of big brother, Lowell, and our wonderful mother, Clarice, as they talked about some of the daily life of our darling big sister over her young days before 1954 and my entering the family.  I can easily surmise, though, that sister must have been the center of attention wherever the young Noorlun family ventured.  Even my mother’s Aunt Esther Rogness Bidne couldn’t resist a time of cuddling and walking with little Rosie in her arms around our sprawling farm yard in the late 1940’s.

Our forever thank yous go to our sweet mother (Clarice), who, with her 1931 Kodak camera, captured Rosemary’s 3rd birthday party in May of 1949.  It looked to be a grand success, in that photo, as our brother and cousin kneeled next to the overturned wash tub that became a kid-sized cake table.  The massive lilac bush behind them likely lent its perfumed elegance to the fun occasion of our little princess celebrating another milestone in her tiny life, so far.

Another year or so goes by and our sister, I’m sure, was already catching on to the daily routine of farm life as she witnesses how our faithful mother took an afternoon dinner out to our hard-working father in the fields.  Therefore, around 1950 or 51, Rosie must’ve felt that this was a task a little maiden was up to carrying out, so our mother gave Sis a straw hat to shade her and a big bag of dinner for our Dad as Mom captured the moment on film.  How sweet it must’ve been for our farmer father to see a mini vision of loveliness toddling out towards him as he’d be pulling a corn planter, or other implement, towards the treed windbreak and a dinner time with such a lovely daughter.  Those were, I’m sure, tender years, not only in our family, but for the whole of American life, at the time.

So, when “me, myself and I” came along in 1954, big sister Rosie was already an experienced sibling who was always there for me and stepped right into the roles of young “mother”, “protector”, “teacher” and yes, sometimes even a “drill sergeant” who could mete out justice and correction, when needed, to make her little brother “toe the line”!

Although our beloved sister left us for the shores of Heaven’s Glory in July of 1989, I will be forever grateful for the grand sister of this Norwegian Farmer’s Son.

`

May 1st…“DESCRIBE A WAY THAT YOU TRIED TO EARN MONEY AS A TEENAGER.”

POEM – “For Nickel And Dime” by N. Elliott Noorlun

Back in the days, While in my teens,

Too young for a job, No money for means.

I’d go pick blueberries, Upon Uncle’s farm,

All it took was a pail, And movement of arm.

My cohort this day, Was named Robbie Gross,

His name fit him well, We were very verbose.

While picking those berries, For nickel and dime,

We got rather bored, While passing our time.

As silliness set in, Our fun had begun,

We used our noses, To load as a gun.

With nostrils “blue” packed, We’d “berry” each other,

Then laughter’d bust out, that we tried to smother.

Just then, Aunt Doris, Would come down our row,

With her eyes ablaze, So that we’d both know.

That this was NOT, The way we should “sneeze”,

“Get back to your pickin’, Or your noses I’ll squeeze!”

April 30th…“AS A CHILD, WHAT WAS ONE OF THE MYSTERIES OF ANIMAL LIFE ON YOUR FARM?”

POEM – “Ponder And Stare” by N. Elliott Noorlun

As a kid I’d smack, My head with a thud,

Each time a cow, Started chewing her cud.

My little boy brain, Would ponder and stare,

How could she be chewing,

With no food anywhere?

Standing close by, I’d hear a cow burp,

She’s then chewing slime, That resembled some “uurrp”!

She seemed contented, And pleased as pie,

But her invisible food, Confused this here guy.

It wasn’t till later, I learned she had four,

Separate tummies inside her, In which she could store,

Food for the now, And food to chew later,

And further in life, I’d learn something greater.

It wasn’t till later, In life I equated,

A synonym here, For the word “meditated”.

That we as believers, Should “chew” on God’s Word,

Over and over, To understand what we heard.

Just one of the mysteries, Back there on our farm,

As I learned to love life, And never found harm. 😉

April 29th…“SHARE ABOUT A SCHOOL-RELATED CHILDHOOD FEAR.”

POEM – “Three Miles Out!”  by N. Elliott Noorlun

Back in my youthful, Days of yore,

There’s nothing that scared me, As much or more,

Than missing the bus, After school’s last bell,

For if I did, I’m here to tell,

E’en though we lived, Just three miles out,

I feared that I would, Cry and shout,

If Manville Meyer, Drove outta sight,

I knew I’d be, In an awful plight!

So every day, When that school bell rang,

Like a fiery rocket, From that chair I sprang,

With determined speed, This lil’ cus,

Was never late, For his school bus!!! 😉

April 28th…“DO YOU HAVE A STORY ABOUT A BIG SURPRISE?”

Our daddy had a 400 pound surprise “up his sleeve” that day.

As was usual, in the course of our childhood days on the farm, our nice bus driver, Mrs. Marie Meyer, pulled up to the end of our farm driveway each afternoon after school and popped open those folding bus doors.  She smiled to see us launch from the bottom step of her bus and race down the graveled, U-shaped driveway to the back door of our farm home and breathlessly burst into our family’s kitchen.

In the farming culture of Minnesota, most farmers would take a break from their work to stop by the family kitchen for what was known as “Lunch” (around 3 or 4pm).  This was also our father’s custom before heading out to the barn to milk our herd of Holstein cows.  Sure enough, as we burst into Mom’s kitchen that day, upon the air was the heady fragrance of coffee brewing and there was our father, Russell Conrad Noorlun, sitting at the dinner table having some coffee and cookies for his “Lunch”.

Being the prankster that he was, Dad summoned the two of us kids over to his spot at the kitchen table.  With a phony gaze of pseudo seriousness, Dad said to us, “You two had better go down to the barn and check on “Joker”! “  Now “Joker” was the name we had given to our ornery and down-right nasty Shetland pony.   That little hunk of male menace was never nice from the very beginning of being part of our farm family and THAT’S why he was tagged with the temperament-appropriate name of “JOKER”!   Even though our father and myself had made many valiant attempts to “break” the pony for riding purposes; they were to no avail……and I had the bruised butt to prove it from being bucked off of that stinker’s back many times.

Little sister, Candi, and I looked at Dad quizzically, yet, we were obedient to his request and headed on down to the barn to check out “Joker”.   When we arrived at “Joker’s” stall in the barn, at first we were a bit perplexed.  The pony seemed different, and yet the same.  White mane and tail….like “Joker”.  Dappled tan and white coat…..like “Joker”.  We just couldn’t put our finger on the missing link of this puzzling scene, so we headed back up to the house and our awaiting father.

Our fun-loving daddy had a real good Norwegian giggle going by the time we got back inside the kitchen.  He said, “SURPRISE!!!  It’s NOT “Joker”!  I called Palmer Hove at “Kiester Sales Company” and made a deal to get rid of that mean little sucker and bring us out a new Shetland mare (which is another name for a girl horse), instead!!”

Now this little mare’s coloring made her a near twin of her predecessor, but her mood was kind and gentle and she was already “broke” to ride with a saddle.  We instantly fell in love with this little equine darling.   Since she was so pretty and sweet, we decided that her name would be “Little Lady”.

In 1965, I had the joyful adventure of taking our “Little Lady” to the local “Faribault County Fair” which was held each Summer in the town of my birth…….Blue Earth, Minnesota.  With Dad’s coaching, I proudly garnered a First Place Blue Ribbon in my competition of Shetland Class that day.  It was one of those precious father and son bonding moments, for I knew, without a doubt, that I had greatly pleased my father in my achievement with that lovely little pony of mine.

Emotions welled up within my father that day that were born from his continued grief over the loss of his own beloved father just two years earlier.   Dad was so thrilled over my receiving that First Place Blue Ribbon, that his eyes filled with bittersweet tears that crested his eye lids and spilled down those tanned farmer cheeks.   Dad’s quivering voice, choked with emotion, related the following to me.  “If only Grandpa Ed could’ve been here today to see this special moment of your Blue Ribbon with Little Lady!!!”  You see, our paternal grandfather, Edwin A. Noorlun, had lived out all of his years of farming with horses (never a tractor) and our dear dad, who revered his father, just knew how thrilled his father would’ve been to see a grandson carry on his love of horses into this next generation.

I treasured that fine little equine friend over the next couple of years and had many adventures in her saddle as we traveled for miles, both around our 120 acre farm and the country roads nearby.   But, as the Bible says in Ecclesiastes Chapter 3 Verse 1 “To everything there is a season….” and the season of our farm life was coming to an end in the Summer of 1967.  Our parents had sold our farm in preparation for moving our family to Washington State.  Part of that meant that “Little Lady” was sold also and I would have to say goodbye to my perfect pony pal.

Letting go of “Little Lady” brought on a bucket of tears from this farm boy as we saw her new owners back up their pickup truck to carry our lovely Shetland to her new home on a farm nearby.  They pulled out their loading ramp from the truck bed as we brought “Little Lady” from our barn for the last time.  Once my little mare managed her way up into that truck , she seemed confused and bewildered by the strange new voices and circumstances that were to transport her to a new chapter in her life.  As the truck began to pull out of our yard and down the sloped driveway, I ran into the house and out the front door to have one final gaze at my sweet pony pal.  I can still see “Little Lady” looking from side to side as the truck reached the end of the driveway, banked onto the gravel road and headed south, leaving a swirling dust cloud in its wake.  By her head movements from side to side, I wonder if my “Little Lady” was trying to see me just one last time.  I missed her so much already…..just minutes after her leaving my life.  One consolation to my empty cowboy heart was that I knew that our “Little Lady” was now with a very loving family whom we knew to be good, Christian folk and kind in their ways.  That pony pal was a true blessing to this Norwegian Farmer’s Son.

April 27th…“DID YOU EVER HAVE A CRUSH ONE SOMEONE AND WAS TOO SHY TO LET THEM KNOW IT?”

It’s all Richie Rich’s fault.  He was my comic book hero of those young days in my beloved hometown of Kiester, Minnesota.  Being the opposite of rich, I was drawn into the fantasy world of this little, handsome and polite young boy who “had it all”, as far as money was concerned.  Some of his boyhood adventures included his girlfriend, Gloria, who enjoyed his millions, but also helped to keep him humble, as well.  Maybe it was the fantasy fact that “Richie” had found romance that led me to have what’s commonly known as a “crush” on those of the feminine side of life.

Sure, I was just a midget, in those days of little boyhood, but I still could recognize womanly beauty, kindness and elegance in the gentle gender that lived around me, no matter what her age may be.  Whether that “crush” was on my lovely First Grade teacher, Mrs. Loretta Wiehr, or, in this case, the very lovely lady who was the salesperson at our local Rexall Drug Store called, “Paulson Drug”.

When my family drove to our town almost every Saturday evening, our folks went about doing the weekly shopping for groceries, clothes for the family, etc. etc..  They especially looked forward to see if they had won the weekly “Lucky Bucks” drawing that was held every Saturday night at 9pm.  But for me?….I was off on little boy adventures.

If I had ten cents in my pocket, on those evenings, you could bet I could be found spending it on a Richie Rich comic book.  Richie’s latest gold-coined adventures could be found just inside the drug store’s big picture window where they kept the giant rack of comic books and magazines.

Dottie Kinder was the lovely and gentle-hearted saleslady of Paulson’s Rexall Drug.  Her  beautiful smile and tender voice would greet me each time I came into their place of business.  Even if my pockets were empty that week, Dottie would still greet me with the same warmth and allow me to just read comic books to my heart’s content as I’d lean against the ledge of the large picture window that looked out onto the sidewalks of Main Street.

An added bonus to this admiration and “crush” that I had on Mrs. Kinder, was the pleasure that, not only could I enjoy her at the drug store on Saturday nights, but her family also attended worship at our church (Grace Evangelical United Brethren) each Sunday.  If my recollection is accurate, I even had her as one of my Sunday School teachers.

Of course, Dottie Kinder never knew this little boy was so enamored with her, yet she was definitely one of the first “crushes” of this Norwegian Farmer’s Son.

April 26th…“DID YOU EVER STEAL/TAKE ANYTHING THAT WAS NOT YOURS?  WHAT HAPPENED?  DID YOU GET CAUGHT?”

To vitiate oneself in the interest of strengthening the next generation is an endeavor to which I’ll aspire.   My transparency of sharing a life failure is with the goal of teaching a more godly character trait to my children, grandchildren and future generations that come after me to strive for a stronger moral compass and to always employ the vicissitude to choose the right and suppress the wrong that, in stealth, looms within each human heart…..ready to corrupt, if allowed to generate.  Now, on with the story.

Nestled in the center of Main Street, in our hometown of Kiester, Minnesota, was a fine business known as “Bloom’s Variety Store”.   This business endeavor was owned and operated by Mr. & Mrs. Chester Bloom.  Their young daughter, Nancy, was a classmate of mine in Grade School days.

A cornucopia of goodies, from A to Z awaited any Kiesterite that strode through the narrow, single doorway that led into that establishment.  Local families could buy almost anything from fabrics and patterns, for Mom, all the way up to tools, for Dad, to help with repairs on the farm.  Gifts were available for all occasions with a greeting card section to go along with those gifts.  And, any local kid of my generation would tell you how grand their candy selection was for us to enjoy, too.  My sugar glands would just DROOL from the scrumptious confections just waiting to be purchased and consumed.

In the remote, northeast corner of “Bloom’s Variety” lay a vast treasure of toys and goodies that any red-blooded American kid could would give anything to have for his very own.  When our family made the weekly Saturday excursion into town for shopping and the “Lucky Bucks Drawing”, one of my sure stops would be the back corner of “Bloom’s Variety Store”.

While browsing in their “toy heaven”, I’d imagine all the fun I’d have with these little boy delights if I could have them all to myself.  Such nuggets of “toy gold” resided there like toy soldiers, cap guns, ball & jacks, little farming toys ……..ohhhh the list of possible joys were endless.  Now entered the need for the monetary means to HAVE those treasures for my very own.  My usual weekly spending money (25 cents) from Dad and Mom didn’t go as far as I would’ve liked it to, especially when I’d walk into “Bloom’s” and see all the potential fun back in that corner of “toy utopia”.

There’s an expression…..”I can resist anything, EXCEPT temptation!”  Sadly, that saying “came to life” in me one day as I stood there, in that toy aisle, lusting after some toys and with nothing but “spiderwebs” in my pockets for money.  I KNEW, in my heart, that what I was about to do was wrong, but the decision in my little conniving mind was already made up to go forward with this despicable deed anyway.

The question in my rationalizing mind was, HOW to do this sinful deed?  I began by looking way up to the front of the store to see if Mr. Bloom was engaged with other customers.  The timing seemed right as I saw him occupied with a customer’s large order on his checkout/cashier counter.  My hand reached out and grabbed a fistful of green plastic toy soldiers and I stuffed them in my deep-pocketed overcoat.  Burdened with my stolen items and already burdened with guilt, I made my way up to the front of the store and sheepishly smiled at Mr. Bloom while I slunked out the front door and onto the sidewalk.

With the stolen “booty” in my pockets, I had made it “away with the goods” and proceeded to the family car and then home to the farm.

Days rolled into months as I played with those “ill-gotten gains” and every time those toy soldiers came out, my conscience would plague me about what I had done to procure those specific playthings.  Yet, I was too chicken-hearted  to “face the music” of going back to “Bloom’s Variety Store” to confess and “do the time for the crime”.  I was tortured daily with the thoughts of what my parents would think of me, had they known of my sin, and how both of them would be so disappointed in this son who would allow himself to DO such a dastardly deed as being a thief!

Years passed, and I accepted Jesus Christ as my Savior and became a Christian.  The Holy Spirit, via God’s Word “spoke” to my heart about this issue through various Bible studies and sermons I heard.  My heart became more and more tender to the relation of confessing my sins (1st John 1:9) and asking forgiveness from those I had wronged in my past.  I decided that I would write to Mr. Bloom to ask forgiveness for what I had done in my childhood and offer him payment far above whatever those toys were worth at the time of my sordid soldier swiping.  Alas, as I sought out the family’s information and address back in Minnesota, I discovered that they had sold the business and moved away from our hometown.

I rejoice that our Lord Jesus forgives all of our sins, be it the taking of green plastic toy soldiers to whatever causes us to fail in life.  So, “Mr. Bloom, please forgive me for my sin that day and accept the apologies of this Norwegian Farmer’s Son”.

Epilogue:  At the initial writing of this story, I didn’t know what had happened to the Bloom family after our Kiester days.   Turns out, they had, like my family, sold their store in 1968 (a year after our leaving the area) and had settled in another area of Minnesota.  I am very happy to report that, thanks to Facebook, I experienced the joyous pleasure of reconnecting with Nancy Bloom Hursh.  In sharing this story with her, she assured me that her father was a VERY forgiving man, and that she was confident that he would’ve forgiven me for this childhood sin and welcomed me into his friendship once again.  Praise The Lord!! ><> 😉