Life is Grace

discoveries of grace in my messy and imperfect, but blessed, life

Posting this today in honor of my maternal grandmother, Fern Wright Baach, on what would be her 129th birthday. She was quite a woman: a teacher; a suffragette; a self-taught violinist; poet and writer; and a Minnesota farm wife and mother during the worst of the Depression and the Dust Bowl. She died of breast …

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“Photography takes an instant out of time, altering life by holding it still.” Dorothea Lange . . These photos and negatives are all from the 1920s, and include photos from when my grandparents were courting, and a Christmas portrait of my mom and her big brother. (The Brownie camera belonged to my father-in-law.) Does anyone …

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Everybody is a story. When I was a child, people sat around kitchen tables and told their stories. We don’t do that much anymore. Sitting around the table telling stories is not just a way of passing time. It is the way the wisdom gets passed along. The stuff that helps us to live a …

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The end of summer is always bittersweet, but this year more than usual. I had all kinds of things I was hoping to do this summer, from lunch with friends to trips to the Minnesota Landscape Arboretum to take photos, and did nothing, almost, thanks to my ever-present chronic migraines. I even missed the annual …

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For All Souls Day, some flatlay collages and family photos in loving and grateful remembrance of my beloved family and friends now home with God, especially my grandparents, my Uncle Al (who died in January), and my amazing, wonderful parents.  Eternal rest grant unto them, Oh Lord, and may perpetual light shine upon them. May …

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(mostly) wordless wednesday, July 1915

July 13, 2016

Bertha Mohr and John Resch were married 101 years ago yesterday, on July 12, 1915, in Pine City Minnesota. They were married for over 50 years and had eleven children; my father was the third eldest. They also had 44 grandchildren and many great-grandchildren., who are now producing their great-great-grandchildren! My grandmother was a stunning beauty, but what I remember–and miss the most–was the warmth of her smile. She was and is my inspiration.


  Another Memorial Day & […] still at war, decorating an ever-increasing number of graves.  –Eleanor Roosevelt, Memorial Day 1944. When Eleanor Roosevelt wrote this, my dad was a 24 year-old farm boy from Minnesota living in Selsey, England, training for the great Allied invasion of France that would take place the next week on D-Day, …

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In our society, when we talk about “the beautiful people” we usually mean the well-off, the best-looking, those genetically and financially blessed people who wear the latest fashions and frequent the most exclusive clubs and the best restaurants, etc. The grown-up version of the high school “in” crowd, basically. But just how beautiful are they, …

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The last of the Resch boys, the five sons of John and Bertha Resch, was laid to rest earlier this month. He wasn’t the last-born, but he was the last to die; an entire century passed between the birth of Leo, the eldest of the five, and the death of Albert. But for those of …

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Until my father died suddenly, on a snowy, cold January day 23 years ago yesterday, I always assumed the word “heartache” was simply a metaphor. Now I know better. I don’t feel it every day anymore, thank goodness, but I still do, a lot more often than I’d like, as though a cold, clammy hand …

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