Nelson Women in the Living Room

I sat there in the living room trying to decide what to blog about. The chatter from the women in my family all visiting around me did not distract me. I am used to noise. Feeling a mind block coming on I asked them what I should write about. All at once suggestions came pouring at me like flood waters.

My mother suggested I write about Mexican food. Typical. My mother and my grandmother are known for their excellent Mexican cooking. They love to try out new recipes, make up new ones, and keep making the really good ones. Food is a staple value in my family, especially Mexican.



My Grandma and My sisters



My grandmother suggested I write about the little terrier named Banjo my mother was holding in her arms. She laughed. It’s a family joke. Grandma is always cracking some kind of joke.

 My mother got the dog from an elderly man who could no longer keep him and was going to put him down if he didn’t find a home for him. Naturally my mother decided to take the dog sight unseen. When we got him home he automatically became “Mom’s dog”. He follows her everywhere. He sleeps on her bed when she isn’t home. I always say it’s because he just doesn’t know where else to go when he doesn’t have her to follow. We always tease mom about her little dog. She used to make fun of people who talked baby talk to their pets. However, she will make her way to the kitchen in the morning, but not before stopping by Banjo’s bed, tucking his blanket around him snugly, kissing the top of his head and asking him how he is this morning. She has morphed into “one of them”. She denies it. We laugh.

My sister Susanna suggested I write about my horse. Also, typical. She lives and breathes horses. Any time you ask for an essay prompt it’s “Write about Kieran.” I told her I couldn’t write about my horse anymore. I just wrote a descriptive essay on him for class. She shrugged her shoulders and offered no more advice.

All the different prompts offered each reflected a piece of personality unique to each individual that I couldn’t help but share. My family entertains me, makes me laugh, and makes me feel like I have a place. They know the real me, and I know the real them. I had to laugh inside at their responses, even if nobody else would.

Oh Susanna

Her name is Susanna Rose. Platinum blonde hair, sky blue, twinkling eyes, and a smile that you can’t help but smile back at, all make for her perfect charisma. She is shy, and will blush when too much attention is placed on her in public. She loves Dr. Pepper, black olives, and spaghetti. When she laughs, you laugh along, even if the joke wasn’t funny.

My fifteen year old sister makes my day, in some way, either large or small, every day. She is always up for anything, she loves a good adventure. I remember tramping through the woods when we were little, looking for anything with the promise of excitement.

I remember playing childhood games in the barn, Susanna always playing the inferior role, “because she was younger”. She was always the happiest little girl, she never complained. We have always held some kind of comradeship, both subjects under our older sister Rebecca. We both know the roll of “little sister”. Maybe this is what cements our bond.

She is hot tempered and fiery at times. Her stubborn side makes her stick to her guns in any argument. She has an inner strength about her that makes her the person you “don’t want to mess with.” However, she is usually not easily provoked. I suppose being in the exact middle of five children forces your assertive side.

We have always enjoyed the same things. We have always been fascinated with horses, and anything to do with them. We have always shared the same chores, collaborated as to how to solve problems in our herd of 14 horses, and we always ride together. I hardly ever ride without her.

When we were little, we would go to water the horses, and get distracted. The water tank would turn into a swimming pool; the worn dirt area around the water tank would form a formidable mud hole. Contests would arise determining how long one could stay in the cold well water in the tank. She always won. Mud pies were always in order. Hours would pass as the sun beat down on our bare, blonde heads and tanned our skin.

I have so many good memories with Susanna. She will always claim a special place in my heart. We have often talked of sisters that grow up, and thus grow apart. She swears to me that will never happen. I sure hope it never does.

“The love of a family is life's greatest blessing”

I think that every human being can identify with this quote. All of us can feel something personal associated with the love of a family. My family is such an important aspect of my life. They make me who I am, they define me. My best friends are my siblings.

My mother is my strongest role model. I truly feel blessed when I come home every day to my six year old sister’s smiling face. I live for the kiss she plants on my cheek at bedtime. Some of my greatest memories have been made building forts in the woods with my little brother. I love when he comes up behind me, punches me playfully on the arm, and casually says “Love ya Jules” as he walks by. My younger sister Susanna and I spend hours and hours riding horse together. I love the long talks we have as we ride bareback beside the creek in our valley. My older sister is my closest mentor. She counsels me through the thick and thin of life. Whatever my day throws at me, I can count on a hug when I see her.

One thing that I have learned in life is that with great love also comes great pain. I have experienced both aspects in my family life. My father passed away the summer of 1999. I see the pain of a lost love every day in my mother’s eyes. My sister just recently moved to Fargo, North Dakota. Although she is always a phone call away, I feel so lost without her in the room next to mine at any given time. Another one of my favorite quotes is “It is better to have loved and lost, than to have never loved at all.”

To Get An Education

Education has always been important to my family. My mother has always put forth extra effort so that I could have the best education possible. I remember being five years old, fidgeting in my chair, eyeing the window, looking outside where freedom screamed my name, struggling to concentrate as Mom sounded out the words of the book “Pickles the Fire Cat” in an effort to teach me to read. I remember eventually being able to skim the pages of the book myself, reading aloud to her the pages she must have memorized at that point.

I remember my mother pulling me out of public school and placing me in a private school so I would have a more advanced education. I remember the first day of school, wearing the itchy plaid uniform, shy to make new friends. I remember growing to love the challenge of harder classes, the competition among my peers to get the “highest A” on our ancient history exams. I remember my mother going back to work as a Registered Nurse to pay for tuition.

I am thankful for what my mother has done to help better my opportunities. Now that I am in college, it is my place to show her that her hard work in the past will have paid off. I just hope that I can live up to those standards.