Okay, obviously this isn't a photo from 1965, it's the OTHER legendary Minnesota blizzard, the Armistice Day blizzard. But it's 45 years since the St. Patrick's Day blizzard of 1965, and 45 years since our dad Lester died at the age of 45. The numbers seemed to be important to me today.
I was thinking about how mom had walked a long way in that deep snow, during the middle of the night, because she got dropped off by the funeral home director quite far from home. He didn't want to get the hearse stuck. By the time she reached our driveway, she was suffering from hypothermia, and really couldn't have gone much farther. The stubborn tenacity she had (and still has) is what got her home. I'm thankful for that. Here she is 45 years later, still surviving.