Loren Paulsson

It would be easy to feel Robert Whitlow, “Uncle Bob” to me, lived in a different world—or in a social strata where certain things are possible that don't seem possible for me. He and his twin brother had pilots licenses and owned an airplane. He attended Eugene Bible College, was an ordained minister, became a supervisor in the trust department and a trust auditor at a Seattle bank. He earned a Bachelor of Arts in English from Seattle Pacific University and a Master of Arts in English Literature at the University of Leeds in England. He held a number of jobs in education, eventually serving as president of Eugene Bible College. He and my aunt Beulah restored the Colonel Crockett Farm, which became a popular Bed and Breakfast and event location on Whidbey Island. He was also a poet. On the back of the memorial service program were these last lines from his 2008 poem, "Whatever": His breath of love steals softly to us; His arms are near to hold it all together, But in the ...

Grandma was tough…when pursuing what she thought was right.  She finished school in eleven years , and Grandpa and Gra ndma got married 4 months after they met. Once she'd come to a conviction about something, some action soon followed. I never saw her do anything without purpose, whether keeping house , working hard at her job, or drying between my toes when she would give me a bath . On c e when my sister and I stayed with our grandparents, Grandma convinced me my baseball cap would shape my ears to stick out. So I struck a deal with her…and started sticking my ears up inside my cap. When Grandpa would talk about getting old, she’d say, “Age is a state of mind , ” and she'd smile. But she believed.  Down at John’s Thrift, later John’s Foods, Grandma cared about every detail. And after David Baergen worked at the store, nobody else measured up. “He was such a good worker,” she’d say. After Grandpa’s heart attack, she fiercely guarded their diet—no more ice cream, b...

My earliest memories of Grandpa and Grandma revolve around their visits to our house in Kirkland and our visits to their house in Coulee City. I remember going to stay with Grandpa and Grandma when Anita was born, and I remember Grandpa winning a race across the church parking lot to the red Beauville we used to have. Grandpa didn't go to school past the eighth grade. He never had a very complicated view of the world, and he refused to let me complicate it. On one occasion I was wondering out loud how a granite boulder got to its current location when all the surrounding rocks were basalt. “I think God put it there,” he said. “Well, yes, Grandpa, but how did He do it?” He also managed to stay clear of our cousinly rivalries…most of the time. On one occasion, Kerry and I were wrestling, and Grandpa said something like “Come on, pin him. There you go.” “Who are you cheering for, Grandpa?” Pregnant pause… “Oh, I’m for the winner,” he said, but from the look on his face, I’m pretty sur...

We were eating lunch on the outdoor balcony at one of the fine dining establishments in Leavenworth, Wash. The mountains in the background added to the alpine atmosphere, and a hand carver busily chiseled grotesque faces into blocks of wood across the street. Someone drove by with a heavily laminated tree trunk cross section tied to the top of their van. I must have been 5 or 6 and had started asking "Who cares?" in response to almost everything. Mom warned me about leaning too hard on the railing, and I must have given my customary response. "We do," Aunt Vera said. It's odd how moments like that get frozen into a person's memory and come to influence the way one thinks for decades to come. We did a lot of other stuff that day, but I don't think I ever used "Who cares?" the same way again. In just two words, she taught me that words have meaning, and that the stuff we say ought to reflect reality. She never struck me as a woman who talked a lo...