{"id":47295,"date":"2025-03-29T19:10:00","date_gmt":"2025-03-29T23:10:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.westbendnews.net\/autonews\/?p=47295"},"modified":"2025-03-24T17:12:13","modified_gmt":"2025-03-24T21:12:13","slug":"eleven-eleven","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.westbendnews.net\/autonews\/eleven-eleven\/","title":{"rendered":"Eleven Eleven"},"content":{"rendered":"\n
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Dotting My Teas by: Marlene Oxender<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

If you were asked to choose a number from one to twelve and write that number on a piece of paper, what number would you choose?  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

It\u2019s been said that everyone has a favorite number, whether we realize it or not. Those who knew my late brother Stevie Kimpel, who had Down syndrome, may have to think for a moment before agreeing his favorite number was \u201cone.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Everyone knew his team was Number One \u2013 no matter the score.  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Stevie passed away on March 1st of last year, and we gathered for his funeral visitation a week later in Edgerton\u2019s gymnasium \u2013 a place where Stevie was known as \u201cEdgerton\u2019s #1 Fan.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

When I got into my car to head to Edgerton that day, I noticed the time on the dashboard clock displayed the numbers \u201c11:11.\u201d <\/p>\n\n\n\n

I traveled down the road before realizing I should have brought a sweater with me. I decided to turn around in a driveway and head back home. The clock nearest my closet had been running a few minutes behind, and I once again saw the digital numerals \u201c11:11.\u201d I knew enough to give a high-five back to Stevie.  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

As the days ticked by, I kept seeing the number eleven as well as the number one. I was telling my daughter about my encounters, and she pointed out that I am one of eleven siblings. Stevie was the eleventh child. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

The stories I write for newspaper columns are typically 1000 words or less, but sometimes the word count is higher. Last summer, I sent a story to an editor and noticed the word count at the bottom of the screen was 1111. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

After the article came back, I decided upon some suggested changes, additions, and deletions. The word count, with no effort on my part, remained the same. The story was submitted to the newspaper with 1111 words. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

My next finished column contained 1108 words. Just for fun, I worked on adding three additional words so the word count would go up to 1111. In doing so, I rewrote the entire first paragraph, and the story was better. Interestingly enough, my third article also ended with 1111 words. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Someone pointed out the numbers in my home address are 1101 \u2013 numbers I now refer to as my angel number and Stevie\u2019s angel number. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Years ago, friends told me that Stevie had spent his Saturday at a girls\u2019 Little League softball tournament in Edgerton. It was decided to let Stevie man the scoreboard. As you can imagine, the numbers were not accurate. Those who questioned what was going on were no longer concerned when they saw Stevie was handling the scoreboard. It was a cause for laughter. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

I recently found a Scrabble tile under a couch cushion, so I placed it aside and finished cleaning. When I went back to it later, I noticed the letter on the tile was an \u201cI\u201d and the number at the bottom was a \u201cone.\u201d  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

When my family was home for the holidays, my grandson Toby asked why the wall clock in the living room was not ticking. We noticed it had stopped at eleven o\u2019clock. Not a minute before. Not a minute after. The clock had not been wound in months, and there sat the hands of time \u2013 at the eleven o\u2019clock hour. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

I took a picture of the face on the clock as it stood that day. The photo will remind me that it\u2019s always the right time to be still. To think of our angels.  To be at peace. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

The study of geometry, frequency, and vibration in nature is interesting.  There are those who tell us to go outside and hug a tree, and they know why. The rest of us need to read up on the subject. After we do, we\u2019ll marvel even more at the wonder of Creation. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

I was recently telling a friend about the high frequency of flowers, with the rose measuring the highest. He nodded in agreement, adding that the blue lotus flower also measures high. Flowers \u2013 a beautiful gift from above, and something we ought to make sure we keep close to us. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sometimes we need to remind ourselves that this is God\u2019s perfect world, and we are perfect by design. Some say the world is perfectly imperfect. Or imperfectly perfect. Some say life is hard. Others say life is a big playground. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\u2019ve often thought of the many times others have told me how Stevie taught us a lot. I always want them to fill me in. To tell me more. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

While many of us may view ourselves with flaws, Stevie had been told how special he was, and he had no reason to not believe it. When he ran into friends, he saw an opportunity to spend a few moments with them. Even those who didn\u2019t necessarily know him, but said hello, could find themselves on the receiving end of a hug. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

My family and I have joked that Stevie accidentally received a good education at a young age. He was surrounded by a community of people who wanted the best for him. Who included him in their lives. Who took an interest in watching him play ball. Who gladly accepted his hugs.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Stevie was especially skilled when it came to making a three-pointer, yet he didn\u2019t teach the technique to the rest of us. He simply showed us how it\u2019s done and then enjoyed the standing ovation. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

I recently heard the term \u201cpersonification of perfection,\u201d and I thought of Stevie. He was a person. He was perfect. He taught himself how to throw a ball just right and let others watch it fly through the air in the direction of a hoop. And see how it touches nothing but net.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Maybe Stevie taught us it\u2019s okay to be Number One.  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

And after we move on to our next life where we\u2019ll meet up with those we\u2019ve loved, we\u2019ll feel their hugs once again. We\u2019ll see their smiles and connect with their joy. We\u2019ll feel the power of a high-five. And it\u2019ll be the best standing ovation there ever could be.  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Marlene Oxender is a writer, speadker, and author. She writes about growing up in the small town of Edgerton, her ten siblings, the memoriabilia in her parents\u2019 estate, and her late younger brother, Stevie Kimpel, who was born with Down Syndrome. Her two recdntly published books, Picket Fences and Stevie, are available on Amazon. Marlene can be reached at mpoxender@gmail.com<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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